CHAPTER 2 - RECOLLECTION

Hot, stale, inhuman breath filled Nezumi's nose, those faces horrid beyond description looming in his vision. Those mangled, vile lumps of flesh hacked into a contorted twist of bloodlust and destruction. He couldn't look at their eyes, those glassy sinful orbs, for even a resentful glance into them was like tearing your soul right out of your chest with blunt fingernails and exposing it to the most malicious nightmare creatures ever imagined by the most insane alien mind. You were reduced to a vulnerable, quivering mess, your rationality diminished to rubble, your sanity becoming unstitched and torn to pieces faster and more painfully than if your brain itself was being gnawed to shreds. It felt like his eyeballs were burning as tears streamed from them, poured from those tarnished, worthless silver gems. Hot, thick blood flowed freely from the fresh wound on the back of his head, trickling down his thin neck.

Nezumi felt like he was choking as the rotten, contaminated air from their lungs filled his nose and mouth. He couldn't breathe. He was suffocating. White spots flashed behind his eyes and he could feel himself growing dizzy and disorientated. Those greedy, twisted faces loomed before him in a hazy, pulsating blur. His heart fluttered helplessly at the sight of the living nightmares, the weak pulsing in his chest only emphasising how feeble his tiny frame was. He tried to struggle, but their black-gloved grip was too strong and it felt like his body was just a lifeless doll stitched onto his head, unable to move of its own accord. Nezumi's head flopped back limply, his jaw hanging open as he felt the last of his life be crushed to pieces, darkness creeping up the sides of his vision, before he was released and tossed to the floor with a loud thump.

Fiery, burning pain snapped through his body in an inferno of agony on impact with the splintery deck, his chest rasping painfully as he gasped for fresh air. His mouth was filled with salty, unpleasant breeze, which only made his parched mouth dryer. The spots still blasted in his hazy vision, but he could feel energy slowly seeping back into him with each shaky, raw breath rasping in his throat. Why couldn't they just kill him already?! What did they gain from torturing a child?

His now blood soaked grey hair was roughly yanked upwards, causing him to yelp at the prickling pain in his scalp. Nezumi gritted his teeth to stop himself from shrieking at the awkward angle of his neck, which felt like it would snap at any moment. The soft flesh of his stomach was lifted away from the wooden boards beneath him as he was roughly jerked higher. His back arched against the monsters' grip, and he squeezed his eyes closed to hold in the tears pricking his eyes, denying their presence. He growled in defiance; a hoarse, crackling snarl. He would not give in to them, not anymore! I'm sick of this! If you're not going to kill me, then I'm going to fight back!

His resolve was quickly torn to shreds.

A raw scream tore his throat as he felt something sharp dig into his back, hacking into the skin with ease. Nezumi howled in agony as the sharp object raked down his flesh, scoring it as though it were a cut of meat to cook for a roast dinner. Or maybe he was the dinner. He screamed again as the icy bite gnawed into him in an enormous bite with more vigour, an explosion of indescribable pain shooting through his body. It felt like barbed, angled talons of a beast were frantically digging through his flesh as an archaeologist would scour through dirt in search of some hidden treasure concealed in his insides. His hands groped hopelessly at the weather-worn timber under his palms which were drenched in cold sweat, his broken nails screeching on the hard surface. The suppressed tears quickly sprung free, falling as heavily as a waterfall in a flood. His voice came out as raw wails, his mutilated body pumping blood down his sides and staining the boat deck beneath him. A gut-wrenching, wet slosh noise filled his ears each time another line of agony was etched into the canvas of his skin. He could feel his skin stretching, splitting, and tearing, each time forcing a feral howl of suffering from his jaws. Black spots scattered across his vision, his head swimming, but his merciless body refused to let him faint and become ignorant of the slashes marring his body. The pain had enveloped him so wholly that he almost felt numb and peaceful, each slit feeling more and more like a feather gently brushing his skin, yet agonised roars still rasped from his raw throat. Serrated claws scoured his cheeks, which were stained with endlessly flowing rivers of tears, slowly as a lover would cup their partner's face before Nezumi felt them hook around his eyelids and force them open. The gouging claws stopped their ministrations on his ribbons of skin, and his howls died down to rapid panting and gentle whimpers.

His vision was initially blurred by teardrops lingering in his bloodshot eyes, but everything came into focus as they rolled slowly, at an almost mockingly sluggish pace, rolled down his pale face. There was the innocent boy with the brown hair, hanging limp in the unbreakable grasp of one of the nightmarish beasts, his body completely lifeless. The bulbous head of the creature clutching Shion's sagging body cocked to the side, vile skin pulling together in a frown, as though questioning the look of horror crossing Nezumi's colourless face. It's red-rimmed mouth stretched right to the sides of its head, baring its stark white fangs in a malicious smirk. The sneer almost looked like a grimace.

"He didn't do anything wrong- AAAAAAH! DON'T YOU DARE DO ANYTHING TO SHION!" he hissed, fluids pouring from his eyes and the monstrous lacerations in his back.

