Alright, here’s some more. I literally have nothing else to say than how much I seriously frickin’ hate fall. The only good thing is the pretty leaves, otherwise, this stupid ass season can go jump in a fiery pit of doom. I’ve been considering Lillian’s suggestion that I have too much detail. I’m just kinda sitting here like “…Too much detail? I never have ENOUGH detail! What is this crazy person talking about?” But I’ll try to steer away from it for part 3. (It seriously didn’t happen in this next part, but I had written this before I posted part 1. WHATEVER.)
…Unless you’re the whore for one of the District mayors, like my mother is. I don’t quite understand what happened, but after my father was torn to pieces, my mother sided with Mizu. I fought her on it; in fact, I physically attacked the demon, trying to claw those cold, blue eyes of his out of his ugly face. But one boy isn’t enough against one of hell’s spawn. He threw me against the wall and I heard a crunch, but at the time I didn’t care what it was. If my mother wasn’t go to avenge my father, I would. So I attacked again and just as quickly was thrown back. As Mizu raised his hand to rip me apart, my mother screamed, “No, not our son!” The demon paused, glaring at me once before turning to the gibbering, sobbing woman. He said something to her and they walked out of the room, not even bothering to give me a second glance. For an eternity, it felt like, I sat in pain. I was pretty sure a leg was broken along with a rib or two. They came back later and my mother was radiant. Mizu spoke to me for the first time, in a deep, growly voice with an accent unknown to me, “Get up, boy.” When I didn’t respond or stand, he dropped onto his heels and slapped me, raking his jagged nails across my face. I spat at him. He turned to look back at my mother and she shook her head. He had let out a low growl and looked at me. The bastard examined my leg, decided he could set it himself, and ‘fixed’ it. The pain was too great to withstand and I fainted. It may have also been partly due to the shock of what the hell had just happened overall.
My mother is a demon’s slut and I live in the biggest, richest district of New Chicago. I am surrounded by advances in technology mankind never thought we’d see for another hundred years, maybe more. Just about any and everything that anyone has ever been thought up has been modified, adapted, changed, transformed, revised, and improved. But even being the head honcho’s lap dog doesn’t mean I have the latest model of the new whatever. Well, she does, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s even truly the one who pushed me from her womb. She knows the demonic language too well and too quickly did she jump into his bed. But even if she isn’t my mother, she has raised me for the past, oh, I don’t know, eighteen years. I think I deserve a little something, especially since I’ve had to put up with an asshole like Mizu.
I stab my pencil into my desk, frustrated. Of all the stupid things that could happen, I had hit the jackpot. If anything could go worse, it’d be that my friend, Jordan, would get caught. Most everyone who tries to escape is caught. I don’t know what goes on between the time the human runs and their execution, but whenever there’s a hanging, the victim is bruised and looks like they went through medieval torture instruments. Hamburger meat, we call them. Hamburger is what they become, considering what demons highly enjoy eating. It doesn’t matter what district you come from, there’s always the chance that you will become the next meal for some starving monstrosity. And this is exactly the mess that Jordan has gotten himself into. He’s always been hotheaded, brash, carefree, and that’s what I like about him. While I’m the type who sits in the corner, brooding over lemons life has handed me, he’s on the dance floor, convincing girls he’s the best thing to happen to this planet, creating lemonade. I suppose it’s the broodiness that attracts the girls, if they’re into that type. Though, with the totalitarian government in place, most would go for Jordan over me any day. Especially when you factor in who my current provider is.
Because of Jordan’s preference to get into trouble and do irrational idiotic things, I always have to bail him out. Not that I mind, usually. This, however, this is by far the worst thing that he could possibly decide to do. And how the hell do I pull strings to make sure an escapist doesn’t have an execution? Or a public one at least to give hope to his family, that he successfully escaped. There’s not much I can do. I angrily grind the pencil on the letter I’ve just received, having no idea as to how this is going to happen. The penalty for being caught is death. Maybe I can reach him before he leaves. According to the note, he would be leaving in about five minutes. Five minutes to get to district Eight, five minutes to get through different gang territories, where if I get caught, I’m as dead as the people who became meals trying to run away, five minutes to travel three miles. This is bullshit. For once, I wish Jordan would just think instead of do…