Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of the wolf's rain character(though I will use them in this story)so PLEASE don't sue me!
If you read this please review, say anything I don't care! I'd like to know what you think
Chapter one: White
It had been along time since he had last opened his eyes, the darkness of the twilight flooded his vision as if it where another one of his bad dreams. He did not want to wake up nor did he want to go back to sleep, his nightmares where beginning to catch up with him. Yet, he had been sleeping for a few days now, and all he could remember were a few flashbacks of fist flying through the air in front of him, blurry figures of the men that he had been fighting with, and an immense amount of pain following. His mind after a while put the pieces of the puzzle together; he had been in a street fight again. This time he remembered, it was worse than all of the other fights he was in.
Looking back, he could see his whole life this way, one day hiding and recovering form the torture he faced on a daily basis, the next day going back out there knowing that he had to. That he was a survivor. He could take on anything, he could never lose. To lose in his mind would mean to die, and though he was not afraid of death itself, he couldn't stand losing. The only place he felt like he could not face where his nightmares.
It was the one place where he could not defend himself, where the evils of his past stalked his thoughts and plagued his mind. He had a lot of memories, most of which he knew it would be wise to tell to nobody, but some he prayed would stay with him as long as he needed them.
His early childhood was not his favorite memory, but not his worst (at least up until a point). As far as his real family went all he could remember was an old worn down house that smelled of rot and age. When he closed his eyes he could see it, its mournful appearance. He remembered that they lived in the country in a very secluded area. There had only been a few people besides his family living there, so he knew everyone.
He remembered clearly one time running through a field of Alf Alfa hay, chasing something blurry maybe its was a rabbit or something, the rabbit had been to fast for him at first. He ran as fast as he could for hours, but he soon thought of another technique. He hid behind a tree the rabbit was eating near. He beheld its every move until he looked relaxed enough to not suspect an attack. Then he pounced on the little critter sinking his teeth into it, crushing it without a care. He killed it, swiftly like the wolf he was. Its blood tasted sweet, and its body's warm juicy meat melted in his mouth. Then that memory of his first kill faded. He would then see his mothers face, shy and serene in the afternoon sunlight. Looking down in surprise at what he had done. He looked back confused, he was only practicing hunting like all pups his age do, but she later told him that he had to stop hunting small animals in the open fields.
"If a human sees you they will kill you my son." She explained "According to them wolfs do not only not exist any more, but where slaughtered for a reason. Any time you see a human do not, ever, ever show the wolf, your true self. We are survivors, we will not be completely destroyed by the filthy human race, we can not give up. This world is just as much ours as it is theirs." She could weep in front of him. It made him feel sad to remember her as a strong healthy beautiful black wolf forced into years of hiding and deception. She never could have one human friend; she didn't really have any friends. No one in his family did, all they had was each other.
"Promise me… please promise me….that you will never kill again." ,she whispered. She had eyes just like his, and her skin was pale white. She always looked so lovely. She was a happy memory, one of the few he had managed to hold on to. She was the kindest thing he had ever been blessed with. She taught him how to make his own food and clothing out of scraps and leftovers. She would always sing a lullaby before he went to sleep. For the first years of his life she was his light, his reason to live, to wake up in the morning. It always started out as a dream, she would be there. She would always call him in such a sweet voice. Then a recurring darkness would always overtake his mind, followed by bright yellow and orange light, and a hot feeling. He suddenly would see flames and hear a deadly scream. Then he would awaken, back to the cold back to the dark. And be alone, yet again.
He sighed and turned over on his other side. Trying to go back to sleep would be pointless just as now as it always seemed, but he really did not want to leave the safety of his shelter. Not because he was afraid, but more so because he did not want to leave his only ground at the time. He felt somewhat used to living in the ally now. It had taken a few weeks though. He tried not to recall limping through the streets hoping to lose the men after him, and hiding behind a large stack of boxes until he fell asleep. He turned over again; he could still feel the sharp pain in his left leg from when he had to fight five men the other day for food. He opened his eyes to check on it. It looked better then it did a while ago even though he could still feel it as if he just got cut there. Damn. He thought. It would slow him down for a while. So he would have to hold off on leaving for food. Hunger pains in his stomach grew more intense, he had not eaten in three days. All he had was the rain water that sat in a large pot. It was his only source of fresh water. It was times like this that he pondered leaving the orphanage. Then he would scold himself for even thinking of regretting his decision, it was the smartest decision he's ever made in his life.
