Whispers From the Dead

The Cyrian Prince

It is the human condition to think that every individual is significant to the history of the world. However, absurd that ideal may be, a person cannot deny that in their existence, they wish to leave a mark.

In reality, there are only a handful of people that will become historical figures, while the rest of humanity is just a number that officials go by to keep track of their population.

It is a sad existence, but nevertheless, we humans always seem to find the positives. We continue to befuddle and frustrate. To sadden and enjoy, and it is these qualities that make us who we are.

See, for a person to truly realize what reality is, they must look deep into our history and observe what it is we do today. The events that occur around us are what will effect generations of not only humans, but the animal kingdoms, and it is this realization that a person must make in order to become significant in the history of the world.

Many have done it before, most not truly attempting to change the world, however it is this very thing that makes them important.

So when Declan Flynn was brought to his knees before the hundred most important people in history, and told that his time had come to lead the revolution of the next generation, he didn't believe it. For he, had come to the realization that for all that he had been through, his life had been one of the utmost insignificance.

Declan was a curious boy, and it was because of his curiosity that he had gotten himself where he was now. Hanging by his wrists and held by gun point.

If he had thought his plans through before following the two men, it wouldn't have come to this. The end of the line. A sad ending to his miserable life. But yet, Declan couldn't help but feel numb to his situation. Surely, he would die at the hands of this madman, alone in this dark alley way, gasping for air until the last drop of blood pooled from his wound, and his eyes closed forever. However, to Declan, dying by the hands of a madman was better than scrounging for food in the dumpsters.

The man nudged Declan's sweatshirt pocket with the barrel of the gun, What's in there?

Declan's eyes wandered to the bulge in his right pocket. That was a good question. He thought back to this morning.

Being an orphan on the streets, Declan was forced to flee many times throughout the day. Hmm...

I'm not quite sure, but if you'd just let me down, I could show you. He confessed.

The man raised a brow, And what's to stop us from just taking the object before shooting you?

Declan snorted, Do you really trust a sixteen year old to admit the truth? What if the very thing that's in my pocket is a bomb, and I'm just waiting for you to take it yourself?

The man seemed to ponder this for a moment.

Okay. Drop him, Greg. The man sighed.

The man who'd been holding him up by his arms dropped him. Declan winced as his knees smacked into the pavement and clenched his jaw shut. There was no need for back-talking when he'd already worked so hard to survive.

Declan reached into his pocket, and halted. His eyes met the barrel of the gun.

Okay, boy, now hand over whatever it is in your pocket, and we'll leave you to your scrounging. The man hissed.

Declan swallowed hard, Okay, okay. I'm pulling it out.

Swiftly, the sixteen year old pulled out a blue orb that twirled around each of his fingers.