Disappear: Into Shadow

- CHAPTER SEVEN -

For December, the day was unseasonably warm. Off a suburban street, waves of heat shimmered above the asphalt. Crossing the street, the feet of four people were accompanied by the large paws of a rottweiler.

The sun was hot on his shiny black and tan coat. A fat pink tongue hung out of his panting mouth. Licking the hand of one of his owners, the dog received an affectionate scratch behind the ears. Stepping onto the sidewalk, he ran onto the grass of the neighbourhood's park.

His favourite ball thrown, the dog charged after it in hot pursuit. The thick muscles of his legs pumped as he sped after his quarry. Catching the ball on its third bounce, the rottweiler turned and proudly trotted back.

Camael sat under a nearby tree. Watching the dog drop the ball at his owner's feet, the Watcher considered the group of kids. Dressed in tatters, their haircuts were a mixture of tangles, shaved patches and cheap dyes. Not the only one watching them, Camael listened to the thoughts swirling around the park.

The tattoos, piercings, language and mannerisms of these four kids told the other park goers all they needed to know about this motley crew. They were street trash, panhandlers, layabouts, drug addicts, squeegee kids and bums. Above all, these kids must be dangerous. How could people who looked like THAT be a beneficial part of modern day society?

Hard stares, hushed whispers and averted eyes followed these kids wherever they went. They had even become used to it. The sin, Camael thought, was just that. No one should become desensitized to the opinions and stereotyping of others. Therein lay damnation, the loss of dreams and the acceptance of an entirely avoidable fate.

Camael tried to shrug off the frustration of those thoughts. He turned his attention elsewhere. The park was busy with other dogs playing off their leashes, people tanning and kids running about. Everyone was having a wonderful time. These last days of the year felt, blessedly, like the warmest days of summer.

Beside the grass of the park was a playground with jungle gyms, slides and those spinning wheels most kids got sick from riding on. Just like in the park, children swarmed about, though they were younger than those in the park. They played under the watchful, protective gazes of their parents. Once the punks and their dog arrived, the eyes of the parents paid less attention to their children.

"I can't believe they're letting that monster run around off the leash! It's wrong."

"It's dangerous."

"I've got kids around here."

"Someone should say something."

"Honey, could you go say something?"

Under orders, one dad put down his Starbucks cup and walked into the park. As he crossed the distance from the playground, one punk wearing a Slipknot shirt reading 'People = Shit' saw him coming.

"Yo! Heads up! Inbound yuppie," he warned.

One of them whistled after their dog. "Jimmy Jam! Here boy!"

Ears perking up, Jimmy heard his name. Turning away from the husky he was wrestling with, he obediently ran to his owners. Arriving just as the yuppie walked up, Jimmy sat. Looking up at the angry man yelling at his owners, Jimmy thought, Did they pee on his rug?

The yuppie berated the punks for having that dog around children and threatened to call the police. The kids never appreciated anyone telling them what they could or couldn't do. They had heard such dismissals for the better part of their young lives. And, when it came from a grande-decaf-vanilla-soy-latte swilling asshole, they did what they did best. Taunting and cajoling the yuppie, they used their favourite words and even threatened to sick their 'monster' dog on him.