October, 2003

He looked at himself in the mirror, eyes bloodshot, a deep, purple bruise creeping up along the side of his face from underneath his hair. A scar cut across his left eye now, from top to bottom, and it wasn't completely healed over yet, still faintly red and scabbed. Athard raised his left hand, gently running his fingers over said scar twice, sighing heavily to himself and muttering under his breath, tears threatening to come again. He glared at himself staring in the mirror, glared at what was looking back at him, hating what he saw. He shook his head, telling his emotions to piss off, forcing the tears back, telling himself to be tougher, manlier.

He reached into his right hoodie pocket, taking out a small plastic bag with a white powdery substance inside. He poured a small amount onto the palm of his hand, leaning his head down and hovering his nose over the cocaine, inhaling inwards harshly, and then reaching up, pressing his nostrils one at a time as he snorted inward, wincing and twitching his nose. He closed the bag and put it back in his pocket, hands shaking slightly, shaking his head and looking back in the mirror at himself. He then raised his right hand, giving himself a light slap, taking a few deep breaths and then pulling his hood up, exiting the bathroom into the hallway. He walked down past the lockers and the few people still straying around after school hours, exiting through the side door with his small, mostly empty backpack slung over his right shoulder, hands in his pockets.

There was a light drizzle of rain outside, a quiet pitter-patter filling the air, the trees and leaves swaying slightly in a light wind. Leaves fell past him on the street as he walked, the shadow under his hood hiding most of his face, other than his lips and lower jaw. He reached into his left, ragged jeans pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and taking one out, putting it in his mouth and lighting it, the small flame softly illuminating the quiet shadows around him.

About ten minutes later, he turned into a small alley with a small group of people, some wearing hoods, some not, all of them looking quite shady, most of the males muscular. There were eight total, five men and four females, half of them smoking cigarettes, one person smoking out of a bong. Athard walked down the alley up to the group, two of them whispering quietly to each other, and he held out a small wad of money to a large, shady man in a brown leather jacket. The man, eighteen or nineteen years old, in return held out a small plastic bag with a green, plant substance in it to Athard, who took it and slipped it into his backpack.

This entire exchange was done wordlessly, and only as he was walking away, taking a drag from a cigarette, did one of them call after him.

"Yo. Goldy." The large man that had dealt him the drug called.

Athard stopped. He hated the name 'Goldy', but if he responded to it nothing bad happened.

He hesitantly turned around at the sound of the voice, looking at him from under his hood, with the quietest of "Mmm?"s.

"There's a party going on down at Skip's in about twenty minutes, you tagging?" The man asked him, his gaze fixed calmly on the area underneath Athard's hood, a cold, confident air constantly about him.

Athard considered this for a few seconds, tilting his head slightly, before giving a casual nod, and replying with "Yeah, sounds cool."

He walked through the front door of the house, music already softly playing through the house, which was filled with at least a hundred people-the house was at least quite large. The entrance hall alone had about a dozen people shuffling about, most standing around talking to each other. Faint sounds of laughter could be heard echoing around, with the occasional clinking of a glass, or a puff of smoke coming up from a crowd. The night was young, but already there were some filled ashtrays and stray beer bottles laying around.

He gently shuffled through the crowd of people, sliding past most of them without even touching them, angling his body in ways to do so and avoid physical contact. He reached a few empty coat hangers and took off his hoodie, hanging it, revealing a black long-sleeve undershirt with a fairly decent muscular build for his age underneath. He patted a friend of his on the shoulder as he passed him, and stopped at a group of three people, two females and a male, all of whom he knew.

"Hey, folks." He said to them simply, his soft gaze drifting across their faces, judging their emotions before briefly looking around the room around him, and all the people, while they responded.

"Hey!" "Hey, Goldy, My man!" "Hey, Ath." They responded to him, after which he turned his gaze back to them calmly, a few strands of hair hanging down in front of his eyes.

"How we all doing tonight?" He asked them, to which there were similar, generic replies: We're doing great, man, the night's young, the party's just started, the booze is flowin' and the smoke is risin', so what's not to love, what could you possibly hate in here, make yourself right at home and light up a joint, take a swig and waste the night away.

That's the type of thing he thought at every party. With a smile, he nodded before looking away, sighing quietly.

"Lad, she's eyeing you." The boy of the group said. Athard looked at him, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

The boy responded by giving a vague gesture towards the large kitchen, where drinks were being handed out. Wraith gave a casual glance over, as his friend muttered "Long brown hair, table left corner."

He did indeed spot her after a casual pass of his gaze, and she was certainly looking in his direction for a moment before she saw him looking, to which she turned away, taking a sip from a beer bottle. He thought she was beautiful. A slim figure, cheerful eyes, and long, flowing hazel hair that extended down to just above her waist.

"Go say hi." The man said to Athard.

"I couldn't possibly-" But before he could finish his thought, the boy shoved him in the direction of the kitchen, him and both girls laughing.

Athard sighed and went with the momentum, casually walking towards the kitchen.

The problem with this party, with this socializing, with all of this-is that they weren't really his friends. Some of them were people he got drugs from. Some were people he borrowed money from or loaned money to. Some were part of his little street gang that did a bit of crime and got into fights. But friends? No. He had no real friends, to be honest.

He came up beside the woman next to the table, giving her a small smile and nod, waving a hand towards the man handing out drinks, who promptly handed him a beer bottle. Athard popped it open and took a small sip from it.

The girl looked at him with a small smile in return, and quietly said "Hey."

Athard nodded again in return, with a response of "Hey, how's your night going?"

Her smile rested on her face at his response, her gaze resting on his own eyes, tilting her head slightly.

