The past, like all things, leaves a mark that lasts forever on our countenance.
I had never known that such a pain could resurface in the masses.
A pain that felt like being strangled by one thousand roses entwined in chains.
Chapter One
Still Bourne
Sunrise collapsed across the sky, splaying it's almost surreal colours across the borders. The vivid beauty lurking outside a small apartment building's windows was glorious to say the least: an awkward silence that seemed out of place in the bustling suburbia coated the air with stillness, only to be shattered slightly by small serenades sung by feathered creatures. Yes, it truly would have been a sight, if the only awake resident of the high-rise could tear his eyes from the computer screen.
The young male of about nineteen languidly ran his long, pale fingers through his white, almost peroxide mottled hair. It spiked at awkward angles due to the constant taming, and headwear that he sported. Metallic hoops and studs lacing his ears glimmered in the dark. Crimson orbs lined with insomnia induced bags were skewed into sheer hate as he gushed into the headset sitting comfortably in its respective spot.
"Okay you little shit, what's your problem?" growled the teenager into the microphone, bashing at the keys of his lap top.
"Hey, don't complain just because I'm owning you," came a young voice through the headphones. It cockily ignited the man's anger to a larger extent. A female voice rang through the background, an argument seemingly taking place. Dejectedly, the child's voice returned. "Alright, I have to go."
"How old are you, twelve?" The immature teen smirked – however, his daunting looks were in vain as his opponent couldn't see him.
"Yeah, who else plays these games?" The kid asked seriously. "How old are you?"
Taken aback, the man's tone unevenly snapped back in response. "I'm fourteen, and my mum lets me stay up as late as I want?"
In order the end the confrontation, the young man quickly ended the conversation and threw his headset off. Disoriented steps led him to the kitchen, the grandfather clock that belonged to his foster parents clipping the airwaves, ringing as it had progressed to five o'clock. As he opened the fridge door, light streamed from within, outlining a shadow belonging to another figure.
"I heard you online again Dakota," a male voice wrapped around the fridge raider's attention. "If you're going to be arguing with seven year olds or whatever, at least have some courtesy for others who are trying to sleep."
"Whatever," came the man labelled Dakota's response, "Maybe you can eventually program a virus to really cause that kid some stress," he grimaced mockingly before continuing, "We'd have to be up soon anyway, so stop complaining – one would think you actually didn't like your human alarm clock."
A smile briefed his face before his eyes settled upon his foster brother, Hiyote. The man before him was the same age, being born only two days before. It was really a coincidence – Dakota had been adopted into their family at the age of twelve, and had formed an incredible attachment to his pseudo-sibling. Brown hair, unlike Dakota's white, sat smoothly across his head and swept against his soft blue eyes. Mock-anger graced his features, which like Dakota's could be considered above average.
A horn sounded outside the block causing both heads to whip to the front door. Hiyote's unimpressed voice resounded through the room, eventually digging into Dakota's line of thought. "You going to school today in your boxers?"
A quick survey of his body told Dakota that he was not, in fact, in his school uniform. The carpool belonging to their friend, Netsuke, invaded the air, each individual ring of noise feeling like a physical shove. Dakota (after brushing his teeth) clothed himself unconventionally; the school shirt left untucked and crumpled, his tie strewn around his neck, barely tied. Pants were pants, and luckily for Dakota his shoes sported no laces. He had only learnt to tie them in the cutesy, time consuming bunny ears way, and from the violent means that Netsuke had selected to pound unmercifully against the vehicle, he didn't have time for it anyway.
Picking up his bag on the way out, Dakota greeted Netsuke with a half-assed smile. The two really didn't get along at all, but he was their only way to university: all three were in their second year. Dakota was studying music; Hiyote was learning Information Technology and no one really bothered to associate themselves with Netsuke. Dakota was sure he had the fiery nuisance at least five times before, but each time it had slipped through his mind.
"Dakota, looking shit, as usual," Netsuke complimented as the said boy slammed the door shut and fastened his seat belt.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, the ashen haired boy just exhaled in response. Netsuke was decent looking, though nothing special. He was the kind of guy who woke up hours in advance just to apply his assortments of skin creams and do his hair and other girly shit. A real man spent his mornings abusing pre-teens that were at least seven years younger than them, and then lie about their age. Dakota grimaced at the thought as the stop of the car at traffic lights chased it away.