Written in the stars (placeholder title)

Chapter 1- Girl

One swift movement-

My back attacked the mirrored wall.

sharp fragments of the glass stabbed my tender back, pinning me from struggle.

A chokehold grasped my frail neck, restricting my air-flow.

I'm-

dying

At the moment, the dew of the passed thunderstorm was the sole thing my numbing pale skin could feel; the tip of my rough fingertips embraced by the cold sensation, as if heaven itself seeped the fragment of feeling left. My vision began to blur yet I remained sharp like the crescent moon shaped dagger hanging from the arteries in my throat.

It was cold,

I'm..cold,

With the cold came flashes of a different person, a different maturity,

A different me; no, younger me

My life was quite literally flashing before my eyes in the unsightly presence of the man trying to kill me. Ironically a sight for sore eyes. But still,

Who knew death could be so cold,

so comforting,

so sweet...

No, I must fight. For the predictors.

As my corpse was slowly crippling, I could sense varying prescenses, walking towards me in loathing, in revenge, in satisfaction, seemingly accompanying me at the moment today becomes my nigh. They sneered in discontent- I was fighting with a struggle; they wanted me dead.

A haze was all my vision reaped, the stolen sun beam truly working wonders for the cult forming around me. It was blinding, a blur..

A blur,

so was my erased history.

No, I was not from those among the disadvantaged. Possibly, my memories are slowly packing up for the trip to hell. I wish it was not so

A name, something that never coddled me at my lowest point. A family, a stranger. What a life of tyranny. Must be the doing of these marked men.

They approached, seemingly chuckling at my undoing. I wonder; in pride or in ridicule. In either hindsight, my mind has wandered. Wandering farther and farther into the backgrounds foliage as if a dying wish lay deep within the spoiling amber bushes.

The frost ridden hands finding a home around my neck spewed its love harder, tightening its bitter embrace.

Suddenly a pungent smell filled whatever was left of my consciousness, casting as if a spell and untensing my shoulders. On cue, the odor sprouted now deep inside me with a painful familiarity.

Iron.

I tensed up again, deciding to keep on fighting for survival.

The bridge. No; not possible. Yet my head, turning towards the east, begged to differ.

Was it the rusted bridge? The only anchor to my joy died on that bridge however her spirit was calling me. We knew that aroma all too well. I continued peering towards the east in ignorance to the murmurs surrounding me. I only longed to find peace towards the east; something the man lunging towards me would never dream to understand. Without hesitation, he grabbed my bloodied head and turned it to slam against the wall, breaking more mirrors through his viscousness.

Blood emptied my mouth as the sadists toyed with me more. I would have been trembling with fear but the matter of death seemed to boast me with confidence. I stretched my mouth upwards into a carefree smile, offering the blood a funnel to flow down. They seemed unsatisfied with this reaction.

So distracted with making a scene of myself, I completely forgot about the poor man with the teared maroon cape in front of me, failing to tear away at my will to live. Reading my mind, the man stepped closer, practically breaking the wall with the force of my body. There, I smelt it again, the stench that could only impale me in fear greater than that of the grim reaper. The man smirked at my discomfort. Was he the one summoning these memories?

He inched closer, a wavelength away from my ears.

"I wouldn't be so smug" he snickered, a distorted version reaching my ears. He closed in, the smell diffusing at a more concentrated rate. "I want to enjoy this murder"

His hideous voice looped in through one ear and out through the other. I had no time and I frankly cared not to dig deeper into his murderous tone. Unable to handle such a smell, taking a shallow breath of what I could, I moaned

"Ar-r-ki?"

The name was simply a reflex however it pained me to say. The longing to see her drained me far more than I am willing to accept. No; was willing. This will all soon be a figment of my past anyways, just the same as where that god forsaken name belongs. At the name the man loosened his grip in questioning, contracting soon after in response to the pressure his peers seemed to be emitting. Ignoring my doubts I continued my slurred speech in vain, the bridge becoming older, rustier and far more acrid. I was desperate.

"y-ou? i-is, it-t-"

I couldn't finish before I coughed up a dollop of saliva and blood, bundled up as if prepared for this moment. I didn't know what I was saying. No way it was her. She's gone. Only ashes being whisked around in the air from the fires residue to comfort me.

After my testimony a ringing in my ears startled me. The otherwise silent assassin was spewing words, surely in response, yet I couldn't quite absorb his moving lips. What trembled me with fear was his laugh that followed. I knew the anguish of it all too well. the laughter of a crazed soul.

Pleading at my life drained corpse to take another sniff I realized,

no , this was stronger than the pain of that bridge, rusted, cherished and despised as it was.

This was,

blood.

How peculiar; I didn't feel pain anymore. Just the pressure of the man's cold, tight hold. It seems the tan skinned man was trying to humor me. Cutting his way through my throat in the slowest manner as if I was an animal to gut. Maybe he stabbed me somewhere below as well. Either way it seems soon enough, I would be crossing a bridge. This one is as old as time yet still not rusted; no, far too glorious for the undermining of something as unheavenly as rust.

All at the hands of a moon dweller. A calamity to society. A bane to existence.

At least according to the war that's been waged between our kinds.

In the end, I'm just a pawn for revenge. An idol of insignificance that the moon marked man can disregard and eliminate from this chaotic thing we call a world.

He sawed farther, deeper yet I sensed a quiver of hesitation, the words of ambition I understood earlier reduced to nothing. Vibrations were sent up to my brain, keeping me awake. He must have been afraid. How pathetic that I die to a coward such as him. Instantaneously he stopped his venture into my flesh. Only for him to slice the knife back out as soon as it came in, for the fresh air to evaporate. I gasped at the keen motion, flinching at a new pain that was late to arrive. As I fell to the floor, I swear I saw something before blacking out.

A tear.