Realm of the Runes: Blood Right

Chapter VIII

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Matthaios leaned against the battered brick wall of the lighthouse. Something about the quaint ruins reassured him, almost as if the rough texture of hand-hewn bricks and crumbling mortar were promising him their loyalty.

Concrete is so sterile, he mused, staring out across the pounding grey-green sea. White foam flowed like a waterfall over the jagged rocks below, and he watched, fascinated by the rare sight, as the water shifted and crashed down again, suicidal in its timeless mission.

The coast was lonely and beautiful in a harsh kind of way - not tame like the manicured landscapes and gardens in the upper city. He felt the dampness of salt spray on his face, the wind whipping his curls angrily, the damp chill clinging to his bones.

I need to get out of the city more. This is where I belong!

He kicked a tussock of stubborn grass, and glared at the horizon.

Why the hell am I living in a soulless city when all this... life... is waiting for me, out here? 

He shouted loudly - just a sound that disappeared on the wind - and lifted his chin to scream. The sound dissipated on the tendrils of the breeze, and he breathed, filling his lungs with the freshness of air.

True air. Not the polluted rubbish that hangs in the city like a mouldy shroud.

His eyes caught a movement on the horizon, and he strained to see what it was. A ship, loaded with containers, chugged slowly across the blue expanse. He sighed.

There's really nothing we haven't touched.

Something gripped his chest as he gazed down at the rocks, and he felt bile rise in his throat. Tiny bottle caps floated like corks in the foaming spray, bobbing in the swirling eddies. A faint sheen of oil coated the rocks, and he glared angrily out as the ship continued its relentless journey across the horizon. 

Maybe there isn't as much 'life' here as I thought.

A seagull screeched as it hovered overhead, and dipped to land nearby. He admired the brilliant white feathers and clean black tips of its wings, and then groaned as if someone had punched his guts.

The bird's eyes were covered in a film of mucus, and grey oil stained its beak and breast feathers. It gasped helplessly, and Matthaios watched in horror as it struggled to breath.

Coughing and convulsing, the beautiful spread of its wings scrabbled awkwardly on the ground as it contorted its beak. A bottle cap popped out of its throat, and Matthaios groaned with a pain so real it felt like his own.

We've really ruined it, haven't we? This world is so f*cked up.

The bird struggled to stand, but its bloated belly was no doubt full of plastic rubbish. It was dying, Matthaios realized. He moved closer, crouching to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. The bird watched him with those golden eyes, wide and unblinking in the throes of death, yet so human he felt like it was speaking to him. 

Jesus Christ.

For the second time in a short while, he felt like the curse was more like a prayer than anything else.

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Ryaki smiled, typing madly on her holographic keypad as data streamed from the company's file vaults and onto her Holodrive.