Stab a Dagger Down the Middle

Ten (Chapter 1:1)

It's so great to be me again! I think, as usual, laughing with glee. I look at the crowd I'm in, and I realize how crazy my outburst seemed.

But I am! I am crazy! Or sane. I'm not sure. Those I meet claim I'm insane, but I've never thought much of it. The titles of normal and irregular mean little, and my mind's excellent as far as I'm concerned. And of course, that's all that matters.

For my situation, I find myself within a vast sea of activity. Assholes are all around! Well, that's what they likely are. Assumptions are my strong suit.

Back to these people. Most have black or brown hair, and I'm sure I'm the only ginger around. Blue and green eyes glance at me, and scowls rest on rugged faces. A laugh so giddy from a grown man must appear abnormal.

If a woman laughed, it'd be cute and alluring. If a child giggled, it'd be pure and adorable. But a lone man; that's merely peculiar to most. To me, I can't not be gleeful! Zero-One finally got his ass out of our meat suit!

Zero-One. I fucking hate that guy. I'm not sure our relation. He's switched with me since we were born, so perhaps he's my brother? That doesn't matter though, as I see him as a nuisance. Nothing more, nothing less.

Hmm, it seems I've gone off track. My mind tends to wander when I talk of that which I hate.

Right, I'm in a throng. It appears that I'm standing in a marketplace. Stands are everywhere, compacted together while the massive hoard around me shoves past each other to receive whatever the unwor they desire so much. Most are food stands, and the rest sell fabrics and weavings and... well, brightly colored garbage. That's a bummer, as I need some more daggers. I had this nice one, but Zero-One lost it. We are supposed to have a deal to use our own gear, but I guess that holds no bounds to the asshole.

In all honesty, I have no clue where I am. Yes, it's a market. A busy, ear-splitting market. But I don't know why I'm here. The last time I came out, I traversed a forest carefully to hurry and move to the next town. Zero-One must have reached this place recently, as he would have eaten by now. That glutton can't help but feed us, so I have to cough it up from time to time. I'm thankful we typically find ourselves in situations without food.

I rub my smooth hands together, smirking like the cliche villains I read about as a child for ironic value. It's time to enjoy the time while I'm out.

My legs eagerly point forward, and I walk down the worn stone pathway with my arms behind my head. I enjoy the fact my muscles flex in this position, and my tight, black long sleeve accentuates it. When I peer down, I notice the collar is buttoned up, so I pluck my fingers at them until they fall away and show off my broad chest. But another problem exists for my clothing; the leather belt is way too loose. I tighten it, pulling up my tan pants with it. However, they aren't my pants. That bastard replaced mine. These are far too gentle on my ass.

Sighing, I decide to move on from my clothes and drink. I'm thirsty, and wine sounds fantastic; especially if I can combine it with the savory flavor of a woman's tongue and lips. I gulp thinking of it, but I shake my head and dart my aquamarine eyes to every sign in my line of vision.

Merchant, house, house, merchant. Shit, this is bland. If only a tavern shot an arrow through my head so I could know of its location, I'd be merry. These houses are the same! Crappy mud bricks make up all of them, and the shingles of the roofs are an orange-brown shade that reminds me of vomit. Occasionally, a wooden sign with a lamely drawn symbol hangs, but I can't find one that signifies alcohol! Why are so many illiterate? These signs should have words instead of pictures.

My shoulders bump into the heads and necks of men I pass, and I raise my chin in cockiness for my height and overall appearance. My body oozes sexiness for two reasons; I look after my body, and hereditarily, I'm stellar. I'm taller than most men, my stomach is tight, my muscles aren't unattractively large and brutish, and who doesn't love a ginger? A proud, mysterious, red-haired hottie stigmatized for an aggressiveness most women are intrigued by. Also, women tell of my skill in bed. Well, the girlies don't last to mention, but I can infer with the pleasured moans emitted. My, they sound wondrous! Oh so extraordinary.