D3 // OPIUS POE HOLMES [DONE]

Oh, whoa, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, whoa. Oh, whoa, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, whoa. B-B-B-Be careful making wishes in the dark, dark Can't be sure when they've hit their mark, mark And besides in the mean, mean time

It was dark. But then one would expect it to be dark at night. And it was, it really was dark, the sun had sunk far below the horizon, so far that not even fine streaks of light could be glimpsed if you focused your eyes on the spot where it had disappeared. There was nothing there, but blackness. The air clung tightly to your chest as you breathed, cool and crisp it was the kind of night that spoke of silence and the eerie sounds of voices and movement seemed to increase tenfold. It was hard to stay silent on a night where there was no noise what so ever and the only sound that could be heard was the distant, but familiar hum of an electric fence. Or the odd, evenly paced out sound of the beating, beating feet of peacekeepers (They seemed to wave it in everyone's face that they had nothing and no one to fear. They could be as loud as they wanted to be with no fear of anyone saying or doing anything, it was because they could, they were the law and no one can stand against the law and live) as they marched through the darkened streets. It was like always, they always moved, searching and gazing down each alley and each road. Everyone knew what they were trying to find. They searched for those few souls that dared to challenge their authority and their rule; they searched with the aggression of a caged bear to hunt them down and flay them and whip them into submission. And everyone, no matter how brave they were was scared that one day they would be found. Those that spoke differently were lying, I lied, I lied because you had to act brave to be seen as such but I knew I was scared. I knew I was. 

I knew that I could not and would not survive another round of interrogation. I had passed my luck off too many times. I had been captured and caught and hurt and bashed too much. No luck had left and knew next time would be my last. Four times would astound most people, and most of all surviving four times. It was the pride and soul of my bravery. I liked it. I liked knowing that I had that restraint and strength to survive four interrogation sessions and to come out not exactly as I once was, but close enough. I can believe that I had lost little of my sanity, because I can trust in myself to see that. But I was afraid. I did not want to go through more of that pain. The last round had been almost unbearable to the point where I had almost, almost attempted to end my own life. I would never give information away, no. I’d rather die than betray the remnants of a family that I have. Because this family I have isn’t much, but they are all I have and I might be a trouble maker and downright unbearable, but I’m strong enough to know that whatever I am put through I’ll never speak. I know I can say that with confidence. The others can say it, oh it is so, so, so easy to speak such words with a careless flip of your hand as if it doesn’t matter. As if you could simply know that you would withhold information as someone drags a burning iron over your skin. They wave it off and dismiss the very idea that they would never speak and I don’t trust them because of that. Unless you have faced what I have and actually been through those events that can leave you scarred then you will never know how you will react. 

I have little reserves for the idea of going through it all again. In that one thing my confidence has wavered. I know I am the best thief and best at almost everything in the gang, but I don’t want it again. I’m not sure any of them would understand that. Sometimes I’ve fooled myself into believing that the boy with the short cropped black hair and deathly brown eyes is just something they see. They don’t see the scars. None of them do, I’m sure they know they are there, but they can’t see them the way I can. The streets offered a kind of freedom that no one could escape or run away from. It was tantalizing to think of the way you could own the streets when you were in my position. I had come to not fear the peacekeeper’s they were not like the other things I had gone through, they were a lot less frightening and allow I knew that escaping from them was a lot less inevitable they were altogether not very intimidating. So I could with an ease of experience slide along the walls of houses. And into the danger of a world I had come to love. Capture had become and unpleasant after thought that only left a sour taste in my mouth. I was excited; I wanted to continue sliding through the streets like a shadow, where no one could catch me. I was like the snake, the Cobra the very animal I was named from, I was slippery and fickle and almost impossible to keep contained for long periods of times. I loved being able to jump from roof top to roof top on thieves high way as I made my way around the district. Always moving unnoticed and unseen, just like I should be. Just as habit dictated.

