Chapter One – Blood and Rain

The sky above roars with thunder, as the wet night continues to march on with its spectacular light show.  Wind thrusts through the streets and behind it emptiness.  In a doorway a figure stands in the poorly lit alleyway, naked, staring up into the flickering night sky, with eyes that are a doorway to a place deep inside.  Its body, erect and unmoved by the weather, it begins to move through the alley with such ease, yet the body seems so fragile.  Like the wind, gracefully it moves as silence fellows behind it.

A fifteen year old teenage boy stands at the end of an ally, cold, wet and nervous.  He tries to shelter himself with his jacket as best as he can, while he waits for the Messenger.  A tall man of six feet three inches, with a large build body turns the corner in the direction of the boy.  He approaches the boy, and stands staring in the boy’s eyes.  The boy, as nervousness grows in him and the seconds tick away, is unable to unlock his gaze from the Messenger. The boy looks back in to the stern unemotional eyes, which stare through his soul, and his emotion twists from yearning to fear.

The unclothed figure stops in the shadows when the vision of the beings staring at each other, captures its hypnotic attention.  All its movements seize totally, and the figure stands watching, and listening to what’s about to transpire before it, in these hours of early morning.

“I am the Messenger,” his sharp voice breaks the contact, as his arm moves upwards and grabs the boy by the jacket, and pushes him closer to the wall of the building behind him.  “I am the Messenger,” more piercing this time as the young mans back feels the walls unmovable force. The boy looks away, to avoid the man’s piercing stare. Then with nervousness, he utters:

“Reeesst Innn Peeeace.”

“About time you punk,” he breathes in “do you have the money.”

“Well … I…DO,” his words are cut off, as the messenger proceeds with his demands, “let’s see it.”

“I…I… have fifty.”

“The fee is a hundred,” the words are forced out from between his teeth.

“I… know, but I could only get fifty,” as fear creeps in deeper, and he notices the Messenger start to turn to walk away, “okay…all I have is fifty two and forty seven cents, please I need…” His voice trails off.

“I don’t have time for games, get the hundred.” His words colder then the night, and so he continues turning around and starts to walk away from the desperate and broken boy.

“No wait, don’t go,” in desperation he pleads “I will do anything… please wait.”  His eyes swell and a tear trickles down his check.  In shame his hands cover his face, and at that moment he begins to sob.

The messenger stops, looks back at the boy, as a smile crawls across his lips.  He then proceeds to walk back towards the boy.  “You said anything, okay then lets see,” he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out the bag that holds the powder of power, “for this I need you to obey me.”

“Obey,” the boy stands in astonishment and looks at the bag in the Messenger’s hand.  He begins to feel so close to his salvation, “What do you want me to OBEY.”

“It’s nothing much, it will only take a minute, just a minute for this bag.”

“Okay.”  Only one minute to get his medicine he thinks to himself.

“I need you to get naked and turn facing the wall.”

A puzzled look comes across the boys’ face, and then he suddenly remembers that the other men asked more directly, to him now it seemed all the same demand, as he begins to undress.  The messenger waits patiently for the boy.  The rain falls on his body, and as a sudden chill hits him he turns and faces the wall.

“You’re very submissive.  I am surprised that you’ve survived this long.”  The boy feels a hand on his shoulder, and it adds more shivers to his body.  He then feels a sudden surge of pain, as the blade goes up and makes its slit on the front of his neck.

“Rest in Peace,” the Messenger holds on to the boy, waiting for his life to end, and the boys’ body jerks, as the blood pours in an unrelenting flood.  The Messenger feels the body’s energy fade and a feeling of power overwhelms him to the point of ecstasy.

“Rest in Peace,” the echo from behind the Messenger comes like an unwelcome guest, with a sudden surprise and shock.  He drops the boy and turns to examine from what or whom the echo emanates. A hand clamps on to his neck and squeezes tightly.  In a panic the Messenger raises his knife, and cuts the naked figures’ arm.  Blood gushes out of the severed flesh and veins, and with each drop the hand grasps even tighter.

“He is one of us….!”  A shadowy voice floats through the mind of the naked figure, as its mind struggles for some kind of control, but the feelings of anger, hate and loss linger as the pain feeds them.

The knife slips out of the Messenger’s hand and he starts to feel the pain course through his body, as he tries to remove the hand that is over his throat.  The fingers grip even tighter, and then they tear through the skin, then the muscle, and crush his throat.  Finally the hand rips the throat from The Messenger.   In the ally, blood spills with the rain for the last time this night.

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