Memento mori

Chap 1: My world

A pale and blueish moon shine through the small hole of the crappy, yet clean container. The uncertain form that was curled up in a small sleeping bag started to precise itself.

I couldn't help but frown as I slowly awoke from my sleep. Despite the day long sleep I just had, my brain still couldn't keep up with the constant night I imposed. As the migraine pierced trough my skull like a bullet, I hastily grabbed the box of pink-coloured pills who were in my bag, just to quickly gulp two of them down, alongside a sip from the water inside a reusable plastic bottle. It had the distinctive taste of chlorine, but it was still better than sewer-flavoured water that gave the so-called sink I have. I immediately lied down, waiting a few minutes for the chalk like pill to act.

Once the hurricane left my head, I slowly rose from my "seat". I slowly opened one of my two isothermal bags I had, praying for them to contain at least, a dead rat for me to feed on. I silently curse as I see the empty bag nagging me. Taking a deep breath, I stood by the doors of the container that was my home, and quickly got outside to prevent the snow from entering. I grabbed the few remaining dollar within my pocket of my worn-out jean. 8 dollars. Enough to last 2 week and a half if I am cautious. I should really find a job, but I've used up every option in the surrounding area. Life is getting harder.

I slowly started to head to the local supermarket while admiring with bitterness and awe the city. The fresh snow of the beginning of winter laying down on my black fur, while the cold wind slowly rose at the start of night. I could feel deep layer of snow, breaking at each step I took.

While walking, I could see the walls of the surrounding slums, covered by the usual hateful comment.

Witches belong to Satan, not in a God made realm.

Burn the witches.

Let them hang like the cursed fruit they ate.

Freaks!

Should I hate myself for highlighting the fact they didn't use god in at least one of their insult?

Probably.

I finally end up in the small mini market, slightly brushing my fur in a vain attempt to tame it and look a bit more decent, but I quickly abandon the idea. As always, I take the cheapest food, the already-prepared-and-in-box kind. I simply take pasta and curry, simple and not too much disgusting. I slowly go to the shopkeeper. the she-cheetah look at me with nothing but utter disinterest, until she frowns at the sight the pentagram shaped blue pin. She gives me a small disapproving growl, before letting me go.

Why does she does so?

I am a witch.

Now I am probably sure that you have ten thousand of cliché in your head. People tend to judge without knowing how the whole thing work. Let's just make things clear: I did not kiss the devil penis to gain power, and I do not eat baby.

I can barely stand them already.

Ability to wield magic is something hyper random. It pops once or twice during a few generations, then it disappears. I am one of the lucky one, or unlucky, that depends on who's considering it.

The government understood the necessity of having magic, but of course, they are rule, and the rule always gives privilege to those who write the said rules. And rules were written by cowards who fear and envy us. That's pretty much why we mostly live-in containers or slum.

All who wield magic wear a small insignia. Blue for those who for mere civilian with no right to use their gifts, red for those who have a limited access because of their job, and dark for the hounds, enforcer of the law.

We look like Jewish during WW2.

People have different opinion on you, depending on what colour is your insignia, or if you wear one at all. They tend to frown when they see you with blue or red but tend to be quiet when they saw black insignias. Well, it's not like it stopped people from giving us weird look in the street. The hounds are nothing more than witches who sold their souls for a warm bed. Most of witches consider them as traitor, while it also does not prevent red insignia bearer to look cocky, simply because they have more freedom.

While us, the blue insignia, we barely have more rights than slaves. And no one, will ever notice when we mysteriously disappear.

I quickly got out of the mini market before any sort of comment from the shopkeeper. She seemed like she wanted to cause a scene and I didn't.

As is simply left the area, going straight to my "home", I noticed the smell of blood. It was coming from an alley.

But I prefer to be blind to such things, even when I start to sense the distinctive scent of magic infused blood.

I'm no hero. Call it cowardice, or just pure selfishness, but I hold my life in higher value than that of a stranger.

Suddenly, as my thought went astray, I was surrounded.

Shit. One of those days.

"Look like another freak joined our little party!" said one.

"Where do you think you're going?" said the other.

Again, the typical never-ending teasing.

I carefully observe my surrounding, using all my sense to their best to clarify my situation.

Okay, two cats, one dog. Two of them have knife. The other has a taser.

It's going to be painful.

The first cat stab me in the shoulder. I barely could dodge, but I should be happy that the knife is in my shoulder rather than in my stomach.

But the psychotic grin that harbours the cat quickly disappear, when the knife is ejected by an unknown force. I'm the one smiling, although the pain still makes me tremble all over.

It's like 1+1=2, you can't forget it.

The familiar sensation spread in my body. Suddenly, the second cat fell to the ground, projected by some unknown projectile.

Or not so unknown since it's my own blood. That is a thing that I learned to do early. And you must think it is pretty gross, and you would be right, but again, I'm not going to complain since it's what make me able to survive.

As the second cat touch the ground, the dog targets me with a hardened determination. Sensing the inescapable conclusion, I hasten the curtain call.

I covered my paw in my own blood before smearing it across his muzzle before the reddish liquid sipped through every hole of his face. And in a matter of second, he is on the ground, tormented by a mysterious pain.

Manipulating blood within a still living organism can be quite damageable for the said organism if it is not done carefully, and I'm feeling quite sloppy today. He will just have a stomach-ache for a few days.

The aggressors neutralized, I indulged in my curiosity and look at the dark alley the smell of blood came from.

Blood of children I knew now.

Their hatred had killed two children. They hanged from their insides.

They had names. Faces.

They had lives.

The two killers had forgotten the two former, and deprived them of the latter.

They say you must learn to forgive those that wronged you. But I'm not the victim.

Screams resonated in the dark street. But no one answered.