new story. are you ready?

One
It doesn’t impress me that I’ve succumbed to a life of crime in a city of disaster, but it doesn’t depress me either. The sound of helicopter blades beating above my head, the sound of blood pulsing in the ears of scared little creatures, prey. The spotlights shoot around me, bursts of light when you least expect them in alleys, and on streets, the predator. I was never afraid. It was too easy to be afraid, and I never liked things easy. My hands deep in my trench coat pockets, I clenched my fists in the warm brown fabric, soiled from my sweaty guilty palms.
I slipped through a doorway, protecting myself from the predator, and up a very thin creaky set of wooden stairs. Every abandon building is home. Every empty lockless room is sanctuary- for a criminal. I let myself cautiously into a small apartment. Very simply decorated with two single plain armchairs and a bed. I suppose everything else was light enough to steal. This bed, like so many others, was the last place where someone had slept. A person, an individual with a life, a schedule, a dream, who was now gone had left this pillow headless, as it exists on waiting for a similar head of purpose to rest upon it, and dream. I did not dream, I never tainted the pillow of a person, I did not deserve that, fore I should no longer be considered one. Only a sin, an animal- these were the thoughts that filled the mind of a lonely man…
I shrugged off my deep brown trench coat and lifted my tattered black rimmed from my head to reveal black. Black pants, black shirt, black tie, black boots. The last of what I clung to from before the chaos has defiled into the husk of me. The clothes on my back were now old, wrinkled, and crusted with blood. Blood of enemies, blood of strangers, of people I knew everything about, and people I knew nothing about clotted and matted the cotton fibers, patches of dark stains, unrecognizable through color. The only things that remain clean are the trench coat and the simple gold band on my finger. My clean shell, and my clean history are the only parts of my life that are worth something- my persona, and my history, untainted, respected. The rest, well, it’s not worth more than road kill. But that’s just what happened- I was casually walking along a line of safety and got bulldozed by a force larger than myself into a bleeding mass of sympathy. And I grew.
I sat down in one of the armchairs and closed my eyes, and drifted to the times I missed. Yes, things before the epidemic were easy, but I was never so alive…
“BEEP.BEEP.BEEP.” I punched the “snooze” button and it collapsed under my fist. “Shit!”- The word that filled my head with alarm during most mornings. The word that paralleled my wake-up call: blaring, sneering, crisp, and full of anguish. My report, which I had neglected for the past week was still not done. The report, my boss had assured me was pertinent for the survival of my job. The same report that was due today. I ripped off my warm down comforters and ran to my cool, shiny, silver laptop, which whirred to life under my fingertips. I heard the distant gurgle of a coffee machine as the warm odor curled into my bedroom and my nostrils. I could almost grasp the relief- and jolt of my caffeine lifeline.
“Honey?” I heard the sweet high voice expel from the kitchen….
And then, the nostalgia ended. My heart was wrenched in my chest, tight, beating furiously. It was still too early, too raw, too painful, to abrupt, too heartbreaking to think of her. I closed my eyes. It was too easy to feel pain. I am a survivor.
The only thing that changed in my life from that moment, is that I still only drink my coffee black. But then again, I don’t really have much time for coffee, nor do I have the means of making coffee, or a place to make coffee. I lost it all. Lost in the chaos, the revolution was my old life. It’s a harsh reality that all that’s left of me is a harsh person, but that’s all you can expect in a harsh world. But sometimes I think to myself, there must be goodness and innocence in this world. I am not one to embrace it, but I’d like to think that humanity has a chance. I anticipate that we humans are not so weak as to accept our fate as a simple regression to the fire. I may have accepted this fact for myself, but not for all humanity- not yet. The shadow of the man I once was recognized a feeling he once felt. While the criminal laughed and the animal sneered, I grasped a faint ideal of hope. And hope was just what I found.
*
(Nadia) Constantia font
I sighed, the warm air of my breath curled out of my open mouth, a puff of hot air moved through the cold brisk, usually only heated by fire. I hugged my black coat tighter to my frail little body. I was alone. No one to call family, nowhere to call home, after the revolution, during the chaos I was abandoned and forgotten by death and separation.
Now I stand, in the cold January evening, while light trickled through the broken glass of abandoned buildings with broken foundations, looking for answers, and desperate for company. It would be dark soon, but I was a survivor. I wished, pleaded for another to call a companion, a friend, so I would at least have a home. I can’t remember the last time I heard my own voice, it’d be nice to use it. A gust of wind blew through my stark black long hair away from my face, into the sky. Black strands cutting the blue sky, like the flames cutting the cold, like the tattered flag ripped in strips against this same sky. Too many nights I held myself against the cold, too many nights I stared up at the sky with tear-filled eyes praying for love, too many nights I wandered, and missed where my family was, too many nights, I was afraid. It was too easy to be afraid, it was time for me to survive.
