A PAST TO FORGET ✓

Chapter IV

(edited)

—"Handsome, like a frozen face, tear tracked, when the sun hammers down.

Handsome as life and poison.

Sun-blood handsome. Bleeding sun."—

-Lucie Thesee, tr. by Richard Archambeau, from 'Poem,' wr. c. 1994

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E L I J A H

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March 15, 2010.

-New York. USA.

'Psychopath,"

His hits got harder, and it hurts so bad. Bad as being glazed and burned down from the sun as your skin continued burning, even after the shades came in at night.

But, the pain just wasn't from the hits. His heart hurt more than his body, aching afterward. He lay painfully in the dark, the cold tiles of the basement that gave him comfort and warmth no one else could, after every beating. Dad had thought he was lying about everything because he loved the woman that was the boys' mother.

Even though she hurts the boy more than his dad. He cried to sleep, tears streaming down his cheeks, his black eyes glossy as he got tired of crying. the owls in the night hooted at him, lulling him to a night of sleep away from misery.

He loved to sleep until he hated it.

"Dishonorable,"

The noises, the sounds, and her voice woke him up with cold sweat at night. The alcohol bottle came flying toward his head, only missing by a small millimeter, it could have hit his head. Leading to the stitches that, had already been done.

Several times before.

"Lying animal."

Elijah woke up after a broken sleep, his breathing rapid and heavy. His grey eyes were teary as he put his head in between his hands. Hitting the side of his head as he cursed out the medication that was torturing his mind, once again.

He had dragged himself out of his dreams sometimes; they took place irrelevantly. Some of them were worse than the others and he couldn't wake himself. He got out of bed as he changed, his feet dragging him to the alleyways and downtown, the darkest and easiest place to kill people in the alleyways of New York City.

As he walked out of his apartment and onto his motor, which he only used when being, undercover. Elijah had pulled the hood over his head, and then as he started his bike, he drove off into the darkness of the night. The streets were empty and filled with smoke.

It was and smoke had made a standing in the country. His cloak covered most of his body, the hood had hidden his face. And as he heard a girl's cry, the man parked his vehicle, the sound getting louder immensely as he turned the motor off. Two large-looking men he had seen behind his grey eyes. That had been messing with an infant.

The little girl had tears streaming down her face as they continued messing with her in the corner of the alleys and streets. The man clenched his jaw in anger.

The little girl let out a cry of pain. "Sir, let me go, please."

Her grammar was not in place, and her pronunciation of words was not, right. She was a little girl, after all. And as the silhouette of the young man was now being seen. The two fairly large men turned towards him.