Even now, Nezumi couldn't look away from the harmless, pure boy. Although every shade of colour had drained from his face, he was still as beautiful as ever. Shion's blank chocolate eyes gazed back at him, his jaw slack with blood flowing from his now dusty white lips. Red fluids stained his shirt, and Nezumi could still see little rivers of the blood dribbling down from underneath his shirt and plopping in tiny droplets to the floor.

Everything I ever care for is taken away from me.

Am I destined to live this life of anguish?

Nezumi wailed in despair, his heart pounding wildly, as the icy bite slashing his body was roughly yanked from his flesh, and brought in front of his eyes. It was a dagger, made from the same black and lifeless material these behemoths seemed to favour; not reflecting any light, just a husk of pure evil metal. His blood flowed down it like a waterfall, bits of skin clinging to the wet surface. His stomach churned and he started to gag, but no matter how much his body heaved it was not able to expel the disgust he felt settle in the pit of his stomach. He stayed there on the floor, back burning with agony with his head wrenched in place and eyes pried open by unrelenting hands forcing him to admire the limp, doll-like body of a new found friend and the horrid gore torn from his feeble body. He retched and retched, but his stomach was completely empty. The disgusting, painful contractions of his throat and his heaving stomach only made him feel sicker. His vision blurred and stinging water streamed down his already wet, burning face.

The malicious blade was dragged along the ground, leaving a snail like trail of scarlet fluid on the ground as it wove its way towards Shion's drooping body. It made a sickening grinding noise, almost like rotten teeth crunching together in a monster's jaws as he savours his last wicked feast. No. No, they couldn't, wouldn't…! But he's already…

The beast wielding the knife shoved it roughly into Shion's thigh, and the boy spasmed wildly, releasing an agonised howl. Nezumi's flickering heart skipped a painful beat as the boy's still unanimated eyes widened with terror and pain, his screams only interrupted by erratic shudders as he coughed up blood and phlegm onto the stained floor beneath his feet. His body seemed to shrink, curl up away from the blade in his flesh in a futile attempt to escape the agony it erupted in him. It was suddenly jerked upwards, cutting a long gash, which only made his cries become rawer. Nezumi howled the name he gave the boy, but unable to move because of his mutilated, useless body. Damn it!

I always do nothing.

The knife was woven all around Shion's body in a sick, sadistic spiral, and his futile cries rang in Nezumi's ears. His head began to pound, and he bit his lip to stop himself from crying out to the suffering child. There was nothing at all he could do but watch. His head was still roughly fixed upwards, preventing him from turning away from the horrid sight. Blood flowed like a water fall down his soft, youthful body, his clothing falling away from him in shreds. His tear-filled, lifeless eyes rolled up in his head and his gut-wrenching cries of excruciating despair fell silent as he passed out, the agony too much on him. The knife was yanked out of the flesh, and his body rocked backwards before tumbling onto the floor with a sick thud, looking like a half-cored apple. Nezumi retched again, his stomach struggling to disgorge the horrors that flooded his pulsating head. With no baggy clothes to cover him, Nezumi could now see how bony Shion's body was, his limbs looking as fragile as a twig. In nudity he looked impossibly purer, as innocent as a holy angel sent from heaven, even more so than the memory of those clueless brown eyes that still burned brightly in his hazy head.

"No, Shion…!" Nezumi could barely speak; his throat was as dry as though it had been rubbed down with sandpaper, so his voice barely came out as a crackly whisper. A blood stained hand shakily reached towards the boy as his body was grabbed again and tossed over the side, disposed of as easily as a broken toy.

The monsters began inching towards him again, a deep rumbling rasp erupting in their armor-covered bodies. Nezumi thought it sounded like a cackle, a wicked guffaw appropriate only to these blood-thirsty, destructive beasts of the dark.

"Nooooooo!"

Nezumi sat bolt upright in bed, quickly clamping his jaws shut when he realised he was shouting the cry out loud. The hotel room spun around him in a hot whirlwind, his head cloudy and disorientated, his heavy breaths making his bare chest rapidly rise and fall. The sheets of his bed were clenched so tightly in his shaking fists that his knuckles were whiter than pure Winter snow. Cold sweat trickled icily down his back and moistened the now smothering blankets. Nezumi slowly pried his rigid fingers off the blanket kicked it off his legs, which felt clammy. His thin shorts clung tightly to his sticky skin. He threw himself out of bed, the racing adrenaline pumping through his shaking body needing to be worked off. He paced back and forth across the room, bare feet slapping on the cold tiled floor.

The image of the crimson blood remained vivid in his mind, consuming his vision for each split but painful second he blinked. His stomach churned, threatening to empty its contents.