That was when I saw him. I saw the shadow of his eyes, the shadow cast by the brim of a tattered black hat over an olive-skinned face. His strong chiseled chin was pained with a coat of perpetual five-o-clock shadow. Shadow had a way of framing his face, making his features more angular, sturdier, in the darkness. A man of shadow and smoke set forth against a world of fire and blaze. I could easily assume, though, that a fire raged in the eyes, so strategically covered. His hat acted as his shield, his protection, of letting the fire within loose. I saw his lips, in a sea of stubble, pursed and stretched over his white glossy teeth. His face was tense and rigid. His shoulders were clenched, and he stood tall and proud in a long brown trench coat. His fists were deep in the pockets. A rock, so to speak. And that’s when I knew. I knew that he could be my home. I was inclined, because I knew nothing else- to follow and study him.
So I did, for days. In the light I would watch him, I would follow at a safe distance and study his proud nature. At night, he would slip away so easily, and I could not follow. I took to wandering the crime-ridden streets aimlessly in the silver moonlight. It was too dangerous to sleep when you were alone. I made that mistake. I had lulled myself into a regretful dreamless sleep through my tears and aching limbs, and I woke up with nothing. If it’s hard to believe, I woke up with less than I had fallen asleep with. I had kept all my necessities with me, my cell phone, my money; I had not known what I would need. But some thief stole the only things I had left, and now I was possession-less. All that was left on my person was my simple outfit of jeans and a sweatshirt and my black jacket, and my gold necklace, a reminder of my history. Not that I need money now, I could walk into any store and steel what I need, because that is what survivors do. That’s what he does. Now instead of sleeping I run on adrenaline because I have come to the conclusion that danger lurks around every corner. If I could, I would just love to close my eyes, and slip away into my past…
“Sweetheart!” I opened my heavy eyes as the vision of my mother blocks out the light streaming from the open window of my second-story bedroom. Her wispy blond hair, which I clearly did not inherit, shines like the sun, surrounding her head like the halo of an angel. “If you don’t get up soon, you’re going to be late for school.” I rubbed my eyes, bringing my entire room into view. My vision now possessed morning crispness like the brisk dew-filled autumn breeze that came in my window. I pulled the comforters tighter to my body. I looked at my bubblegum pink ceiling with the mixed feelings of nostalgia and nausea.
“Get up you lazy bum!” I heard the growl from my brother through the paper-thin wall that divided my room from his. It was a wonder how late little brothers stay up- and how much noise they can make. I would have to drive him to school. If only I could arrive to school late because I had a free period first, then the brat would have to take the school bus, and I could sleep- my personal favorite activity. I slowly arose out of my bed, a zombie from the grave pulling on a pair of baggy jeans from my floor. On my way out I grabbed an apple and stuffed it into my bag as I walked to my car…
I was jerked out of consciousness by the alarm of a car horn, pleading the passing of some pedestrian. Now I realized, I missed them all, even the brat, as much trouble as he caused me. A chain chaffed the back of my neck. My necklace I thought in a panic, I had almost forgotten about it. For my sixteenth birthday my mother had given me a gold heart necklace with the inscription: “You will always be in our hearts. Mom, Dad, and Brandon” I fished inside my shirt, and with relief my fingers finally came in contact with its warm smooth surface. I rubbed my fingers, feeling the grooves of the inscription. They would always be in my heart, that I was sure of.
Days passed and I got this strange sense that he knew I was following him, and that he wanted me to continue to follow him. One of the many cold January evenings, almost the same as all the others, I watched this man under the lamplight. His hat hung low over his eyes, as always. His trench coat almost covered the bloodstains on his boots, but I saw them, I knew they were there. I traced them through the fabric with my eyes. The flames licked the wood behind him. The fire consumed the abandoned building, raging and slowly destroying the structure from within. As the fire burned with such intensity, movement, and danger, he just stood there- fearless. His shape was so defined, so rigid, contradicting the morals he so lacked. There were no morals left in this city, and I wanted to abandon mine as well, to belong once more. I wanted to be one with this man. Steal with him. Drink with him. Kill with him. I wanted to share his triumph and defeat. I wanted to revel in his methodical stolid silence. I wanted to soak in the way he lived; I wanted to soak in his survival instinct. So I finally did it. I approached him; I approached the fire- no matter how it would consume me in the end.
He turned his head slowly, an emotionless expression on his face. I approached nervously, as though he would lash out and kill me on the spot. But I could not turn away now, it was too tempting to find a home, be loved once more, and belong.
“Why have you been following me, little girl?” His voice was slow, defined, chiseled. I stared at him astonished. I guess I wasn’t subtle as I thought. He repeated himself after a few slow moments of silence hung in the air between two pairs of parted lips looking for answers but too scared or strong to whisper the questions. “Why have you been following me?” Now his voice took on a hoarse whisper. I thought I heard a hint of nervousness- no not from him. I must not be mistaken and question his strength. He was not vulnerable, like me. He could not be vulnerable in the presence of someone like me. I just stared at him blankly like a criminal who had just escaped but was caught in a spotlight; adrenaline was put on a halt. I felt embarrassed, while he stared me down. Then I could feel the anger tingling inside, rustling and raging through every nerve ending. He did not have the right to tell me what I can and cannot do. I clenched my fist.