Though he could not remember how he'd ended up there after his only memory, he did very well remember the day the police told him that he would be moved to the city. He was sitting in the ashy remains of his parent's house. They recalled no sentiment of grief. Unusual for a young boy who had just lost his family. But all the police asked him was if he knew what might have caused the fire. He gave no response. It did not matter to him, they where not coming back. But afterwards people came to take him away, take the inexperienced to the unknown. The city. At first he thought that it couldn't be real. It was so much different from the country, massive, crowded, and scary. No trees no grass, no one knew their neighbors and no one cared about anyone. The police had to take him from his house to an inner city children's home since he had no one else to take care of him. He had no more relatives after his mother, father, and his brothers and sisters. Now that they where all dead he was the states property. Its was something that he had learned though no one ever actually said so. A judge would decide his future now, the future of a frightened 7 year old child.
The orphanage itself had been hell from day one. He was greeted by an old wicked looking gentleman. He remembered getting out of the police car, he had nothing with him except some old dirty cloths and the bag he used to carry them in. The officer said a few things to the old man that he could not quite remember. Then he just tipped his hat to him as a kid and drove off in the police car. The old man ,seconds after the officer left, took him firmly in by his arm and dragged him upstairs to his room. He really did not see much of the house, but from the looks of things it was precarious and depressing. The whole house was dusty and dim. Kids where oddly no where to be seen, yet there where some filthy toys on the floor spread out everywhere. It gave him a prickly feeling. He could smell the tension. This was not a pleasant place at all.
They finally made it to the room he was supposed to stay in. There where three other boys, all older than he was. They only stared at him as the man who held him by the arm showed him where his bed would be and told him the "rules" of the house. He had a very unnerving voice the he noticed as the man talked to him.
"Now listen new kid, this place you live in now is called an "orphanage". It's where rats like you come to work for me. So let's get one thing straight. As long as you do your work, say nothing to anyone on the outside of this house and say nothing to the police, I'll let you stay and give ya food and shelter. We shouldn't have any issues then. Got it?" the man said. He remembered nodding his head, and wondering what he meant by "work" .With that the man left.
He turned to the other boys in the room. The first two where just two shabby looking 14 year olds, they where looking him up and down and grinning. He felt uncomfortable. The other boy was standing in the middle. He appeared rather emotionless. The first boy he noticed, who was standing on the left, turned around and sat down on his bunk. In the room there where two bunk beds, dusty drawer, and a small closet in the corner. There was no wall paper, no television, and no toys, nothing to do. It was small and plain; he decided he was not going to spend much time there.
He walked slowly over to his bed and put his stuff down. Before he could even comprehend it, the other two boys both jumped savagely on top of him, he was too small to fight them back physically and they both knew it. He recalled suffocating underneath the weight of the two boys, how he wished they would have let him go, he had never felt such pain in his life. They taunted him with their words which made tears fall from his eyes. He yelled and screamed and tried wildly to struggle free of their torture, but they had him pinned down good.
It was the boy who had been standing in the middle who walked calmly over to where he was being held and looked down at him as if he was nothing, just a roach or a rat as the old man had said before. The old boy subsequently got on his knees and felt him up and down, sending a icy shiver down the boys spine. He checked his back pockets for money or other valuables, his jacket too. When the boy fond nothing he grunted dissatisfied and backed off. He soon signaled for the other boys to back off of him as well. He evoked taking a second to catch his breath and rising too, only he backed away for he could still feel what it was like to have both of the boys on him.
"What the hell was that for!" he yelled. His hands where shaking and his face was flushed in a hot red color. He could still feel the other boys hands feeling him up and down. The boy who had felt him for goods walked over to him in a drastic manner, he could tell the boy was angry, if not the fact that when he got over to him he punched him in the ribs and grabbed him by his throat, but by the look in his eyes. He would never forget. They where blue, an ice cold blue. You could look into that boys eyes you would see his pain, his furry, his rage, and his sorrow all at once in the face of a killer. He had never been more afraid in his life, that boy even smelled of his ruthlessness.
"Listen, just for that, I will kill you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but in time I will kill you. I sear I'll beat you until your pathetic little heart stops beating. I'll suffocate you with the cloths on your back. I'll stuff your head in a toilet until your drown! I'll stab you with a pen until you've bled to death! Just for that you little bitch, Just for that!." He yelled. He remembered the boy dropping him down. The older boy walked out of the room. Both of the boys followed him out there after him. He turned around facing his bed when one of the boys stopped in the door way.
"Hey!" he called
"Yah" he answered back quietly.
"What's your name kid?" he asked flirtatiously, in a deep voice.
"Kiba" he said hesitantly. The boy laughed to himself for a moment then walked over to him. He stopped directly behind him. Kiba felt uneasy as the boy rubbed his hands up and down his lower back.
" That's a funny name. But I'm Hazard." He whispered in his ear. Kiba felt the boy slip a piece of paper in his hand. He moved even closer to Kiba sniffing his neck like he was some kind of animal.
