Dark

Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

“You could try and take us, but we’re the gladiators. Everyone a rager, but secretly they’re saviors. Glory and gore go hand in hand. That’s why we’re making headlines. You could try and take us, but victory’s contagious.” –Glory and Gore by Lorde   

I don’t know where he went, but in the week that follows, my Savior has disappeared. This is both a blessing and a curse, I suppose. On the positive side, I don’t have to look upon that perfect face and be reminded of what I left behind. However, I’m back to being alone. And despite the many years of practice I’ve had at this, the world feels a little bigger, a little emptier since he left. The old wounds have been drawn back up to the surface, reminding me of what went wrong, but also of what went right. I close my eyes and his stare back at me, pleading, needing me. I open my eyes.

Sorrow’s Bend has a population of about 900, and all of them seemed to have turned up for the local high schools final football game of the season. To be honest, I don’t know why I went. Maybe to say goodbye to this sad, gray town. I can’t hate the people here for their frigidity, for their insolence. Believe me when I say that I try. I want to hate them for turning a blind eye, for fearing the unknown, for freezing me out. I want to want to hurt them, to break their dry, brittle bones, but I don’t. I can’t. Because I can see that despite the façade they put up, there is hope stirring under the ice. Hope for something to change, for a legacy. To see them here, united as a town, is refreshing. A cheer goes up from all around me as our star quarterback runs a touchdown. He’s one of the few who has a chance to get the hell out of this place and go do something with his life. Besides me. I envy his freedom. He can choose his future. Everything is decided for me. His dark eyes sweep the crowd and over me. He doesn’t know me past my reputation, like most people. His name is Chase Heron, and for at least one night, he will get to be a champion. If I stay, will I ever know that feeling? The flush of victory, the burn of glory, are naught but an echo of a sensation now. I remember my pulse pound, sweat dripping off my face, my hair flying, metal clashing against skin and bone and teeth, my limbs flailing, spinning and kicking… all things good seem to be rooted in memory now. So maybe it's time I make some more. The Sorrow’s Bend Banshees are sort of like the heroes of this town. When they ride throughout the streets, clad in purple and silver jersey’s,  they rule the town. I knew days of that same wild freedom. With Him. Running through the fields in the light of the moon, screaming loud enough to drown out the wail of the demons. My Savior envied Him, I think. Hated me for loving Him. So he tried to break me. I’m not sure if he succeeded or not.

Another cheer echoes through the stadium. I check the score. Home: 31, Visitors: 25. So they have a reason to celebrate. And they will, tonight. And now I pledge to myself, that for my final night as someone else, I will make my own legacy, make a mark here. Because after today, there is no more hiding. I will have no choice but to be no one but myself, and that makes me vulnerable. So I will be a champion, in my own way. I promise myself, this will be the last night of being broken. Tomorrow, I will start living again.

***

The blare of electric pop music and drunken cheers fill the air. Colored lights flash against the windows, and the smell of smoke is strong and heavy. Instantly, my feet reposition themselves to turn and flee. But I am done running away. I force myself to enter the party, the swell of noise and heat reaching an almost unbearable state. The crushing mass of bodies consumes me like the ocean, and I am carried by the tide, towards the center of the room. I can feel my pulse, everyone's pulse, we are one with the music. Someone passes me a glass but I decline. My eyes are already blurring, and I need to stay as alert as possible. I force my way to the edge of the party, where groups of tables have been set up. There is one unoccupied seat left, so I take it. Across from me is a girl. She's pretty, but clearly doesn't know it. Her intense green eyes are lined with dark gray, and heavy bronzer is swept under her cheekbones. Silvers and blacks swirl around her eyes, and she is dusted with a coating of glitter. The overall effect is dazzling but in a godly sense, and I am afraid to approach her. Her light copper hair is messy and swept to the side, revealing a tattoo of birds along her collar bone. She's wearing a loose black shirt with a graphic design, swept off her shoulder, and  high-waisted shorts covered in embellishments. I am instantly intimidated by this girl. She radiates an air of enticing wildness, and her eyes size me up, judging me.

    I start to speak but she cuts me off.

     "So where's your weapon?" she asks

     "I'm sorry- what?"

     "Your weapon. Where is it?"

     "I don't know what you're talking about."

      "Oh don't play like that. You're kind always bring a boatload of backup wherever you go. So melodramatic." she sighs

      "I honestly don't know what the hell you're talking about." My fingers grip the blade tucked into the waistband of my jeans.

       She smiles, eyes flashing. Something is wrong, very wrong. Electricity rips of my arm. No, not now, it can't be now. My eyes blur and I double over. Strangely, this girl stays in focus, grinning at me. Her tattooed birds flap their wings and fly along her neck and to her mouth. She breathes out, and huge black ravens erupt forth clawing and screaming. I cry out and reach for my knife, but I'm too slow. They rip into my shoulder, tearing the fabrics of my shirt and leaving blood dripping down. This is wrong, all wrong. My fingers fumble until I grasp the hilt and pull it forth. The blade glimmers dully, and my hold on it is awkward. For one thing, I've had an abominable lack of practice, and for another, I miss my weapons. The comfortable way my fingers have molded them to fit me perfectly, the way they seem to know me, have a mind of their own. this borrowed blade is uncomfortable in my grip, but it's the best I can do right now. I slice at the talons that hold me, and the birds shriek and flap back into the open mouth of the girl, repositioning themselves on her shoulder. Her eyes flash dangerously and silver edges itself across her skin. She's a demon. But why is she here? How is she here? She bares her teeth and lunges at me. I sidestep, but my reflexes are slow and her nails rake across my side, stinging. Adrenaline surges through me, and a veil passes over my eyes. The room fades away and in it's place are old ruins and a sky like an old bruise. I duck behind a pillar as she spits poison at me. I don't understand what is going on, but I don't have time to think. I dart up the crumbling stairs as the demon rounds the corner. I somersault and land on my feet as acid splatters against the wall where my head had been just moments ago. She's momentarily disoriented so I flip over her and land behind her. She hears the clatter of my boots against the stone and starts to whirl around, but I dig my blade into the crevice of her neck. she struggles for a moment, then falls still, ink-like blood seeping out of the hole I've made. I guess I've retained a certain amount of skill. My pulse is racing , beads of sweat forming on my brow, but I feel alive, I feel... triumphant. This has reminded me of what it really means to do what I am returning to. It means glory. It means power. It means no mercy.