“What do you think this life is? Do you think it’s “cool,” “exciting,” “an adventure?” Well I got news for you honey….” He slapped me across the face… “It ‘aint. It’s not safe. Get out of here, go home. There’s no place on the street for a girl like you.” I held my hand on the red stinging skin. Although his hand was hot, his ring stayed cool. I mumbled, scared, tired and desperate. “What is that girl, I can’t hear you,”
“If there’s no place for me on the streets then why am I here?” I let go. I slumped foreword, tears pouring out of my eyes. I could not let this happen, he would think of me as some child, some joke, some burden, some baby. Not strong enough to join him. Never strong enough to find a home, to find love. I go to turn away, leave, run and never return to my state of sheer and utter embarrassment, but something stopped me. Something in the air changed. I looked up to him, his hat now off, he looked younger, more approachable. The fire that blazed in his eyes had now turned to smoke in his woody irises. His curly brown locks gave him the appearance of a scruffy dog, a loyal dog. But I supposed that he wasn’t mans best friend now. He looked defeated and betrayed, the trademark facial expression of the time. The world had betrayed us all, the survivors, when the chaos ensued and now we had to stick together.
“Don’t do that.” He paused, his voice soft, almost inaudible, “you remind me…” again he paused, his face filled with loss, “oh never mind. I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He sighed, speaking with more authority now, as he slipped from the daydream of a memory… “Come on.”
*

I always enjoyed a little chat at work or home. But now, I find my personality has changed some. I remain alone, alpha male in my world. And this girl, this child, follows me. She too feels the loneliness now. Too young to be lost. I envy her innocence. She will survive. With me. Me.
I watched her sleep, her frail little body rise and fall, my eyes glided up and down with the subtle movements, a tide of weak youth and blissful dreams.
I had led her into the abandoned building, up the creaking staircase, into the deserted flat. I had told her to relax, to rest her head upon the pillow, to wrap herself up in the blanket, to sleep. I believed that this young thing could still manage to have dreams, so I embraced that fact by letting her sleep. I watched her determination to not close her eyes, her ignorant confidence in pure adrenaline. And then I watched the weight of sleep pull the lids over the glassy surface and then she was gone. When she came into the light I saw the dark swollen circles under her piercing, clear blue eyes. Her pale porcelain skin appeared worn and tight; she looked as though she was barely hanging on, holding on by a strand of her raven hair. She had been sleeping for hours, but she still seemed so tired, I did not wish to wake her, but the animal within was becoming restless.
I was torn between allowing her to wale alone, deserted once more by an almost, a try at something real, and slipping away into the morning, which is so likely for me to do. I had let her follow me, though. There was a strong connection between the two of us, or a strong curiosity. Why follow the vision of the most notorious criminal? We were like two lost souls heading towards one light at the end of a tunnel. Who knew that she was to become my light. I saw in her the beauty of innocence, the glory of purity, and the sincerity of youth that I had not rest my tired eyes upon in ages. I saw her in me, as a young boy, an optimistic young boy. She represented every child I ever met, but had an uncanny resemblance to the one I knew best…
“Nero,” I heard her sweet voice, high and soft like a violin, “Nero,” I felt her curly brown hair brush my face- clean shaven at the time, “Nero, wake up,” I felt her small soft hands shake my shoulders…
Often my thoughts returned to the sweetest child, the figment of innocence, and my little princess.
At that moment, the girl’s body rose and fell with more varied, jerky movements, meaning she was waking or having another nightmare. The cyclic trance of her tides of sleep had broken and I, too was once again aware of my surroundings. I started blankly at blank walls. At that moment, I wanted to run, should run, but didn’t. I looked to my left at the window as the streams of morning light glistened and shined over my face in beams. Her eyelashes fluttered like dark butterflies, revealing her clear, blue, piercing eyes. As if she suddenly remembered where she was, she scrambled to the upright position on the edge of the bed near the headboard wrapped in blankets. Her eyes were wide and frightened. I moved out of the shadows streamed with light and came into the part of the room that was completely afire with light, as she parted her lips to scream….
“It’s alright. You can speak. I won’t hurt you,” She continued to stare at me, her lips still parted ever so slightly. She attempted to let something escape her lips, but all that she exhaled was a trembling wisp of air.
She tried again, “Wha-What Happened?” Her voice was exactly how I anticipated it would sound, when it wasn’t full of tears- sweet and high as innocence and childhood.
Then her words imprinted on my mind. I finally realized what she was saying. I could not tell this child, this girl everything. I would not destroy the light in her eyes, the hope in her heart. It must stay alive, so I know that not all people are poisoned with the selfish instincts of an animal, when faced with perils beyond their comprehension. This girl looked at me so expectantly, I just couldn’t. I, I, my mind started to spin. No. I had to remain strong. I would hate to be so confused, so blind. She would be crushed twice over by a giant rock, the rock of desperation that would turn her pale glass little frame into a statue of hate with eyes of darkness.