Power

Chapter 2

The part of my life that I most regret is my complacency. I was happy with what I was forced to be and do in order to keep the muscle in my chest beating for however long I could. People who I encountered often accusingly eyed me when I carelessly strolled through, which brought either pity or trouble. So many times I had been confronted by police and managed to somehow free myself from their company, however, at a time I felt responsible for the devastation I brought upon every area I entered.

About three and a half years ago, when my tracks crossed with those of Les Guerriers, I had been in the small village of Putnok, Hungary. I had a temporary placement as a household sweeper. Remembering being inside at around three hours after the sun peaked, it was close to March, so the weather held a brisk chill, and silence consumed the town. Horses' shoes could be heard marching, daring anyone to move or even make a sound. I knew they were looking for me. I've always been a successful escape artist, however, I wasn't ready to leave. I'd expected more time before I would be forced to pack up and leave again. The family that took me in were nice, of course they knew nothing of my past, but they treated me like a normal human being, held respect for me. That was all I could ever tell myself I deserved, the simple respect from those who couldn't imagine the life I've been through.

Each moment made my heart leap, I had to leave, now! Attempting to leave traceless, I must have disturbed a lantern with my quick and frantic movements that it crashed to the ground, spreading glass and fire. I never liked fire, however, this infection spread through everything and caused me to hysterically search for an opening. The air around me thickened with smoke, and my chest became so heavy I collapsed on the floor. My mind registered that I heard someone scream the word FIRE and knew there were only seconds before I would be abducted and tortured of all my life's worth of crimes, so I somehow found strength to grab a burning piece of cloth and run out of the town spreading it everywhere it could touch. Everyone began hysterically screaming, which would give me time to escape without a hint of where my route was heading. Then, just as I reached the border of the village, I saw a child, no older than a year or two, dead. His flesh was charchoaled and it didn't make sense to me. The fire was behind me, not ahead. It made me sick, because I knew how this happened. Les Guerriers had done it. Their pathetically miniscule tolerance for disobedience had caused an innocent child's death, and I felt it was all my fault. Tears, for the first time in quite a while, had taken over, blurring my vision and making my head scream. My chest was weighted with the clog of smoke and my body started to hack, uncontrollably. I ran into the darkness, strained ill both mentally and physically.

Later that week, I found out over ten people, some of the village and some of the Guerriers had died in the blaze. I felt entirely responsible until I was able to somehow tell myself it was only the people's fault. If they would just listen to the bounty hunters, they would still be living. If they would have just screamed my location as soon as they heard Les Guerriers were on their way, they would still be alive, have a home and be happy. I had to find some form of justification to live with myself. After that, I lost all respect for anyone that breathed. It was every man for themselves and I made that apparent wherever I went.

Being in this man's arms, I should have felt unsatisfied, terrified or even uncomfortable, however, my emotions felt numb. My mind was replaying our encounter, every second I noticed something different about his features. The blood stains on his face were fresh and coated the snow white completion hidden by the mile high shadows that stretched from the trees as the moon was swallowed by drifting clouds. He began to seem darker, and it was hard to make out his contour outline. His face gradiated into the night sky.

I floated through unconsciousness, feeling nothing. When I woke, confusion took hold and so did anxiety. I was warm, for once in my life. I was warm and dry, satisfied physically. I thought it was a dream, not wanting to open my eyes which would illy reveal the frozen water consuming my shivering skin. I had been hungry my entire life, it had always haunted me. My stomach's alarm was what ultimately forced my eyes open and panic consumed me. A liquid feeling of fear drizzled down my torso. I was in a place I'd never been. It was quiet, and dark. The walls encapsulating me were made of solid stone and had beautiful engravings lining every boarder. I was lying on a large, isolated mattress with soft bear skin compressing to my shape. It felt so smooth, luxurious, like nothing I'd ever touched before.