Touch The Sky
Prologue: Burning These Angel Wings To Dust
Great, giant clouds of gray cover the night sky, rain softly falling from them. The wind roars through the desolate streets, tearing leaves off their trees. Thunder booms in the distance, as the electric blue lightning crackles. The storm rages, and the people fear it's ferocity, only a few unfortunate souls walk the streets. The dark, ominous clouds hide the silver, beautiful moon, and the hopeful, sparkling stars. The rain crashes on the dull gray concrete, dead leaves and old gum littering the cold surface.
A teenage girl silently walks the cold streets, shivering and holding herself for warmth as the cold rain drenches her. She looks like no stranger to pain and discomfort, her beautiful, pale face showing no signs of any emotion. She walks alone, with only her shadow as a companion. Her emerald eyes scan the streets, searching for threats, but the stunning lack of life in them would deter most who would do her harm anyway. Dead people don't scream, after all. The fun does come in the screams.
She passes by closed and deserted stores, graffiti giving the dead walls life. She pauses, noting the only place on the entire block that was still open at this late hour of the night. It is a bar, a cheap electric sign alerting everyone to the presence of 'The Angel's Sin'. The red sign flickers on and off, the red plasma burning brightly, and the young girl knows to avoid this place. She feels it in her stomach, a feeling of lead and worry that tells her to move. Drunks are uncontrollable, angry, and usually hateful at the world. She would know, this knowledge had been imprinted upon both her mind and body.
She stops, roars and screams and cursing emanating from the bar, watching in a sick, helpless fashion as a large, burly drunk man is throw out of the bar, commanded to stay out. The man stays on his back, raindrops assaulting his face as he lays unmoving. With a grunt, the man manages to make it to his feet, despite the world spinning around him. He braces himself against a car for a second, groaning as he looks around. He smiles, however, when he sees the young girl standing all by herself in this cold rain.
"Hey!" he calls out, pushing himself off the car. "Aren't you cold?" The teenage girl stares at him, but he's too drunk to care that her face lacks emotion. Or, even notice, for that matter.
"Well," he continues, drawing closer and closer to her. "You look cold. Don't worry, I can keep you warm." She begins to back up, and for a moment the man thinks of an animal backing away from a predator. He laughs. He feels alive, his blood begins to boil, the world becomes clearer, sharper. He is thrilled, power coursing through his veins. He stalks her, moving forward and she moves back, lunging. Adrenalin pulses through his body, his heartbeat pounding away. Cars roar past, ignoring this spectacle in the rush to get home.
His hands grasp her throat, and he pushes her back, trapping her against a wall. She is breathing heavily, her mind shutting down as fear takes over. The drunk inches closer, his hot, disgusting breath on her neck. "So, beautiful, what are you doing out?" he asks, no real interest in the answer. The fun comes with the torment, with breaking her spirit, and then, with using her like he would use a common whore. Just a series of unfortunate events, after all.
"So," he whispers into her ear. "What's your name, beau-ti-ful?" Her heart races, a scream beginning in her throat which dies out before ever being born. "Oh, speechless, are we? No worries. This part doesn't require much talking." He laughs, a cruel, malicious sound. It sends shivers down her spine. His warm, rough hands begin to roam her young body, running over her tight black jeans, and his face is a macabre mask of haunting intentions.
"Heh." A cold, dead voice rings out. "Now, this is a sad sight. Pathetic, almost. Then again, that would be giving you too much credit." The man turns around, making sure to keep his hand firmly grasped around her throat. A young man, in his late teens, stands ten feet away, his hands stuffed in his black, tight jeans, the silver chain connected to his pockets reflecting the blue light from the occasional lightning.
Cold, fierce charcoal eyes greet his, a stare that promises pain. The boy laughs, mocking the man's own laughter. "Let her go," he commands, his voice surprisingly powerful for such a young man. "And, I might not break anything. Though, on second thought, that's not as fun." The confident grin, however, seems perfectly at home on his face. The boy steps forward, the distance between him and the man slowly closing.
The boy disappears in a blur of movement, and suddenly, the man is on his knees, the boy firmly holding the man's wrist. The boy smiles, a cruel smile with a clear intention, as he snaps the wrist easily. "Leave," he commands again, though his words have more force and authority after his show of strength. "Before I decide to have some more fun, and break everything. Yeah, I like that idea a little more." The man, whimpering like a wounded dog, cradles his wrist on his chest, and runs off into the rain. A sickening laugh follows.
The boy stares at the girl, noting the ugly, purple bruises already forming on her pale, white neck. "Are you okay?" he asks, seemingly interested, but at the same time, not caring for the answer. The girl is frightened, by his demeanor, by his strength. She can't read him, and that scares her the most. He saved her, but had no reason to do so. "Hmm. No answer? Well, that works too." He laughs, this time from amusement, and begins to walk off.
"My name is Natasha. What is your name?" her voice is soft, but most of all, fearful. The boy frowns, stopping in mid-stride. "Why are you scared?" The boy asks Natasha, his face pained by the fear in her voice. He stares at her, his gaze fixated on her emerald eyes, trying to search the very depth of her soul. "I don't hit girls, no worries there. I've always found it a little sad to be beating on women." He can see, with an ease that almost disgusts him, the fear, the pain, but most of all, the sorrow. With a slight grimace, he decides that he never wants to see eyes like this ever again. Such eyes remind him of painful memories, the kind that destroy dreams and shatter hopes.
Natasha does not answer, content to merely stare back. "You don't have to be afraid. I won't hurt you." he tells her again, like an adult would tell a lost child. "Oh, by the way, my name is Alexander." His charcoal eyes are intense, burning away her previous thoughts and impression of him.
The storm rages on, like an angry dragon, the rain beating the silent, solemn figures. Fear lives in her eyes, a haunting reminder of her childhood. Those eyes force Alexander to look away, lest his own painful demons come back to haunt him. Memories have a way of being the most amazing thing left to a person who is left all alone, and of being the most painful thing to ever think about.
"It's raining." Alexander says aloud, though both are clearly aware. "Let's get out of this rain." he does not wait for a response, he simply walks away. Natasha simply stares at him, wondering if she should follow or not. Part of her is screaming at this chance, a chance to change things. The other part is scared, terrified.
"Where are you going?" Natasha asks Alexander, his back turned to her.
"Follow me and find out." he answers, not even bothering to look back. He will not make her come; no, she must do that of her own free will, or else it is pointless. She follows, like a puppy chasing after it's owner. Alexander smiles, as the wind whips the trees around them, the lamp posts shaking under the pressure.
Cruel, crimson eyes watch them, piercing through the darkness and the rain. A hollow laugh reverberates in the night, as a dark figure leaps through the sky.