Gritting his teeth, he paced for what felt by hours, the image of that innocent boy's body clothed in nothing but blood haunting his every thought. No matter how hard he tried, the picture wouldn't go away. It was a memory that tainted him, chained him down in the past and prevented him from living an at least relatively normal life. He forced himself to stop storming briskly from one side of the room to the other when he felt cramps begin to seep into his legs.

He turned towards the full length mirror on the wall beside him, ghostly grey eyes staring back at him. Ever since that day, any beauty in his previously crystal silver orbs had faded away, leaving only a dull reflection of the horrors that still lingered inside. Heavy black bags that destroyed his clear complexion lingered beneath bloodshot eyes. He had barely slept for months. That same memory continued to creep into his nightmares every night, yet he was no less alarmed by it each time. It was too vivid. Too real. He completely relived the experience each time rather than just viewing it. He would wake up in the morning, screaming, and the tissue that had been mutilated all that time ago itching at recognition. The result was this walking ghost, this man that was dead and gone on the inside, nothing but a vague wandering existence to those who he knew.

Nezumi turned himself around so his back was to the mirror, and looked back over his shoulder so he could see his reflection in the murky glass.

Long, pink scars defiled his otherwise porcelain skin, scarlet markings that looked as painful as the sensations inflicted to cause them. Curved designs that jumped in jagged lines through his flesh, moving in sharp twists to the side where the monsters had slipped. Marbled, white scar tissue over his shoulder blades that looked as though he'd had glorious angel wings torn from his body. The scars' stark, vivid colours made it seem as though although it had been 6 years since that horrific incident, agony still twinged in the long-since healed cuts.

He shuddered as those horrendously graphic images flashed in his head again, the sensations he remembered too well rippling through his flesh. His stomach heaved again.

Nezumi wrapped his muscular yet slender arms around himself, sweaty fingertips pressed to the sickening disfigurements branching around his spine.

Why is it now that I am dreaming of… then? That was all in the past… I was a fragile back then. I'm an adult now… It has been years. I can't change anything that has already happened, and I'm not going to let it affect me for the rest of my life.

The broken man let out a deep, shivery sigh, his hands falling at his sides as his slender shoulders sagged in exhaustion. He couldn't let this destroy his day, after all. It was just a dream. A memory from long ago. Those monsters lived only in his dreams now, and he wasn't going to let that change.

He stripped out of his loose cotton shorts, pulling on a pair of cargo pants, a long sleeved shirt, thick coat and leather boots worn from years and years of travel. Stuffing his meagre belongings into his trusty rucksack and swinging the back over his shoulder, he left the musty hotel room.

The smell of mould and dust filled his nostrils, making him sneeze. The faint, yellow yet somehow comforting lighting flickered occasionally, bathing the lightly decorated lobby in a warm hazel glow with the brief intermittence of gentle darkness each time the single dusty light-bulb flickered out. The concierge rested his wrinkle covered face in his hands, heavy eyes slowly fluttering closed before snapping open again, looking more like a drowsy Pug than a man. He looked as though he had been doing that all night, struggling to stay awake and await bustling travellers that were highly unlikely to even consider staying in this ramshackle inn. Despite all of this, Nezumi had long ago taught himself not to be too fussy about the cleanliness and appearance of wherever he decided to rest his head. After growing up the world he had, he had learned vain worries such as that were far less important than earning a full stomach and a safe place to sleep.

Clearing his throat to catch the wiped-out doorman's attention (he was so absorbed in keeping his weary, inflamed eyes open that he was completely ignorant to the grey-haired man's presence), Nezumi slipped past and tossed a few coins on the scuffed counter. They clinked softly, a short metallic melody. That meagre pocketful of change was probably more than the overworked crease-man's yearly salary. The concierge didn't raise his head, his nose still crushed against the counter. Glancing briefly over at the computer screen glowing weakly beside him, Nezumi saw a series of angry looking errors and system failures, probably initiated my random jabbings of the keyboard in the concierge's fitful rest. A slight smirk touched at his frosty lips.

Nezumi pushed open the front door, the shrill squeaking of rusty hinges filling his ears, and he chuckled softly when he heard the concierge begin to snore.

There was one more hellhole he wouldn't have to visit again. Nezumi brushed a ball of dust that clung to his long, untied grey locks. Dreary early morning light barely warmed his goosebump-covered skin, soft clouds pregnant with cool rain waiting to deliver a shower to the awaiting flora and fauna below. A gentle breeze brushed the far too long fringe out of Nezumi's cold, stony eyes as tenderly as a lover's caress.

It looked like yet another cold, dreary day ahead of him, the visions still jabbing persistently at his head from the tightly sealed – or so Nezumi thought – cell in the back of his consciousness. The constant drumming of blood, fear and hatred he could deal with, but its significance to today was almost too heavy of a burden to carry on his otherwise relieved shoulders.

Today was Nezumi's 18th birthday…

…and the anniversary of Shion's death.

Hey guys, those of you who are enjoying following this story, thank you very much! Please review and tell me what you think. I couldn't be encouraged to write anything I do without your support! I wanna know who is reading this~