Vila- Ha...ha... Hi... I have no excuses besides the fact I need a new beta. Volunteers?
Blackstar- OH, OH! ME! CHOOSE ME!
Blackstar- I wanna do something...I'm not even in this fuckin' story!
Vila- And thats the way it'll stay. HA. ANYWAY, Chapter 7, yay! More flashbacks, woot woot!
"Kiddo, introduce yourself."
The little boy cleared his throat. "I'm Death The Kid. Its a pleasure to meet you."
"And your a little reaper aren't you?" The red haired man with the blurred face asked.
"Yes." He answered.
The red haired man jumped up and exclaimed. "He reminds me of my little girl! Oh, she's so cute! You should see her! She's growing so fast! She's 7 years old now!"
The little boy spoke, "7?"
The red haired man bent down to the boys eye level. "Yup, 7! How old are you Kiddo?"
"I'm 8. I don't like number 7."
"Why not? My daughter is 7!" He said with a dreamy smile, clasping his hands together at his chest.
"I don't like 7." The child repeated.
"Perhaps because it's an odd number? Is that it Kiddo?" The shadow inquired.
The boy replied after a moment, "Its not balanced."
"Balanced? What do you mean?"
"Its not... Um... Not..." The boy looked for the right word.
"S-mm-tree-cal?" The boy managed.
The dark figured laughed. "Symmetry Kiddo! Its when two things are balanced perfectly. When left and right are equal."
"Sy-mm-e-try... Symm-etry... Symm... Sym... Symmetry." The boy smiled. "Symmetry!"
The little boy left. Lost pondering the idea of symmetry.
Slowly Kid bent down, bringing his knees to his chest to grip the sides of his flying skateboard. He wasn't exactly, say, "pro" at flying yet. Having almost fallen off twice do to turbulence, he had a ways to go before he called himself a professional...but it was the turbulence. It was. On the other hand, he wasn't that bad. He'd seen other teenagers practice their tricks one or twice in an empty channel and copied what he remembered. Somehow, it just felt right.
He looked down the avenue behind him. No one pursued him, at least he hoped - he couldn't figure out how that soul seeing thing worked. He didn't know why he was looking over his shoulder. He did know he could have beaten those two girls in a fight without a second thought, but something about them shook him to core. It was something unique -yet familiar- and foreign -and dangerous- to him.
What had he heard the tall girl call the younger one? Patty? Yes Patty. Was that short for Patricia? And the older girl was Sissy? No, Lizzy? Liz? Elizabeth, possibly?
Kid had never seen -nor heard of- them before. As it were, they definitely were not from Brooklyn. Where had they said they were from? Death City, right? Where was that again? Where had he heard that before? Death City... It was probably true -to some extent- so it would make sense he wouldn't recognize them. He doubted anyone else in Brooklyn could turn into a gun. It was almost -normal- familiar to him. He was very sure he'd never seen such a sight before, but something had clicked in his brain that told Kid otherwise.
Death City? He questioned, a Reaper? They are not even- somehow, Kid couldn't deny a Grim Reapers existence or convince himself they were simply mythical - nothing more.
They are very real, something told him.
These past days had certainly turned up long old memories. Whether good or bad in Kid's mind that couldn't possibly be a good thing. He had his life. No, living on the streets and thieving wasn't the best life, but it was his. He didn't want a pair of girls turning his life around. He couldn't go with them, could he? No, they would take him to the police and he would never see light again. That wasn't good. And neither was the fact Kid didn't know whether he had been smacked with reality or lies. That girl, Liz, looked astonished when she saw him and said he was a "reaper". That was simply preposterous...right? He had the feeling, he didn't want to know.
Kid felt his skateboard dip and cursed. He had been so caught up in his thoughts he had forgotten he was on a flying skateboard 100 feet in the air. Awesome. He swung himself off the speeding board and did a perfect somersault to land nicely on the ground in a crouched position, before he promptly crashed -painfully- into a wall. However, he fell awkwardly on the leg that had just healed -he always healed fast, thankfully- from the graze he had received nights before. Glancing up to see if his new skateboard had been splintered into tiny fragments against the brick wall, he -surprisingly- found it hadn't. Instead, it lay on its face on the concrete roof like it had fallen from the sky - which it had.
Kid took a long stride and stretched out his hand to grab the board, deciding he would practice later. As he bent down to pick it up however, purple and black shadow-like skulls shot out from the skateboard and dissipated into his palm. It didn't hurt, but Kid was surprised -to say the least- at his sudden new discovery. He looked, astonished, at his hand then flicked his wrist sideways as one would do after touching a hot stove; not out of pain, but as curiosity to how a skateboard disappeared into his palm. After all, it was ridiculous. Perhaps he had picked up on a few tricks from the magicians performing at Central Park? No, of course not. He was no magician.
"Lie no more, Death the Kid. You know of your origin. It is time, Fragment of Death." A voice whispered.
Kid let out a dark chuckle, trying to deny the voice. Yet, the voice continued to whisper promise. Kid tilted his head back and shut his eyes. Too loud, too quiet. Block it out, he told himself.
"You wish for a better life do you not, child? You wish for strength, yes? You turn your head on this opportunity and hence forfeit truth and would bring death to your life. The demon, you have furiously trapped into a form most unwanted by him, awaits restlessly for your moment of weakness. That moment will come, as all weakness does. Thus listen, Death's Child, to your reckoning."
He sighed acceptingly, this voice would not be silent. Very well, he would ignore it for the time being.
Kid jumped over the ledge of the building and landed on a fire escape. He kicked the ladder down, held onto the sides, and let himself slide down onto the street.
