“Turning and turning in the widening gyre;
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold”
-William Butler Yeats, The Second Coming
Chapter 001
The Street of Grime
The flickering street lamps dimmed the darkness around the street. They were smudged with dirt and grime, and most of them were burnt out. But as the man with forest green hair strolled on the dusty bricks of the street, the boy couldn't make out the man as they sneaked in the shroud of the night.
The boy didn't know where they were going but didn't care. If he pestered the man too much, then the man would kill him and leave his body to rot on the side of the street.
So, the boy tried distracting himself by gazing off into the distance, watching the passing carriages roam throughout the city. The city was always full of clamoring and laughter in the nighttime, but all those people couldn’t notice the green-haired man. Even if they did, they didn't care. It was just another man strolling down another street.
”Rowdy, isn’t it?” muttered the green-haired man that carried the boy like baggage. The man’s draping cloak felt like sandpaper against the boy’s skin.
The boy didn’t answer.
But the man was right. The boy could hear the complaints of almost everyone on the road. People always tried to light up the night to get rid of the darkness that was ripe in the night.
The boy continued looking back at the street. There were the bustling, the storm of people, the unturned wheels in traffic, and most of all the drunkards yelling as they danced their lives away together. It all struck him with the same question. How could they live their lives like this?
Lakirias were birds. They had the ability to soar through the skies, but none of them had the determination to take off. They spent their days carrying anxious worries about the next day instead of enjoying their time. Most of the workers just drank their sorrows away. Everyone hailed the freedom and liberty of the kingdom, but they still kept themselves trapped within a cage.
The heart at its basic form… was selfish and weak. That’s why people like the green-haired man existed.
The boy could hear some complaints from their neighbors from time to time. Mr. Gornley on the corner of this dusty road was always complaining about the lack of customers at his fruit stall. Whenever the boy’s family went to the market and bought fruit from him, he would go on a rant about his wasted produce. People like him were always complaining about something, even when their life was in its golden hour. Not enough money, not enough love, not enough attention, not enough food; it was as if they were looking for something to complain about.
The nobles were even worse. They’ve never starved or worked a day in their life, but they always wore a grumpy frown as if their happy, businessman face was broken. They wanted to look powerful and rich to other families, but they were also worrying about losing it all; they lacked the foresight to see that their dreams could only be fulfilled by the people.
The children were complaining too. They always wanted more food, more time to play, and more things to enjoy. Although... the boy wasn't really too different.
The only reasonable complaint was from the warriors and guards. They wondered if they were going to survive to see the next sunrise.
Every beating heart in the city had a problem and only hearts that beat a different melody had a solution. Yet no heart wanted to share their solution because their hearts weren’t the same.
War was the root of all of this. Everyone had something to gain but never wanted to lose and the war with the Yamqia presented an opportunity for everyone to lose everything. And here they are, scavengers, fighting each other for the crumbs of a noble's plate.
The people were miserable. Nobody trusted each other. The people hoarded everything to gain as much as they could. We were gambling everyday... we were all addicted to it. However, nobody seemed to win here.
”Society is such a mess, isn’t it? These people make me sick. They don't realize how lucky they are.” The man as we continued slithering down the dusty, mossy path of the city.
As much as the boy hated it. The man was right again. These people were lucky.
When the gravestones for our soldiers littered our city, a grim reminder was shot into the people. As they lost more and more soldiers to the virus called war, they were losing hope.
The war had to end. They knew it; the Yamqia knew it too. Maybe just maybe, now that the war was over, the people would bond together again; they could truly smile and cry together like they used to. Regardless, everybody knew that the war was going to start again. That’s why thieves are out and about and the people are silent... besides the drunkards at the nearby tavern.
Instead of smiling with each other, they only smiled at those that could give us gifts, like nobles.
”Maybe… that’s why Mom and Dad died,” whispered the boy so quietly that the wind muffled it.
These thoughts raided the boy's mind, but none of it made sense. He was happy and his parents were happy. How could someone be greedy enough to take that away?
The man continued to stroll down the street, using the cover of darkness to avoid the prying eyes of citizens, but there was no one looking.
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It was just a few hours ago when the boy was sitting on the side of the street, leaning his head against his arms as grime infected his pants.
His white hair whipped in the wind from the fall breeze.
Stolen story; please report.
The boy gazed into the sky as the Tree of Luminance burned its final golden rays, setting the sky ablaze. A whirlpool of colors blended the sky into a painting. The Tree of Luminance's golden leaves gave the world light every day. When they dried out, they lost light until the roots absorbed enough power from the core of the world. Its light extended much further than the boy's planet. The boy's planet only received light from one of its branches.
“Are you still out here Lac’en? You should make sure to come inside. It's cold.” Inquired his mother as she shivered from the threshold of their front door.
"Later..." said the boy, his voice drifting off as his jewel-blue eyes reflected the golden veins of light in the sky.
His mother decided to shuffle towards the edge of the porch and flop down right next to the boy.
"Beautiful... isn't it?" asked the boy's mother as she too was enchanted by the piercing night sky. Her blue eyes sparkled as if the light was dancing on the ocean waves. Aside from their blue eyes, the boy and his mother shared very little resemblance. His mother had velvety, chocolate-like purple hair while the boy had white hair like a pure sheet of ice. The boy could see his frosty breath and his hands began to turn pink. His teeth chattered so he leaned on his mother for warmth.
Their empty moment of peace was interrupted by a dispute in the shadows of the street. Their barren voices quaked throughout the streets. As the golden light illuminated the fray, the boy could see that one of the men was shoved to the ground. The boy was a slightly bit interested in seeing the result, but the patrolling guards rushed over to break up the fray and his mom had covered his eyes. As the guards dragged the men apart, his mom lifted him up and began strolling back into the house.