"Call me." Was all he said before walking out of the room, still laughing to himself.
Kiba crumbled up the paper in his hand and let it tumble to the floor. He laid down on his bed face down crying like he had never cried once in his life, he swore he's never cry like that again. Tears rolled down his face red hot, his throat grew sore and dry. His face was full of shame and horror. This is where I'm going to live. Where someone wants to kill me and someone else wants to date me? Why here! Why God why? WHY! Oh how could they leave me, is my pain to mean nothing to no one? Are all my loved ones really gone? Did they not care if something happened to me? Was there no plan? He thought. He tossed and turned, never in his life had he been afraid to go to sleep, but now he could not close his eyes in peace. He didn't ever want to go downstairs; he just wanted fresh nightmare called his life to die.
The days at the old orphanage still linger in his mind. Mostly the sight of the other kids, they all looked so dead so defeated, so lonely. Yet not one of them in five years of living there became his friend, no one spoke to him, and he spoke to no one. It was always the same damn thing, every day at 4 am they would get up get dressed in aged moth eaten cloths that itched insanely and drag themselves down stair to a large living room to await their boss. It was the owner of the orphanage, he ran a few so called "businesses", and he decided who did what, as well as when. Some boys where simply sweat shop kids, every day they worked long tedious hours in the basement of the orphanage, sewing cloths from dawn till dusk. They only ate once during their labor, gruel usually. But it was the safest thing you could do. You never had to leave the house or face the boss for most of the day.
Then he had some boys go out every day as thieves. They all skillfully acquire the art of shoplifting and some robberies of small stores in the inner part of the city. Though at first it seemed like they had the most freedom in reality the old man treated them worse then his prostitutes. Every few days a boy would come back from work bleeding or bruised and nobody said anything, they all knew that Mr. Boss (as the kids called him) had beaten them savagely for failing to bring back the right amount of supplies needed.
Finally the old man did whore out some boys to certain "clients" of his. One of those boys was Hazard at one time, but last Kiba heard he got moved into being a thief along with some other kids who where getting to old, causing Boss's clients to lose interest. Kiba for the first four agonizing years worked in the basement hot and dim with most of the other boys. He learned quickly how to sew and cut fabrics to make false designer wear for the boss to sell to street venders. It began to crush his spirit living there for as long as he did. No one cared for or treated anyone with a drop of kindness. You could hear poor children get beat up by other kids, or by the boss himself. Their shrieks of pain and humiliation invaded every room of the upper level. Kiba did not sleep very well on those nights, which added to the lack of sleep he got on most nights just fearing his own life with his room mates. Who all ended up missing or dead by the end of the second year.
The boy who had threatened to kill Kiba was beaten to death by some gang over some money or something. With him gone the other two guys acted freely around Kiba. They where quite the humans, or so they thought. Hazard never stopped harassing Kiba, who grew more and more agitated with his jokes and grabs at him. However him and his friend went missing after another one of the boys got raped, and while there was a gun fight just outside of the orphanage. Kiba did get new roommates, but they never said anything to each other.
The other thing was there where some boys who got raped and abused sexually a lot. You could tell who these boys where, they held their heads low, rarely spoke, and ate nothing. Mr. Boss obviously knew but could not care less about the children's well being; apparently the state paid him a handsome bounty for taking in the children, but stayed out of his way when it came to what he did with the money. For this Kiba labeled them in his mind as just as evil as the boss himself.
Six suicides where counted by the end of the first year he had stayed there. They where all dismissed by the state as accidents. Kiba often thought about death, how nice it would be to end it all at once. It would be rich to never again have to eat tasteless gruel or sew millions of fake cloths while wearing real ragged shit. He lost more and more hope every day, every mouth , every year. Life grew dim and malevolent. His body grew weak and forever sore, yet he had learned one thing while he was there, and that was how to fight, how to defend himself when pushed to far, and how to beat the enemy.
At first when he was smaller fighting was plainly out of the question, occasionally he witnessed boys attacking each other, broken sinister boys they always were. He'd cursed each and every one of them to hell if he didn't remember that they lost their families too. He never knew if he was the only one or not, but he felt sorry for the boys, none of them really deserved it. If anything he thought that they would try to be friends be stronger be loved, instead they fought to keep their hate, it was all that they knew. Kiba knew because for a long time it was all he knew too.
