Freaks

Azazel Santos

His eyes shot back and his breathing had stopped. His Mother cried and his Father stood  there, helpless. He was one of those, one of those freaks. Blood ran down from his eyes, his skin started to warm up. Getting hotter and hotter by the second. The newborn baby was found to have strange growths on his head, like two horns. That was when his Mother threw him into the Fire. That was Azazel Santos. It was funny to think that Azazel was interpreted as a Satanic, goat-like demon and has been used for the "Angel of Death" while Santos meant little Saint. Even after sixteen years of hiding he could not forget the day his family disowned him, even though he later killed them, from an uncontrollable rush of energy he was disowned by them. Azazel had grown to look pretty handsome. He had hazel eyes with long lashes, bronze, almond skin which he inherited from his Mexican family and curly brown hair which he grew to hide his small horns. He was tall and strong with arms and legs in which veins would pop out. 

Azazel had since lived with his grandparent, they were nicer to him and understood his troubles more than his parents had ever tried to.  He lived in America with them, in the out skirts of Los Angles. He went to school with other kids had his own friends. All of this was about to change.

"AYE! Azazel va a llegar tarde si no se levanta! AYE! Azazel you will be late if you don't get up!" His grandmother's voice cooed from the kitchen in an angry Spanish accent. His nose was filled with the sweet smell of bacon and eggs frying as he got out of bed. 

"Coming" Was the response, the boy had a squeaky voice which changed every now and then. Azazel rolled out of bed got dressed, picking clean clothes from his clean room. He never owned anything brighter than navy jeans and wasn't planning on updating his miserable wardrobe. Azazel ducked as he went through to the stairs, sitting on the hand railing and sliding down to the kitchen. 

"Buena abuela mañana" He said bending down to kiss his grandmother's cheek. She was like a withered rose. Once beautiful but now age has taken it's toll. Her eyes sagged and her skin paper thin, his grandmother's hair once a rich chestnut now a limp ivory. Wrinkles filled her tanned face which drooped even when she smiled and showed her yellowing teeth. His grandmother looked like their house, once a beautiful flower now one that is withered.

"Buen abuelo mañana!" Azazel shouted to the top of the stairs hearing a grunt in response. He quickly ate up and ran through the door yelling "adiós!" He was just in time to catch up to his friends. James and Nicole. James was big and strong with huge muscles, his hair was a black and cut short. His skin was olive to match his Greek family. Unlike James, Nicole was average height and build and had peaches and cream skin. Her hair was dyed black with bright red ends. She, like Azazel wore darker and more modest clothing.

"Hi. How was your weekend ..." James was curious yet his friend had blocked him out. Azazel was staring at something. Something big and black, like a reflection of him only they looked like they wanted to taste blood and flesh. That's when it hit him. The craving.

"Shut up! Put me down." He looked down to find Nicole on James' shoulder looking frustrated yet happy. Azazel started to smile while James tickled her and Nicole laughed wildly. And thus they started to walk to their school. Remington High school with it's towering black metal gates and lush football fields. That's when it hit him. It was her. She was like him. A girl so beautiful she was an angel, a girl so evil she was a devil. Even he had never met her, Azazel knew that she was a freak like him.