TANGO

  Asra’s shoulders straighten a bit, making him look taller than 5’4 when we reach the lip of the roof. That usual dead look in his eyes is lifted a bit, replaced with a more natural ease.

  “Someone looks better.” I tease lightly, swinging myself down from the ledge, the tip of my shoes finding a hold a chip in the wall.

  He grins, and does the same, dropping from a spot another few feet down. He lands with a thud, and I wince as his right leg caves out from under him, resulting in me clambering down as quickly as possible. Not only that, but he’s sitting in a heap, clutching his leg like his life depends on it. Crouching in front of him, I gently move his hands, which are stained with silver blood. His hands shake, eyes growing more heavy lidded. Their black and gray irises tremble slightly, growing more sedated with each passing moment. That pale color returns to his face, and his eyes roll back, his head dropping into my collarbone. His hands go slack, entire body doing the same. Surprisingly, his skin grows paler, until it’s slightly transparent, the color of silver blood coursing through his veins peeking through. My heart hammers in my chest, blood running cold in my capillaries and veins. Voices swim at the edges of my vision, and the rooftop convulses into a dark, ancient coliseum filled with screams, hate and confusion so dark that it threatens to feed itself into your mind.

  Misty, blackish red figures are mindlessly pacing along the walls, their minds clearly fractured and twisted. Asra remains slouched against my collarbone, blood trickling down his leg. Shifting, I pull him closer, getting up as I do so. His body is limp, like a rag doll. With Asra propped against my upper torso, I look around, adjusting my arms so I can carry him easier. The coliseum is dimly lit on some of the pillars with small torches. The essences don’t go anywhere near the light, almost like it would burn them to a crisp. The shadows, somehow seem to recharge him, because he stirs and pulls himself out of my grasp, stumbling. A groan sounds from him, and he rubs his eyes, lightly slapping himself awake. Manic laughter echoes out from behind us, scratchy and insane. I hook a arm around his waist, then scoop him back up. He tenses, before slumping back against my shoulder, damp forehead pressing against the side of my neck. His skin feels feverish, beads of sweat trickling down his temple. I huff quietly, and shuffle into the light, not knowing if the weird essence things would be aggressive. Asra hisses and recoils away from the light, as if it slapped him. Which it didn’t but, you know. I continue walking, a squirming rat still struggling to be freed from me. Soon enough, he gives up the struggle, shaking like a leaf and limbs limp as wet leaves. I settle us in a secluded corner, settling tiredly onto the ground. Asra slumps down, head drooping once again to my shoulder.

  “You really gotta stop using up your energy on the shadows so much…” I mutter, gently settling him on the floor, his head resting on my lap.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  My own eyes soon grow heavy, and I find myself nodding off.

  ASRA

  She never really cared to know.

  She could have been there, but you killed her. Monster. Fiablico.

  My eyes pop open, hearing the manic screams and voices around me. My forehead is slumped against something’s collarbone and I jerk away, terrified that it’s him.

  When I look up to find a very concerned Tango, I blink and groan quietly, forcing myself to look somewhat alive. Hopefully. I roll back onto my calves, lightly rubbing my limbs. He doesn’t say anything, but he wears his worry like a mask, real and unable to be hidden. I glance around, swallowing the lump in my throat. We’re in a dark, musty smelling coliseum. Essences, the fractured fragments of souls wander around, anxious and desperate mummers echoing through the walls. Crazed laughter bounces off the walls behind us, and my fingers instinctively go to reach for my sword. When I do this, just that simple thing, I can feel my consciousness slipping from my weak grasp on reality, and my palm falls dully to the ground. Tangos watching something very intently behind me, though I don’t bother, nor get the chance to see as he hooks an arm around my waist, and hoists me up, arms draped around Tangos shoulders out of habit and my legs hanging limply at his sides. Not exactly expecting the gesture, I end up tensing before letting myself relax, my head resting on his shoulder, nose pressing into the warm embrace of his neck. He walks with a quick yet steady pace for a few seconds, before a harsh, painful light stabs at every inch of my skin and I recoil, desperately wanting to go back to the blissfully cold shadows. When I’m unable to squirm free, I give up, letting myself slip into an uneasy and empty sleep.

  My dreams, as if life itself couldn’t get worse, happen to be worse. Somehow.

  Dim torchlights flicker outside my Dads palace. I’m only six in this, still soft with childhood and not yet exposed to the world’s hate. Playing outside with Farah, who was a few years older at the time was my biggest concern. We were running through the courtyard, playing tag with loud laughter and joy. It should have been… safe. A guard, walks over and catches me by the shoulder, causing my small arms to flail and my legs to stumble, resulting in me landing harshly on the grassy ground. I look up, eyes wide with a twinge of concern, though still full of excitement.

  “Young Prince, your father needs you. Shall we get going?” The guard says, face hidden by a hood.

  I yelp out a ecstatic reply and run off, still giddy with laughter.

  The dream, doesn’t continue, and my eyes snap open, flooded with tears, A muffle grumbles sounds from my right, and I look over to the noise, muffling the quiet sobbing with my hand. Tango is deeply sleeping, head buried in his arms and hair a mess of coffee brown curls. Normally, that would calm me down. But, evidently it doesn’t. I roll onto my back, and gingerly sit up, not daring to wake him. My head falls between my knees, stuffing my fist into my mouth, the sobbing forced to quiet. Tears drop down my face in heavy, hot drops, and plummet to the dirt floor. My heavy, labored breathing and the pounding of blood in my ears becomes the only soundtrack to the world, drowning me in more, and more fear at the unknown remnants of my past. My free hand traces the thin white lines on my arms, scratching at them anxiously. My drunken focus hones in on the little bite shaped scar on my hand, and I start to distantly wonder where it came from, before that even loses its importance and my mind loses itself in a blur of tears and fear once again.