I do not own DNAngel.
Hot and blinding pain. The searing stabs of white light tracing up the nerves of his neck, translating behind his tightly closed eyelids. Harsh colors flashing within his mind. He dared to open his eyes, they slide open just a sliver. Everything was so blurry from the tears that burst forth from his eyes, he couldn't control them anymore. He saw the fuzzy outline of his bare legs and feet, the cold stone floor. His voice didn't register anymore, his cries fell on two sets of deaf ears. He felt air rushing through his throat, in and out, in and out, but whether it produced a noise, he didn't know. His ears felt as if they had swollen on the inside, his heartbeat slammed fast within them.
He felt it, the familiarity. He felt something connect and jar one of his bones. He quickly clenched his eyes tighter and suppressed the lump of nausea that pressed so hard inside his throat.
The pain stayed, his master swinging the stick at a constant painful and sickening cadence. The stick never bigger than a thumb, never break the skin. Daisuke wondered if there was a point when the pain became so immense that it was a sort of numbness, like when you fingers or toes get far too cold.
The frail boy couldn't remember when his master finally became tired and left him. Daisuke just lay on the cold floor, devoid of clothing; sure the bruises would begin to show soon. His eyes opened at some point and they just stared, unfocused.
An empty stare, an empty heart, an empty soul.
He had been born into it. Slavery. They had torn him away from his parents at young age, their faces only existed as gray smudges in his mind. He had been passed along, once a master had become tired of him, he would be sold again. To another master that was there to beat him, torture him, use him.
He had tried to run. Every time he had tried to run, tried to escape. He had never made it. Always at night, always getting caught. It seemed as if something always prevented him, keeping him in sickening servitude. Every time always as bad as the last. Getting caught and getting beaten. The tears fell on their own accord, a way that his body reacted to pain anymore. He'd be sold soon, he had disobeyed, no one wanted a disobeying slave.
He just lay, lay and wait for master to come back and command him to dress and throw him down, tie his hands together with itchy rope and throw him into the back of the wagon to the auction. To the auctions…
Dreams only whispered of happiness, hell licked at his heels.
This was just a quick idea that I felt like writing. I promise I'll make another chapter as soon as possible, but I wanted to submit this before I fall asleep. It would make me so very happy if you review this, and like I said, I promise to write a chapter the next chance I get. Thank you so very much.