My first B-blade story. Sister helped me with corrections and gave me some cool ideas.
Animal I've Become
Do you know what it's like to be me?
Hah. Fuck no. Doesn't everybody say that? Everybody has a past.
Why should I be above it.
God, though, I just fucking wish I was.
My name is Flick. I'm fifteen years old. Male. I look pretty much like any fuckhead you see walking around on the streets. Golden eyes with a black ring to them. They scare the shit out of people like you would not believe. I have black hair down past my chin and past my eyes, which is often swept to the side, covering my left eye. I wear a black beanie hat as well, which really does work wonders when you have bad hair days... well, when you haven't washed your hair in near four months.
I have no home.
My home? Ask me where it is, and I'll tell you.
You're standing on it.
This dirt.
This shithole
This hell.
I live in it.
Welcome, make yourself at home. Sorry I can't offer you any drinks or food, but, oh, please, make youself at home.
I'm so cold... so cold...
Letting out a shivery sigh, Flick pulled his black zipper up hoodie tighter over his skinny frame. Flick, being 5'9, had it in his head he had stopped growing. He'd owned that jacket since he was thirteen when his life of poverty began and it still felt loose on him. But that could have been caused by his drastic weight loss form the lack of eating.
"It's fricking cold." His friend, Breeze spat out, teeth clenched, her back pressed close against the brick wall. Her mettalic purple hair radiated under the street light, soft against her pale cheeks, bringing out the color in her lilac eyes and flowing down her back. Her arms were wrapped so tightly around her own frame, her hands could have touched one another.
"Yeah." Flick agreed, looking up to the sky, then down again. The wind was picking, and he could feel it make his own clothes cold, could feel it go through the holes in his baggy, faded and shredded jeans that were fraying at the foot mouths. His necked black tank top (Sound fair, airy cerise?) did little to keep him warm, steel braces around his wrists were freezing up, freezing his veins and the cold blood that pulsated through them.
"Goin' roun' for a walk." he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pocket and turned around the curb. Breeze nodded and then closed her eyes. She'll survive, Flick thought. Breeze was always strong.
Yeah, he thought, the blade of his beyblade in his pocket glowed warmly, igniting his sould, 'time to get to work.'
After a moments worth of time, he had enough people.
"You all know the rules," he said harshly. A bigger guy smirked smugly. Flick would've said something to make that smirk fall off of his lantern shaped face, but being Flick, he would probably get killed so easily by something such as Lantern-Boy, who was about three time's as bigger and weighing six times as much.
"Ready!" A girl called out. Several people lifted their launchers above the dish.
"Set?"
"LET IT RIP!"
Both his arms covered elbow high in fingerless black gloves, Flick pulled the rim of his beanie hate fruther down over his eyes.
'Now for the finale.'
His beyblade pulsed. And he could feel it.
MORE TO COME! Review and I'll keep it up. Bladebreakers come in next chapter.
