Evanescent

Through-out the story, words in bold mean that they are included in a list of definitions at the end.

The sound of the old clock tower rang through the iron city waking the silence of the foggy night with the first break of sunlight. The streets dawn with the cold life of each moaning mortal that roams, unwillingly through the, dreary, early hour. They travel to work routinely on the crowded public buses and metros that speed through the sky on their high laid paths strung in arbitrary directions dodging the tall sky scrapers and plummeting below highway bridges, the stronghold metal wheels, tarnished by wind and weather, battle friction against the equally worn tracks both screaming in triumph at their effort to break one another.

The higher class of town manages like clockwork in the same ways but with the smell of newly minted money and coins of gold lingering in the air, a feeling of power and regulation monopolizes its aura, ready to belittle and intimidate anyone whom this society would deem unworthy. The crumbling structure of the city's ghettos instead replaced with one success-polished as though forever new. Large estates tower over each other boasting the wealth of the families they represent each crowned with flags bearing a crest and coat of arms honoring the ancestors of their name.

A tall figure glides along the empty alleyways creeping in silence, a distant mortal, far from the world around him. His black hair and pale complexion gallant in its irregularity from the usual characteristics of most others living in this realm. His dark tail coat with its white accent of freshly pressed gloves, under coat, and collar indicate his rank in society, a young but notably respected servant. His questionable and poverty stricken past erased by determination and a few, that some might argue to be, unethical deals to get to where he is. It might be understood by everyone that he is as cold and empty as his appearance suggests. Moving quickly across the broken pavement he arrives at the back entrance of the Toyaki family estate disappearing into the darkness inside.

...

"Good morning young lord." The tall dark butler wakes his master's youngest son with a solemn tone, unfastening the large ties he slides the windows open letting the spring air fill the room, the boy only pulls the thick quilt over his head. "Young lord, it is exactly 6:30, you're breakfast is waiting and you have a tight schedule today." Yokashi tries again slowly pulling the covers from the toddler's head, making him squirm and turn to his stomach burying his face in his pillow. "Young master, you have responsibilities you know." He tries again picking the child up and holding him arm's length in front of him making a very serious face. The little blue haired boy only rubs his eyes with his small fists and kicks his dangling legs back and forth in the air. "Why?" He asks groggily. "Because." The butler answers as routine that has been repeated a million times every day since Yori learned his first word. Yokashi dresses and brushes his teeth before prompting him to walk along side of him holding his small hand in his for assistance out his nursery door and to the stairwell were the little boy refuses to continue, as always, demanding that the butler swallow his pride again and carry him down the stairs as he snuggles against his shoulder. After the lady and lord of the house decided that it was time to fire the nurse he was at first very against taking any part in child care but although he would never admit it he had grown partly attached to this part of his morning and putting him to bed at night.

...

He continues until it becomes night and he sets out the same door, back through the alleyways, to a small apartment building where he comes to a stop. Climbing the stairs to the 5th floor he then unlocks his small apartment door were he once again disappears into until the next morning.

...

Walking back to his house after work he journeys much farther than usual watching for glimpses of the night markets that always flooded the streets as he entered from the uptown to the ghetto alleyways. Every week after receiving his pay check, he dreaded this walk back home because it would mean entering the noisy streets again to go shopping. Walking towards the streets something catches his eye, a small girl, about four years old, with long silver hair stealing two apples from an unwary street vendor's cart; she sets them in a small basket before quietly slipping through the crowed. This is not at all unusual, living his childhood in a similarly poor area, he himself many times had done the same thing to get food for his own family, so he usually just looked the other way, but this time he was compelled not to do so when a tall figure in a hood closely follows behind her in a slight chase.