"Pretty good so far, yourself?" She asked curiously.

"Not bad. I just got here, pretty dull so far, in all honesty." He replied with a truthful tone, shrugging slightly.

She smirked and tilted her head again. "How about we fix that?"

He turned his gaze to her curiously, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Come dancing with me. They've got a dance floor set up in the lounge." She said with a mischievous smile.

"Ah..I really don't think-" But again, before he could finish his thought, she was already taking him by the hand and leading him to the lounge. He promptly set his bottle on the table after another quick swig, and allowed himself to be lead, where there were indeed some people dancing to music.

"I really can't dance, lass.." He began, but she raised a finger to his lips.

"Then I'll teach you."

For the next hour, they danced on the floor like animals, giving up any care in the world, at least momentarily. Most of them looked stupid, but they danced none the less. What a wonderful thing dance could sometimes be. An expression of emotion, a way for people to come together.

A little over an hour had passed, when she turned to him and spoke seriously again.

"How about I teach you to tango?" She asked seriously.

"Tango? You know how to dance that well?" He asked, actually interested in the offer.

"Yeah..I went to dance school for a little while, and it was always my favorite dance." She said happily with a small smile in return.

He grinned slightly at this, his gaze shifting to the floor momentarily, considering, and finally saying: "Bah, why not?"

And so they tangoed during the night. She lead at first, showing him how the dance went several times, and then he lead instead. Somewhere along the lines they felt a connection to each other. Nothing as strong as love, no, but when two sad, lonely people find comfort in each other, sometimes they think it's just as good.

When their dancing had stopped, the party was nearly over. For one night, at least, Athard had forgotten about the alcohol laying on the table, and about the need for a cigarette from his pocket. That was enough. Most others were leaving the party, and they stood together on the dance floor, smiling slightly at each other. No, it wasn't love, especially not at their young and immature age, but it was something.

"We should hang out sometime. My name is Sarah." She concluded, giving him a brief pat on the cheek. "You want my number?"

He simply nodded.

"Got something to write it down on?" She asked him.

"Nah. Don't need anything. I'll remember it."

And that much, he did.

May, 1997

Athard Blaicess walked out into the schoolyard during recess, looking around and blinking in the sunlight, yawning quietly and stretching, taking a few deep breaths of the fresh, crisp air. He smiled and started jogging across the playground, hoping to find a game of hopscotch, catch or tag that he would be allowed to join in on, his amber eyes glowing slightly in the sunlight. He spread his arms out and made imitated the sound of an airplane as he ran across the schoolyard, laughing to nobody in particular but himself. The day was beautiful, and he planned to take advantage of this little recess he had.

He spotted a couple of girls playing a game of hopscotch about a dozen meters away, just what he had in mind, and ran over to them, smiling and laughing before coming to a stop and waving his arms at them.

"Hey! Can I play?" He asked enthusiastically, smiling a big toothy grin at them, cocking his head slightly.

The girls all looked at him and giggled to each other before one shrugged and nodded, with a "Yeah, sure!"

He nodded with a smile and ran to the starting line, beginning to play the game and skip across the squares, not a care in that little boys world on that day. One jump, two jumps, to and fro, he played with the girls in his grade and laughed along with them for a few minutes.

A group of older kids by a few years walked by, one of them pointing and laughing at the group. Another elbowed a third in the stomach, grinning and chuckling, saying mockingly "Oh look, the little boy is playing with the girls", to which one of the ladies of the group giggled. A second girl punched the one that spoke in the arm, with a quiet "Leave him be, it's cute..". Before they all walked off chuckling and giggling.

Athard watched them go, standing on his hopscotch square, frowning slightly and then sighing, deciding it was too cootie-risky and easy to make fun of to be playing with girls, turning and walking off across the schoolyard for something better to do.

After a few minutes he found a group of somewhat older boys playing a game of basketball at a single court. He watched in awe for a few seconds at how quickly they ran around each other, passed the ball from person to person so skillfully, how athletic they were. He wanted to be able to play like that when he was older.

He approached the group, a breeze rustling through his fair brown hair, blinking and coughing before speaking up quietly.

"Hey..Can I play?" he asked timidly, curiously.

The boys stopped after one last pass of the ball, turning to look at him, a rather tall one dribbling the ball up and down on the pavement. One of them raised his eyebrow and laughed quietly, whispering something to his friend and gesturing towards the kid, more specifically his face.

The one in front spoke up first.

"A kid as young as you can't play against us, lad. You're not good enough. Scram."

Athard winced at a certain part of these words, for a moment, before his happy, innocent composure returned with a wide smile as he responded.

"Well, can I at least try to get it in?" He asked happily, clasping his hands together and awaiting a response eagerly.

The boys all looked at each other, shrugged, and the one holding the ball tossed it towards Athard, with a muttered "Shoot, kid."

Athard barely caught it, almost falling over from the impact, barely managing to stay upright and hold the ball. The boys laughed and stepped back, watching as Athard stepped into position, looking up at the basket. He closed his eyes for a few moments, taking a deep breath, opening them and staring at the net.

"He'll never get it anywhere near the basket.." One of the oldest ones murmured to the others, who snickered and nodded in agreement.

He took a few breaths, readying to throw like he saw them throwing it earlier, bending his wrist back and narrowing his eyes. He bent his knees, then popped them up and swung his arm and wrist up and forward, tossing the ball up towards the basket.

The ball fell underneath the basket, hit the wall, rebounded and bounced over to the other boys, one of whom caught it with one hand, laughing.

"No hope, lad, get outta here." One of them said to him, all of them going back to their game.

Athards shoulders sagged slightly, he frowned and walked off, kicking a rock aside as he did, walking over to the schools football field.