The boy's grimy pants began wiping dirt onto his mom's sleeves, but she didn't seem to mind.
A lamp that sat on the table burned brightly. With the leaves burned out, this was all the light the family could afford.
“Mom, why are there so many fights now." asked the boy, still interested in the incident.
His mom sighed, lowering her arms so the boy could stand. She kneeled down so they were at the same height.
"It's because everyone is angry at each other. Honestly, I don't know how much longer our people can last," she responded.
"Will it affect us?"
Her face flashed a worrying expression, but her smile reassured the boy, "Hopefully not. This is something for adults to worry about--Just worry about school."
"But will affect you and Daddy?"
"Of course it won't. Even if it does, your father and I will manage."
"Oh... well okay then! When’s daddy coming home?” he asked excitingly, looking at his mother, “He promised me to come back so we can play again together.”
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” She replied, tugging on her sleeves to cover her arms violently shivering, "But he'll be tired when he gets back. Maybe tomorrow."
"Awww, but he promised."
"Work is rough, but I'm sure your father will make up for it tomorrow!" reassured his mothers, patting his head, "Just go to bed."
"Alright... goodnight then."
The boy trudged up the stairs to reach the creaking door of his bedroom. He flopped onto his bed, squeezing his fuzzy teddy bear as he doze of to sleep.
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The screech of a high-pitched, ear-rattling voice shocked the boy awake. He plugged his ears with his hands from the chalkboard scratching like noise.
“How could you?” screamed his mother from the living room, desperation pouring out of him like tears.
I must be dreaming
His vision quivered as his drowsy eyes were slow to open and then he saw it.
The boy had only saw his blood from little scabs after tripping and roughing up his knees and elbows in the forest. He cried for hours but he always managed to withstand it with his mom and dad carrying him home and giving him snacks.
This time, the blood seeped out into a rose puddle reflecting the moon. But there was no pain. He peered into his shirt but soon realized it would be pointless in the darkness. He felt around his chest where the source of the scarlet puddle was, but all he touched was his normal, parched skin.
However, it was impossible to miss the putrid scent that plagued his nose like socks soaked in a swamp. He hurled inside his mouth, creating a scratchy feeling inside his throat. The crisp, frosty grip of darkness grasped the boy's heart like an iron chain. He clenched his ragged, soaked shirt, hoping to withstand the gnawing pain. The cold floor scratched his skin
“Mama?” he asked with his quivering, scratchy voice as he sat up and yawned. However, his eyelids began to sink, so he scratched his face.
His grimy white hair was soiled by the dusty floor of the kitchen. The walls were shrouded in darkness, he could barely make out his arms and legs which were still icky from running around in the deep thicket last night with his father. His critter friends were nowhere in sight.
“Illuminous” he whispered to the lamp. The lamp flickered a dim light, but it was put off in a couple of seconds. The boy jerked the lamp up and down, making it rattle like a toy.
But it was no toy, it was a magic artifact. It might be common, but its faint glare managed to reflect on the boy’s eyes. The dim light was cast into the room, echoing its whimpering flames.
He stared. He peered. He gazed. His life was yanked out of him and all was left was a parched, stained body.
But the blood still dripped. He couldn’t ignore the sound like it was a recently turned-off water faucet. Every time the blood dripped, the ripples plunged a realization into him. But the next moment, he believed this was a fantasy, he needed it to be a fantasy. Otherwise, when he woke up, he wouldn’t see his parent’s radiating smiles. This was fake, it had to be fake. There was no way his parent’s lifeless bodies would be leaned up against the wall hugging each other in their last moments. Suddenly, a waterfall of tears poured out of him, clashing with the puddle of oozing blood.
Right now, his mom should wake up, stroll towards him, and give him a big hug. Right about now, his dad should wake up and start yapping on about how great his coworkers are. That's right, just a few hours ago, his parents were cracking jokes and laughing.
They must be tired, right? Things will go back to normal right? I need to take care of them, he thought.
His stick-like body shrugged its way to his parents. The chilly wooden floor felt like ice. Right now, the silence seemed to scream louder than any sound he’s ever heard. The moonlight pierced through the clouds and illuminated the window. The blood dripped from their mouths but the sound was covered by his pounding heart.
His mother’s purple hair whipped in the wind. She had chosen her special velvety purple dress for their anniversary. But here it was now, tainted in her blood. His father’s jet-black hair stood out even though he was shrouded in darkness.
“Momma!” He wailed. “Dadda!” he cried, crawling to hug them. But they weren't dead. They couldn’t be dead. He needed them so he could survive and be happy.
Suddenly, the moonlight illuminated the room. They were hugging each other. Even now, they comforted each other. Some wicked nightmare this was.
He called again for his parents, but all that comforted him was the distant echo of his voice. His legs quivered like buildings in an earthquake as he tried to balance his walk. He yanked and shook his mom’s clothes.
“Mommy! Wake up!” he pleaded, tears pouring out from his parched body. It hurt. It hurt so much. His vision started becoming dizzy. He wanted to wake up. He wanted his mom. He wanted to be saved. But the world came crashing down. The pain was too sharp to be a figment of imagination. His ocean-blue eyes nearly burst into tears but they were all dried up.
But he couldn't do anything. All of his greed dispersed inside of him. He had nothing more to lose. No more people to love. No memories that filled him with joy.
There were winners and losers in life, that's why the person who had the most power is the person who had nothing to lose, but everything to gain.
However, something filled his emptiness. His heart and body were burning with rage and anger. Rage that wouldn’t be quenched. It was a thirst for his revenge because he was greedy.
Just like the millions of beating hearts making this world more bland.