He did fight one major fight when he was 9, a large boy-man named Marcus "Slayer" walked up to him one day. The boy was much bigger than he was, he was a thief for the boss, and one of his better ones too. They where in the living room before work was to begin when it happened. Slayer pretended to trip and knock him over, no accident of course. Slayer landed on top of him with obvious attempt to do more than stay there. Kiba tried to make him move but the older boy wrapped his arms around his waist. What became totally uncool was the boy trying to push his tongue in his mouth, Kiba attempted to push the older pervert off if him without much success. What was even more uncool was Slayer running his hands up his shirt. That does it! Thought Kiba, infuriated and shocked. I'm not letting you do this you bastard! He thought, and with that he punched the boy hard in the face unexpectedly of himself with a sudden burst of strength. Slayer fell over falling off of Kiba, who got up hastily and stanced himself to keep on fighting.
Slayer turned and looked back at Kiba, his face had a large gnash on the side of it. Kiba's eyes widened when he saw how bloody and angered the boy looked. Did I really do that? He thought. He was caught off guard when Slayer thrusted himself back at him. Kiba fell over again but this time Slayer attacked him with everything he had, wailing on him with all of his might. Kiba was too distracted by the pain to think of how to get the boy off of him. He did eventually manage to grab his wrist with a sudden jerk, he did it so hard and so very fast that he did not even realize that he'd broken the boy's arm completely, and continued beating the boy with all he had left. Punching and kicking blindly in furry, the beast came out of him that day, after being locked up for to long.
He could not believe how he felt attacking that boy. He felt, good. Bad good, but relieving, like he was not really beating up this boy at all, more like he was beating up the pains in his life. Not like he was almost killing a living creature but like he was letting out all of his anger and torture that built up inside him over the last four years. He did not stop, he could not stop, or at least not until he heard a cry from one of the younger boys. He forced himself to stop when he felt the small fragile hands of the younger boy shaking him on his shoulder. He turned around to see a child no older than he was when he first came there gazeing at him in shock, as where a group of kids around him that came when he was killing Slayer. He saw the fear sealed in the tiny child's soft brown eyes. He turned back to see that Slayer was mutilated. He was bleeding pure red blood, the blood of a living boy everywhere, his eyes where open but he was not conscience.
Kiba gazed in shame at what he had done. Without changing his look he put his hand on the boys heart, but felt nothing. There was mo beat in is chest, no rhythmic movement of blood flowing in and out of his chest. He was dead. Gone. His life taken from him by a fellow orphan. He killed him. Kiba got up slowly and backed away. He in his mind still saw the faces of those children staring at a murder, a monster, just like that one boy who said he'd kill him on his first day, just like the rabbit he killed all those years ago,just like the fire that burned and melted his family. At that moment he saw a flash of his mother smiling at him in that field of hay, back at their home in the country. Her… bright… living face. Then in a flash he saw the house burn down, and he heard his mother's voice, calling him one last time. No...no! This can't be real, this can't be… I did't.. why did I…No. He thought.
"Hey mister are you okay?" they small boy bravely asked.
"Nooooooo!" Kiba suddenly yelled pushing the boy out of the way running out the front door. He did not hear the sound of the boy falling to the floor as he ran outside in the rain, nor could he see, his mind was clouded with memories of his family, his mother, his only home.
Two boys who usually guarded the front door ran after him trying to catch him. But Kiba made a sudden turn he let one of the men run into him, but when he got close enough he jumped up and sank his fangs into the man's throat crushing his windpipe in a single attempt. The other man screeched to a halt dead in his tracks. Kiba knew he could see the white wolf; the foul human would not chase him now. He only stood shivering in terror. Kiba growled at the man wildly then at the house, just the sight of it made his eyes red sore. He turned and bolted out of sight of the Orphanage, with the taste of blood still lingering in his jaws. He'd failed his mother.
He was sure lots of people saw him running through the streets, he didn't care at all, he ran round in circles for hours until he crashed into a stack of boxes in an alley. He passed out quickly and quietly as the rain fell down on his face soaking his red stained coat. That was the night all of his nightmares stared appearing. First his home, then his mother, then the fire, then the dead human. All in that order.
He never ever went back to the orphanage. He stayed out on the streets surviving like the stay he was, without a home, or family. At first he could not stand the fact that he had killed that boy, but the more he thought about it the more he realized if faced with the same situation again, he would do the same thing. He wasn't sorry though for killing the boy. Really he deserved it, he had it coming, what was he supposed to do? Let himself be defeated one more time too many.
Kiba made it clear to himself that if he had to he would kill anything that threatened him, after all those years he finally unleashed the wolf inside him, proud and strong. He would not hide like his mother, really he decided to stop hiding for her. There where days he considered going back and killing Mr. Boss, freeing children who had been just like him and deserved better. Maybe, but for now he called the streets his turf, not his home, and only ever left to go find food. On the outside he was strong, stable , and determined. Yet inside, in the depths of his heart he just wanted to find a place to call home. Or at least to find a reason to keep living. With his last one dead, he feared he'd die too.