Blinded by Blood

PROLOGUE

"I don't want to, Mama.."

The blade felt heavy in his hands. The eyes surrounded him, burning holes through his body. They judged him, judged his size, his looks, his gait, his speech. Nothing was left hidden from their eyes and he knew it. His hair fell in his eyes, trying to act as a curtain to hide the scene in front of him that he truly didn't want to face. Sadly, though, it didn't obscure as much as he hoped.

Through the copper-colored strands of his hair, he saw the child in front of him. They were young, but then again, so was he. This kid was maybe a few months older than him, maybe less. A child nonetheless. Their eyes were just as wide and just as terrified as his own were. They held a rod in their hands as if a kid would have enough strength to properly use a blunt force weapon. Against another helpless child, maybe, but not one with a blade. Not one who knew how to use this blade.

"You will do as you're told, Finnigan," the dark-haired form of his mother hissed to her son as she shoved him further into the ring of ever-watching eyes. "Go. Don't disappoint me."

"Make quick with it, Antonio!" Another voice shouted to the other child, who flinched and squeezed the rod he was given until his knuckles turned white. "Be a good boy and show what Father taught you!"

Finnigan stared down at the blade in his hands, pushing his hair out of his face as he met eyes with Antonio. Both boys shared a conversation of apologies and plead and pray for some outside force to scoop them away from this. Yet, all of that was thrown away when Leader Beauregard's voice rose over them all.

"Maybe the battle.. commence!"

The boys rushed at each other. There was blood. There were screams. There were wide eyes that dulled with the lack of life. And Finnigan was praised heavily as the family for the boy lying limp in the middle of the ring cursed. Finnigan tensed as the limp boy suddenly sat up. His blank and lifeless gaze turned to his killer, still wide and sad. Staring at Finnigan's frozen form, Antonio spoke.

"Now you're just like the rest of them.."

•

Eyes snapped open as Finnigan woke with a start. The boy pressed himself against the wall he was sleeping with his back against, staring into the dark as he panted. Another body was curled up against him, clinging to him for warmth. Finnigan gently wrapped an arm around this individual, struggling to calm his breathing.

The older boy found his eyes traveling to the body curled at his side. It was a young boy with dark hair and a peaceful expression in his sleep.

Not Antonio, no that would be impossible. Antonio was dead. Why he'd risen again to speak those words to Finnigan in his dream was a mystery to him. That hadn't happened in the actual event. In reality, Finnigan was pulled away from the ring and the praise continued for the rest of that day. The boy had snuck off where he hoped the eyes wouldn't reach him and puked.

Finnigan wished the dreams would stop. Wished he could forget it. Forget his childhood filled with weapons and blood. Forget the itch on his collarbone where a brand laid burned into his flesh. How he wished he could forget it. But even in sleep, the memories hunted him down.

"You okay?"

The teen flinched as the boy nestled against him stirred and spoke, bronze eyes similar to his own blinking up at him sleepily.

"Uh.. Yeah, I'm fine, " The teen brushed his fingers through his little companion's hair.

It was thick but, thanks to him, not very long. It was similar to his own, only dark brown in color. Sliced with a blade to symbolize cutting away their past. It was like a weight off Finnigan's shoulders. His little buddy here was still too young to have known the burden. He was so grateful for that.

That little buddy, though, stared at him with unconvinced eyes. He sat up and shuffled closer, arms wrapping around Finnigan's chest as he buried his face in the thin fabric of the older boy's shirt.

"It's okay.." the little guy murmured. "We're free now. It's okay."

We're free now.. Same thing Finnigan had said himself once they both slipped into civilization and away from the shadows of their home. The words were slurred with sleep, but sweet nonetheless.

"I'm alright, Desmond.." Finnigan rubbed the boy's back. "Thanks, though. I'm glad to have my little brother here with me."

Desmond didn't respond. His body rose and fell with his breaths, having evened out into the pattern of sleep. Finnigan just smiled fondly and eased again, one arm wrapped around Desmond and the other at his side, a shut pocket knife underneath his palm. Just in case.

With that, Finnigan let his eyes shut again, praying for no more nightmares. Yet those same sad, dead eyes stared back at him.

"Now you're just like the rest of them.."