"Kiddo?" The distant voice called from outside.
Kid pulled his legs up to his chest with his hands wrapped around them. He wished he could be smaller, so he could hide better. Then again, Kid hid excellently. He could always hide from his father, or the teachers, very easily because they never suspected his hiding place. They never bothered to look at the spot where Kid would hide, neither with their eyes nor their Soul Perception. The spot was undiscoverable for them. After all, who would look for a missing child in their own home? A rather stupid human, maybe. He guessed that was way his father could never find him, he was not stupid nor was he human. It almost made intelligence look like a bad thing. His raven hair flew around as he shook his head, smart people are stupid and stupid people are stupid. Either way, they'd never find him in his fathers study, which he never used, in the cabinet by the bookshelf. If they did, they'd find him curled up into a lonely ball with two or three novels and a flashlight by his feet. They wouldn't though, and he knew that, but he couldn't help to think that for once, maybe his father would find him, curled up in the dark cabinet trying to keep away the monsters.
He may only have been eight years old, but he knew about those monsters. Not the monsters in the closet or under the bed; not the monsters in the sky or in the sea... no, not those ones. Those monsters weren't real, weren't frightening, weren't anything. The one he feared was the one that would look over his shoulder, murmuring "O' Child of Death, come now, come now, O' Child of Death". The one that had planted something dark in his soul, a dangerous hypotheses, a black idea. It would whisper, "O' Child of Death, you know, you know. And isn't it grand? Isn't grand?"
Death the Kid, the Child of Death, was scared and on those nights, when he just couldn't handle it, he'd come into the study. He take his little flashlight and his pillow; he'd grab a book from the bookshelf; crawl into his haven; and read. And he read until the light of dawn, when the blessed beams of gold would peak through the cracks, infiltrating his darkness. He would climb out, his little limbs sore and his eyes tired, and make his way behind the cherry-oak desk. He would sit in his father's plush office chair - which was too big for his shoulders to reach the top- and stay there. He would sit until noon, when the room was filled entirely with yellow rays of light; when every last nock and cranny had been rid of the darkness; when the soft chiming of "Do you see it? Do you, O' Child of Death?" ended; when it was all gone and he was left with blurred images and tranquil bliss.
He'd emerge from the office and go down to the dead living room, an oxymoron, yes, but it was true. No one lived here besides him and his father, but his father was never home, and thus every room felt dead with only his presence in the large house. Th void... lonely... dead house.
He'd walk to the large mirror in the empty room, stand on his toes, and breathe a long breath onto the glass. With his finger he would write the numbers "42-42-564" in the fog, then a ripple would appear as if he had touched water. The entire mirror would shine a bright crisp white, filling the dark room, until his father would appear on the other side.
"Kiddo~!" He would imagine his father smiling since his blank skeleton mask hid everything.
"Where have you been? You disappeared! We searched for hours!" He sensed a slightly angry tone.
"I was walking."
"Oh! Well, are you okay~?" His father would chime.
"Okay~! Be careful, 'kay Kiddo?"
"Yes, Father. 'M sorry."
"Its fine, Kiddo! You're growing up. I don't have to go searching for you anymore."
And he didn't. So the next time he went missing, he stayed missing.
Kid stood upon his skateboard in front of a large metal warehouse on the outskirts of East Brooklyn near an empty channel. Behind him, the sun snoozed into sleep casting long shadows with its golden light and making the air slightly crisp. He could hear chatter over blaring music and smell the cigarette smoke.
He was quite familiar with these "meetings". Two gangs would come together usually to fight or to deal drugs. He found it was thrilling to do some good -some good anyway- and fight them all, so they would hopefully never return.
Kid swiped the beanie off his head, deciding he didn't care if his annoying off-balanced hair gave him away. He wanted them to know it was him. All he had to do was make an entrance and grab their attention.
He jumped up with his skateboard and the handle of the door snapped like a broken neck; he kicked the door open; and his skateboard rolled forward. He smirked, all eyes were on his sudden appearance. Kid didn't see their boss, but it didn't matter, this would send the message: "Get out of Brooklyn. Love, White Stripes."
Someone in the dark room started shouting profanities, as he pulled out his gun. He felt the cool metal of his pistol rest against the palm of his hand. When the grip on his weapon tighten, so did the barrier around his mind, the one that didn't mind the blood. Steeling himself, he kicked his skateboard up, grabbing the front with his free hand and it disappeared.
Then they attacked him. With knives, crowbars, guns, broken beer bottles...you name it, they had it like they were a walking armory. He, however, could defeat them all with his eyes closed and his limbs tied together. They were as sloppy throwif their punches as they were drunk. One kick here and one punch there was all he needed to take down four of them. And he was just getting warmed up when he started seeing their souls. All were red and black orbs of evil. All were damned to hell. They were disgusting.
"Evil souls. Take them."
He listened and was about to, when he heard faint whining, sirens getting louder. He blinked several times and his vision went back to normal - only to help him realize all his former opponents had been replaced by ones that sided with law and he was backed into a wall. He raised his gun at the nearest cop, estimating their were about 15 of them, who all had guns sighted on him.
"Freeze!" They shouted.
Cliché, he thought subconsciously.
"Drop the weapon!"
His finger twitched slightly against the trigger.
"Freeze!" They repeated.
He did, but only when they showed up.
Vila- WOOHOO. Yeah? Yeah. Hell yeah? Fuck yeah. PLEEEEEAAAASSEEE REVIEW! It reminds me to get my lazy ass to work! And I enjoy the love, which I have gotten SO much! THANK YOU ALL YOU DAMN LOVELY PEOPLE. But seriously, I need a beta.