Warm, he was so warm. The world around him was enveloped in the red setting sun's temperate heat. There wasn't a patch of frost in sight. Overhead, blood red skies of his home blanketed the world, seagulls and storks flew seemingly suspended in a timeless dance. He curled his toes in the warm yellow sands, relishing the feel. In the distance, the ocean sang a lullaby that was one of his life. It was even in the air, the salty smell of an ocean that seemed to never end. He filled his lungs with it, wanting to capture all he could of his home.

Over the tranquil sound of the lulling ocean he could hear his parents. His mother's soft laughter, his father's gentle teasing of all that was not logical. Tears flooded his eyes - he was home. And yet, he felt empty. Looking around, his tears plummeted to the earth, splashing on the sand. Fastidiously, he moved his left hand and brought it to his right side, just below his ribcage. Anguish filled his very soul when he felt wet, sticky warmth there. Bringing his hand up to his face to examine it, he bellowed - the slick emerald that stained his hand revealed the world for what it was.

A mirage, born of his nostalgic heart. With this knowledge his heart broke, and the illusion fell away. His parents' voices melted away into nothingness. The heat drained from the artifical beach, sun disappearing, leaving nothing but darkness. He stood, watching his home disappear for second time, wailing, tears cascading down his defeated face. With his tears the ocean grew wild until it too washed away into the darkness.

Finally he stood on the patch beach, alone. Falling to his knees he screamed into the nothingness. And he continued to scream even as he felt each particle of sand begin to fall away from beneath him. Then, the last grain of sand, of his home fell out from underneath him and he too was plunged into the darkness.

He opened his eyes to the familiar, sinking feel of being cold and empty. But there was warmth too. He could feel a soft heat on his back. And he realized there was glow coming from somehere behind him. Wiping away his tears he tested his side. It still ached but the endless stabbing pain was gone. He moved his hand to survey the wound and to his shock, he felt a thread that was woven in and out of his skin, closing the gash. The rancid cloths that had been cemented to his flesh by pus and blood were also gone. In its place was a relatively clean shirt.

"I hope that's OK. I tried to do the best I could without hurting you any worse" The voice behind him made him freeze and stiffen. But logic won over his fears - if the person had meant him any harm he would not have helped him so.

Slowly he raised himself into a sitting position, turning to that thankful heat, and the voice that had spoken to him. He was left breathless at what he saw. A teenage boy very close to his age stared back at him from across from the small fire. The boy was clad in only a haggard pair of black skinny jeans, beat up sneakers, and a unzipped black jacket that exposed a well toned torso.

"No, it.. it is quite well. Thank you." he stuttered. It had been many moons since he had talked to another living soul, let alone one so close to his own age.

"And I don't know whatyou had shoved into that gash of yours, but it was putrid. I was half affraid they were gonna take off skin when I removed them. But once I got them soaked with a bit of water they came off pretty easy. Oh, and I hope you don't mind but I put my shirt on you. Didn't want you getting hypothermia or nothin' like that. Sorry its not cleaner."

He could barely keep track of what this boy was saying, he was so taken aback. This boy had saved him for seemingly no logical reason, clothed him even. He wanted to reply, to thank the boy, but the processors in this mind refused to fallow his commands. So he sat staring at the boy, mesmerized by his hazel eyes, watching the gold speckles in them shine occasionally in the light from the fire.

"Oh and my name's James by the way." James, so this golden being was called James.

"I am Spock. I am in your debt, James."

James began to talk again, but Spock was too lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts of how James's hair, despite being messy, seemed to create a halo above his head. Inwardly Spock wondered if James was really an angel who had come to save him from death. Whether or not James was indeed an angel, Spock did not know. What he did know however, was that he was going to repay this boy, no matter what it took.

James and Spock sat like that much of that night, sitting in the dirty city alleyway with only a single small fire. Neither noticed that each one forgot about what they had lost, if only for a short time. Lost in conversation they simply lived, and enjoyed each other's company, trying not to think whether or not they would have to kill each other the next day. James had after all, taken a chance, knowing he quite possibly saved a murderer. For in this Broken City...Nobody could be to sure of anyone's motives.

To Be Continued...