And so I sit here in the gutter outside my house.

I am dry-eyed with focussed self-pity, but I am very, very angry; as I sit here, here in the gutter in the drizzle.

I keep seeing it happen, again and again. The flash of a blade, the cursed crimson of blood, the swish of blue as my sister's murderer takes to flight, and my sister there on the boards in a growing pool of red paint, though some instinct tells me that is not paint, a cruel knife in her chest. I kneel beside her, hysterical, but she is dead and I cry out to curse the blue cloak that did this; then I am sitting here in a puddle in the street with my bare feet on the wet cobbles. And I stare into oblivion, willing my sister alive with the miraculous spirit I haven't got. She is gone, and life is as black as the ace of spades.

Then as I sit here I have a vision, of me, the extra, the unnoticed son of helpless, grief-stricken parents. Vere alone had faith in me. Now no one has.

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Author guidance for This story

*Dedicated to Nyxie* - if not for her I'd've given up on this long ago.

This is a very ongoing work, dating from less than a month after my arrival on Protagonize, and it's still going on for a while yet. I didn't know where it was going at first (that's why it's 'mature', though there's nothing of the sort in it [yet]), but over the past nearly-year my darling Den and his story have grown considerably on me, and now I know I'd feel lost without him. I know him so very well!

I'd be grateful for any comments you have to offer, even if they say it's quite repetitive :P

Please read knowing that I've done my best, seeing that I have no idea how to write from a boy's point of view. I see this more of a character development and scene setter than a work of art, and I know the first few chapters aren't as deep as they could be.

I also know that there are some squiffy tenses at first - no need to remind me. If I ever rethink this seriously I'll have a real look at it. Currently, I care not :)

updated 10 days ago by BasilWoodall