Blade of neverending Blood

Part 1. knives in the roses

an: sorry I haven't updated for a while, don't expect some sort of plan from me I am rubbish at keeping to them. Sorry again for this being shorter than I would've liked. But here wo go, I guess.

Noah lay silently on the concrete hard floor, sand had made it up his nostrils last night, he looked around. His limbs ached and throbbed more with every second, the uncomfortable position that he was in did no help. he sighed, or at least tried to before a coughing fit hit him. The rock that was overhanging him was helping, a bit. Half of his body burned with the desert sun, but he couldn't move, not yet. His clothes were torn, stained and dirty, the white shirt with a yellow tint and the grey shorts wearing away, slowly becoming yellowish light grey.

Noah Brittle wasn't an ordinary 13 year old, far from it. He wasn't a pacifist either, he was a liar, he was afraid of one thing. Fire. He hated how it leaped around and hurt anything and everything it touched. He winced remembering nearly 6 years ago. It seemed so long ago now to anyone else but for him it was like yesterday. He was so scared that he had thrown that old man the first piece of fabric he could find, made up some dumb lie far too panicked to think about it. He remembered how his parents had died in that fire and how they would write odd things in books that he would read and use a dictionary to look up words, they didn't have time for him anyway(did i use a line from those books father would write). He had ran for so long after that, so so long. his limbs were water when he had stopped, that 7 year old body was his weakness then. But not anymore, his brown eyes flashed with defiance, the forest green rims reflecting the sun like leaves, whilst drawing it in all at once. he was tall, oddly so for his age, 5ft, 11 to be exact.

He sat up, watching the shade of the overhanging rock crawl away from him. He sneezed, violently, and got whiplash.

"Agh frick." He muttered under his breath,his voice was scratchy and rough. His skin hurt, no, it burned. He looked at his skin, sunburn was slowly dragging its self up his arm. Shoot!

thoughts crossed his mind of his school, people commenting on his olive skin, always asking how he got such a good tan. How everyone was beautiful but tended not to see it and just made fussed over anyone else's appearance. And Mason. Those beautiful olive green eyes aways drew him in, the way he smiled.

NO! his mid shouted, he listened, he couldn't lose his mind over Mason again. Not again. Did I ever stop losing my mind over him?

Noah stood, painfully aware that in the middle of the desert he still though about Mason, the boy who lived 3 countries away. He wandered towards the roads shadow and slumped to the floor. Mason, the boy who's voice was like silk, Mason, the boy who's hair was white as snow. Mason, the boy who Noah was willing to give his heart to, before he realised how nieve he had been.

"Stop it" he grunted to himself looking around the bleak land, everyone knows I wouldn't have been good enough for him. Everything was wrong now, he had caused so much to go wrong that he may as well just stop. But who could ever love someone as himself as he was. He was such a big mistake to a beautiful thing. Like a brambles in a flowerbed.

But everything beautiful hurts. Why else do roses have thorns?

He was just the thorns, on everyone's flower. Painfully pretty.