Hiya, guys! Randomly before I went to bed, I had an idea for a little mini-backstory that I wanted to get out. Its been quite awhile, so I thought it'd be awesome for you guys to check out. Thank you so much for the support and love!
"Let me lead you to freedom."
The dark haired younger man shivered softly as he watched the street preacher walk away from his wooden post. Under his hood, he studied the crowd, watching the "followers" sway softly from the after affect of the powerful man's words.
He couldn't help but to be in awe.
He couldn't help but feel as moved, but too fragile to show such emotion. He continued to watch the crowd, taking in the tattered, worn clothing they all adorned. He studied himself, lost inside an old sweater, wearing pants so old, he was surprised they were still tied together by stitch. A soft chant started in the air, as he looked around, not knowing where exactly it started, or who started such.
"He's got the whole world, in his hands...He's got the whole wide world, in his hands.."
He studied the crowd frantically, frightened by this cult-like trance they all seemed to be in suddenly.
"No.."
He felt himself begging softly, frightened by what had become of the crowd. He had only come to feel as though he belonged, not to be sucked in by such a song he knew nothing about. His hands gripped his ears, wanting to close everything out that seemed to be locking him in. Soft tears dripped from his blue hues, his dark lashes wet from his crying.
Out of nowhere, he felt his legs move. He had no clue where he was running to, but all he hoped was to escape the beautifully demented chants that lingered within his ears.
"He's got the whole world, in his hands.."
As he felt his knees hit the swamp water, he knew he couldn't run much farther. The chants rang loudly within his ears, as he felt his body shake from his screams. He felt himself pleading no, yet, the tune overpowered any thing he had to offer.
"NOOOOOOO!"
As he screamed, he opened his eyes to the darkness. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No sound, no crowd, nothing but bright, glaring lights. Through the blare of the lighting, he saw the preacher. The preacher stood over him, extending his hand to help the younger man to his feet. He scurried quickly from the water, shaking softly as he studied the preacher. He couldn't see his eyes over the brim of hat, yet, he was able to make out the preacher's meek smile. The preacher had such contradictory features from a usual preacher, from his dark, long hair, to his full, coarse beard.
"Luke."
The younger man coward softly, moving slowly away from the preacher who stood before him.
How on earth would he know a thing about him, let alone his name?
Luke was a street walker, someone merely walking through the shadows from sun up, to sun down. He was a nobody. Someone who found his food within the dumpsters along the road, making a bed from nothing but tattered sheets people threw out. Luke's breathing increased, as he found himself near tears, completely terrified by the situation as a whole. His trembling surprisingly stopped, as he looked down, studying the preachers hand against his wrist. Surprisingly, it wasn't a menacing grip, but something that seemed as if a brother was guiding him through the darkness during the most terrifying moments of his life .
Finally, the preacher's voice rang through Luke's ears, making him feel safe for the first time in his life, and he knew what path he was destined to take.
"Follow the buzzards, Luke."