Lives of The Lost

Sitting in The Dark

As he sat in his confinement, his chains digging into his skin as he contemplated his escape. Waiting, watching for the right time.

Then, the king walked in with the two guards from earlier. One had golden hair with strange ears, and the other had black and red hair with horns. 

Whilst the king had silver hair and normal ears. The two guards argued with each other, their banter becoming louder by the second. 

The jester stared up at the king, his expression like Hellfire, the other's hinting with that damned smrik, reeking with condescension. 

"Well, then," he began, looking down at the prisoner, "what do you suppose your punishment should be, jester?" He'd finished, looking at him with eyes now filled with curiosity rather than disdain. 

He thought, his gaze empty. Should he sell out his organisation? Should he simply surrender? He didn't know. So, he just stared. 

It was quiet as the king thought as well, the silence only interrupted by the gaurds banter. 

"Oh, assassin, you fucked up." The black-haired guard said tauntingly. The latter rolled his eyes, snarling. 

It went quiet again. Anticipation filled the air as the king thought of all the punishments. Starved to death? No, that was too gruesome for him. Burnt? No, that's disgusting. Drawn and quartered? No, gross. Exile? Perfect. 

"Let him out." The king ordered, and the guards hesitated but did just that, freeing him from his chains. 

The silver-haired gestured for the prisoner to follow him, which he did, confused. 

It seems this king truly was vindictive. 

They'd walked to the ball room, where the towns folk were now gathering. Bells tolled, the noise ringing in the jester's ears. 

Everyone muttered and spoke of the man in front of the king. The king was at least a few years older than the clown who stood in front of him. 

Everyone's attention went onto the king as he spoke with an air of authority and confidence. 

"I hereby declare, Clownpeirce, exiled from these lands." The crowd erupted into cheers and yells, besides the lady from before. She looked concerned, for she saw the traces of boyhood still etched into the newfound exiles' face. 

She stared before speaking up. "He is but a child." She spat, her usual kind demeanour giving away to something darker than the night, more venomous than a snake. 

He'd tilted his head to the side in confusion. To most, it didn't matter what he was, or they didn't notice. So, why did she? It perplexed him. 

The king tilted his head to the side opposite of the clown, staring down the young lady. 

"Would you like to go with him?" One of the guards- the black-haired, who seemed to the hostile one of the two- spat. 

She nodded. "Why yes, I would, actually." She'd retorted, earning a laugh, then a nod from the guards, who looked at the king, awaiting approval. 

The king nodded back to him, allowing him permission.

As the two were both escorted out of the kingdom, the jester couldn't help but ask. He was truly intrigued as to why she would do that, even though it meant her own exile as well. 

"Why would you-" A sharp, interjecting voice-

"Because you need someone to take care of you. You are still a child, no matter how much you try to hide it." She paused as they got to one of the tall trees. She smiled. "I can see the wonder, the curiosity in those wide, child's eyes. Even if you try to deny it." He  gave in, nodding in agreement. He was, indeed, a child. 

He was only fourteen when he'd made his first kill. It was his birthday that day, so the manager of the casino allowed him in. Only that once. 

He'd been at a casino, illegally gambling, sure. Who cared? At that time, he'd avoided being caught seemingly thousands of times already.

When he'd won, the older man he was playing with had smiled and given him his promised coins. However, a man who had been observing from afar, who was in a drunken state, had approached them.

"You shouldn't allow this youngster to threaten you into allowing him victory."  The younger man had said, the elderly one's smile faltering as he shook his head frantically, immediately, fearing for the child's safety.

"No, no. He won fair and square." He'd reassured, trying to keep the man away from the child. Yet, his weak frame failed, and the man was running at the two of them. 

The child had looked around quickly, grabbing a wine bottle and hitting the oncoming man in the head with it. There had been a sickening thud, then a squelch just as sickening as the youngest boy shoved the broken glass shards into the man's throat. For the simple reason; he knew the man wouldn't give up. Better to eliminate the threat the first time, rather than allowing them time to heal and strategise- was his mindset. 

He'd twitched a few times before becoming nothing but a limp corpse. Warm blood turned cold as it dripped from his wounds. The boy had watched with interest, feeling an urge to lick his lips. He remembered that was exactly what he did as he sat.

The child had remembered sitting by the corpse, cold and detached, his own hands dripping from how tightly he'd held the glass shard. No matter how empty he felt, though, he felt some sort of all-consuming joy in the chaos, the havoc he had caused. It was quite strange. 

After that, he was told that the elderly man he'd won against was actually the leader of an assassin organisation, undercover, looking for a successor. The man had been impressed by the boy's quick thinking and ruthless nature-

-And that's how he found himself in his current position, working for one of the most prestigious organisations in the world, under his father, which he never dared called that due to his high respect. He'd simply refer to him as 'boss' and be happy with it.

He was now seventeen, and it was the first time he'd failed a mission, even gotten punished for it. He wondered what boss would think. He knew that those who failed would be left behind, or worse, executed. As strong as his disregard for life- he didn't want to die. This was the first time he noticed that.

He'd suddenly felt his heart racing, and was all too aware of the heat he felt. It felt as though the world was shrinking around him. He felt his breath hitch in his throat as he struggled to breathe. His breaths came out quick and ragged. He'd brought his knees up to his face, wrapping his arms around his knees, as if seeking comfort in his own body heat, shoving his head into his knees, as though that'd rid the heavy feeling in his chest. 

"What has the world done to you?" A soft, almost sad voice brought him back to earth. Arms wrapped around him in embrace. He felt warmth and was slightly comforted by it.  

After a moment, he simply sat there in shock before he let out one gut-wrenching sob. Hot tears poured out his eyes, and down his face. It was the first time in three years that he'd cried. He found a strange solace in the incident. The feeling in his chest fading as he surrendered to the embrace of sleep.