A/N : I'm planning on contuing this story, but what do you thing? I was thinking about making it into a chack, or adventure, or both, it depends.
This is a bit short, but it's a taste, and don't worry the other chapters will have dialogue and other "persons" (first, third). If you have any questions, feel free to ask.
~Prolouge~
Jack Spicer wasn't always an albino, and no one knew why he was, or maybe they didn't care. His parents didn't care, but they knew, they stayed as far away from their bastard boy as possible. He was a reminder of the before, a painful memory that torn away at their inner selves, not that they had much soul left in either of them. The monks, no, they didn't question Jack's oddity. To them, Jack was a simple fool, blessed in one way, a knowledge of mechanics. Chase, the one who Jack looked upto, well, he didn't even notice Jack. And when he did, there was a look of scorn that was etched across his face. A look Jack had know to well before even knowing of the mighty dragon. Jack spicer wasn't always a freak, he wasn't always so sad, so depressed. He used to be happy, free from the plague of human memory. But, that was before....before the days of the lab. The experimentation lab. Jack was once quite the handsome young man, soft, wonderful blue eyes, and silk brown hair, but that changed, everything changed. Jack was just a child.
Now Jack had red eyes, the color of spilt blood, forced from the flesh of the innocent. The color of poisons and acids, the color of exposed muscle and certain insects that slid beneath your skin, the color of hot flames. All tied in with pain. Pain was a part of Jack, and Jack used to question why. But he doesn't anymore, there's no point, no point at all. Everyone else, everyone who had suffered like Jack, they all have dull unseeing eyes, and may no longer even have eyes. Jack hates his eyes, because they've seen things that burned him, that destroyed Jack, that still hurt Jack, and they are a constant reminder of........... Jack hates all of his senses, exspecially touch, oh dear unforgiving lord, touch stings, it burns, it reminds. And Jack hates to be reminded. So Jack hates sleeping too, because his dreams always hurt him. Always.
Jack once thought it would be cool to have red eyes, he was just a child, a stupid child. Jack would rather die now. The pain, the memories, his eyes are a knife that viciously stab him. He likes his gogles though, he can't see when he wears them. Sometimes I wish I was blind. Jack doesn't have red hair, it's white, soft as freshly fallen snow. Snow is so cold, so bitter. He died it red though, he himself doesn't even know why. Jack doesn't like his hair, but he despises his eyes. I'm the bastard boy, cursed the day I was born.He doesn't like to think to much of.....before. It was best for him not to pay attention to the future, not to dwell on the past, but to live in a sleep like trance, moving and breathing, actions taking place, but yet, feeling like he was watching himself. That all changed when Jack started showing up at the showdowns, he stopped the trance, he lived. He looked to the future, and tortured himself the the past. But then, when he couldn't take it any longer, he stopped. It wasn't like he could be evil, he knew what true evil was, genocide, rape, incest, serial killers, ect. He wasn't evil, neither were most of the people who claimed to be. He stopped living a child's game, that's all it really was. He stopped living, and continued on with his trance. Nobody knew why he stopped, or that he had stopped at all, or maybe.....they just didn't care. Right?
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