03-11-2008, 12:26 AM
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - How wandering did ease the soul. Beppe had almost always been in passing lately, wandering through old human buildings or skipping hopeless stones into the Atlantic. He stopped only occasionally to speak to someone, let some of his neglected English squeak its hinges, but other than that he had been keeping to himself. His mother had gone, Empusa had gone... The boy's personality, soul itself, was so dependent on his mother that when she was gone he wasn't sure how he should act, and it was through her absense that Beppe was beginning to figure out who he was.
In the meantime he had found himself a new friend, someone who seemed to match his mood at the time, and he hoped they would grow closer. Beppe had never really had a friend before; Empusa came close, but he hadn't seen her for quite a while. The boy had always thought himself as a bit of a clown, a fool for hire, but after spending two months or so of being a pensive, quiet thing he was beginning to reevaluate that. He did not like attention as much, he was not driven to ecstacy by the raucous laughter of others. He liked fleeting demismiles and gentle gestures. Anything that showed that he was not just a passing fad.
He should have known better than to wander around the human city in the dark. The shadows of tall buildings engulfed his black form, and the stars that were so clear from where he slept looked as if they were twinkling shyly through rust stained glass. This world was not nice; Beppe could tell by the stench that filled the alleyways, the broken glass and the crude paintings; oh, what had he gotten himself into? He didn't know the way back, he had become disoriented in the dark, and now the boy could only hope that he would stumble on a familiar street or building and be able to make his way home from there.
In midstep, he paused. Beneath the heavy scent of old alcohol and soggy cigarettes, the boy sensed something else. For a moment he couldn't even put a name to it, but it made his heart lift a little. Funny, how the way something looked at a certain angle, or a certain scent, could do that to someone. Eyes wide, he looked around, knowing that whatever it was should be so close he should be able to see it. Black is a difficult color to see in the night, though, and he didn't see the form until it started to move again.
For a moment he just stood there, scolding himself. That old ghost again, that old ghost that had been following him around for so long. He knew better than to chase it, it would only disappear and leave him panting and cold fingered and even more miserable than ever. The boy's eyes followed it for another moment; something didn't seem quite right about it. The thing that he had been seeing everywhere was cheerful, and this one was decidedly not. In one moment he was unconvinced; in the next he was running towards it, ignoring the threat of glass on the ground, ignoring any inhibitions. "Mamma?!" he cried as he ran, stopping in front of her as he remembered the pain with which she seemed to be walking.
Bending his knees to look up into her face -- boy, had he grown since she had left -- he lifted a hand to her jaw. His breath heaved in his lungs and he didn't speak again, leaving his shimmering brown eyes to do all the talking. on the side of the ghost and the King |