CRASHING SHADOWS AND LIGHT

PART 2

Broken Neck Blues, or Vicious' Story.

I don't pretend to like people. I'll talk to them when I have to- but only out of necessity, never choice, you understand. I find them insufferable fools, for the majority. Why waste valuable breathing air and energy trying to converse with mindless idiots? Then of course these idiots run off together and spawn even more idiots and very soon the entire planet is overrun. Earth became infested long ago- I'm talking about Mars. I hate that place. If I had a choice of blowing either Earth or Mars into a trillion shatterings of rock, ice, and blobs of floating liquid ore- then I'd probably just nuke them both, salvage what little things of value I could, and exterminate any and all lowly survivors.

I'm eighteen years old, not that it's any of you're freakin' business. The only reason that I'm here talking to you (vile piece of trash that you are), is that the author is exerting her wretched control over me in this living hell known as fanfiction.

I don't pretend to like my own life either. Though just because I don't like it, doesn't mean I feel sorry for myself. My parents both died in each other's blood when I was small. I remember watching it and feeling quite interested…What? You expect me to be hideously scarred and traumatized for life because of that? I'm fine. Just fine and dandy…Don't believe me? Walk three steps closer and I'll explain again with a foil tip at your heart and a cold dagger pressed against your pulsating throat.

After my parent's prolonged demise, I was raised in a dismal little orphanage. There- I spent many tedious hours of envisaging the death of the chaplain, nuns, or specialist psychiatrist, who had the gall to attempt to see into and interpret my mind. Foolish man. I'll punish him in a few years time- when I plan to be beyond all chance of repercussions. Thankfully, I have been excommunicated from that rat pit only to find myself in rat-central…the business district of Mars. Here, you will find such oddments as outdated herbal remedy stores- a large multitude of dried organisms hanging in windows, or seedy bars lurking in dim back alleyways, where a considerable portion of drunkards return to reverse their impending sobriety, and smoke whatever they can roll into a cigarette.

It was in one of these places that I decided what I wanted to do as a career. Admittedly, it came to me suddenly- as I found my hands stained with the warm red blood of an insolent bartender who refused to serve me potent liquor.

Hmm, I thought, what a bright colour- then I simply reached across the narrow bar and took the bottle I wanted for myself. Perhaps it alarmed the bar flies that they witnessed I had no more caring of the barman's passing than if I was squashing a mosquito between my palms. My view was that the world was far better off without him- especially when his rotting stench dispersed.

Thus, with my blood stained apparel and drained bottle of spirits- I wandered out into the alley and towards the main street. It's amusing when people scatter and let me pass as I walk amongst them. To some, it has become second nature to avoid strange people on the street, and they skirt around me with as much interest as they'd regard a telephone pole. And yet again there are others who have to make a conscious effort. These are my favourite ones to torment. Catch them looking at you under their lids and pull a gruesome grimace in return, and they'll be traumatized for the next of the week. The month, if you did a good job.

Leaving the empty bottle on a window sill to be later scavenged by recycling rats, I strolled down the street whilst looking into the hazy sky. I hate that sky. I hate the buildings beneath it and the birds flying in it. Even strange looking brown birds with a bizarre amount of feathers…that was…flying right towards me? Flapping its wings inward to reduce its speed, the large if not very questionable bird came to land on an overhanging cable a few yards from where I stood.

"What?" The bird looked at me, blinked, and began to preen its silky chest feathers.

"You'll be shot and eaten if you stay there." I said, and it was true. In less than an hour it would be headless, plucked, and hanging by its feet in yet another shop window. But the bird either wasn't aware of the present danger it was in, or didn't care. Again, it turned its head to the side and gazed at me with an eye that contained a combined swirl of blue and yellow colours, surrounding a small black pupil. A strangled cry foreign to all bird calls I knew, and the dammed thing had swooped upon me. Instinctively, I raised one of my arms to protect my face. Perhaps you might imagine my slight surprise to realize that sharp talons were not piercing my scalp, nor were my eyes being gouged out. This inexplicable bird had perched on my arm and decided to preen my short white blonde hair on a whim.

So in effect- this strange avian creature adopted a person who even kittens and puppies fearfully avoid. Whenever it left my shoulder to look for food or drink, it never strayed very far, and always returned quickly. I gave it a name- though I'm not going to tell you what. Even if I did tell you, you'd never be able to pronounce it in your tongue.

Thus I began my adult life; taking what I needed. Money, food, clothes and whores- they were all the same. One day blurred into the other and became weeks, then months. A part of myself became discontented, and craved for something more. Of what…well…perhaps that can be saved for later. The local constabulary began to pull their heads out of their asses, and actually do some police work- effectively making my area of familiarity tense and law abiding. Not what a person wants when he wishes to live his own carefree lifestyle, and as I can't extinguish the lives of the uniformed with raising some suspicion- I packed what little possessions I own and left the squalid alleyways of Mars, and into the brightly lit, if not gloomy city center. I rented a dingy little flat above a burnt out Vietnamese restaurant and passed the time in tolerable and feathered company, occasionally venturing outside to walk in the open-air markets and steal something to eat. Just as I had palmed a delectable looking egg roll, there was a voice at my shoulder.

"It would taste even better if you paid for it."

"Hnn. And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?" I glanced backwards at a young woman of around my age- tawny gold hair flowing loose down her shoulders and a basket of vegetables on one arm. She radiated warmth, beauty and kindness. Qualities I usually despise.

"Julia." she replied smiling.

a/n: Wah! Sorry this chapter is disgustingly short, but I'm on a deadline and am being blackmailed to write two chapters of another of my stories this weekend! I like writing Vicious. Because I tend to have evil qualities myself, laughs hysterically it's easy to understand where the evil blonde guy is coming from. PLEASE REVIEW! I'll give you…uhhh….looks around a day with the Bebop character of your choice! Sounds good? Then click on the little button below and let me know what you think. NEXT CHAPTER: Chapter One, Pt. 3- Spike's Story! =-=