It was in those times that the peacekeeper’s steps echoed against the cold wet stone when you moved, when no one could see you, where the sound of your own movements was masked by the loud and rowdy footsteps of the law keepers of the district. You used what you could for a distraction, if people chose to lurk within the folds of the darkness that shrouded each street and alley any noise you made could be covered and masked by that of the too loud peacekeeper’s. Some people hold the belief that because the moon shines and the stars flicker in the night sky it isn’t really dark. But it is. It is when you and me need that thin veil of darkness to protect the life that we so value. Even a few ounces of darkness, in a light filled place can be enough to mask a person’s movements. It was why I loved night time. I did not mind the day light, but people could watch you, they could see your face and recognise you. I hated being known. I was a mere shadow that wanted to simply slip past during the day. A face I hoped look like every other person’s where one thing looks exactly the same as the next. How I wish that so. It’d make life a lot more interesting instead I was given sharp features. High cheek bones that sit on a face, that seemed permanently stuck in a smirk. Eyes that gave the appearance of two cold ships that showed no emotion and yet when you got to know me they would melt and seem to be filled with varying stages of awe, respect, humour and anger. 

No, this was not a forgettable face. Black hair, blacker then night sat atop a pale face, skin that knew little of the suns sweet hot kiss. The other reason why I preferred the protection of the night because everyone else hated it. So many people feared it that a few words could twist someone and scare them. Plus there was little traffic and the scuffling sound of my feet on the roof tops. I love the feelings of the world spinning away from you as you jump. That weightless feeling that grasps you as you tumble through the air. It is always fun to land nimbly on another roof, face grimacing as you hesitate, as you always pause to make sure no sound rings outwards giving your position away. I had long since adopted the kind of patience people my age just did not have. People at my age were reckless and careless by nature; I was reckless and careless because I wanted it so. I acted the way I did because I made it that way. But when you were a thief, or for that matter someone simply trying to go unnoticed you had to stay still. You had to have that unwittingly difficult ability to simply just stay put and not even move a muscle. In the dead of the night sound travels. The slightest sound can be heard from ages away and so to keep your life and to keep alive you don’t move. That is where most people die, that is how most people are killed. They play a game they don’t understand, they skip the rules and jump forwards, regardless of what will happen because they are too excited and too eager to waste their lives away. And that is where they fall. Without patience and the ability to wait you will die.

Most people in the gang think I hold none. But if they knew that I could sit atop a roof, eyes facing outwards, head always looking and searching, without the slightest movement of my body they would see just how dangerous I was. But they don’t see it. They see the boy who is reckless and roaring to get in trouble and I am. I want to get in danger, I love the thrill of throwing my life into the mix of a battle, to slip into the shadows and hunt down prey as it tries to escape. I’ll always be the first one to spring forwards, eager to cause mayhem and chaos, to risk my life. I’m invincible that’s why. No one will kill me. I can’t be killed. I can remember the day the Killjoy’s bottled me up and chucked me into a van. At first it scared me, but then the idea of being kidnapped and taken away in a freaking bag and driven to some place I didn’t even know. Well hell I had seen those graffiti markings and I mean my father had come home with some stuff marked with that stuff so of course I had been curious. I mean my curious nature always gets the better of me, it is why I have become the boy that all of them tell the least amount to, it is why I’m the one they expect to go missing it is because I’m curious. When I see something and it sparks even the slightest bit of interest within me I have to go look, I have to check and discover. I can’t leave it alone until that craving has been satisfied. So they took me and I became one of them. Now I’m part of this group and I have become something more than I ever was. 

Sometimes I’ll try and figure out why I did it, why I did not just leave. But I know why. Because I like it with these people, I like the fact that I can risk my life as I see fit and that even though some wounds have dug so deep into my mind they will affect me forever I don’t regret a thing I have done. I'm part of a group that sticks down low, that fights against the peacekeepers, Oh you have no idea how much I love stepping above them and twisting and teasing the men with guns with words. I've done it before. I’ve taunted group of Peacekeeper’s, I've antagonized them so much that they have fired at me, but I'm fast. Oh how fast I am. I slipped away, sliding down the roof, sliding into the protection of the world I know every inch better than they do. Into a land where they cannot follow. This is my world, I own the streets of the districts and the land I call thieves highway is the rooftops, where no one can chase me because I know every ledge and crevice. I know every person who lives in every house to every crack and fatal flaw. When you step onto my roof’s you have to know, and you will know that you are in dangerous territory. Some have tried to play my game others have swung, hit, attempted, but all have missed. They play the game, but they don’t know the rules. They step forwards and step up, so cocky and shameless, their pride written openly on their faces. I’m small and in comparison nothing to them and some people have laughed as they have ran. Leaping onto the roofs. But none have gotten even close to catching me. I am invincible.

As ever my feet make no noise. My blue eyes flicker left and right, evaluating the world around me. The night was basically moonless, clouds lathered the world and the few stars I could gleam shone brightly against the tainted night. It made moving easier. The roof I walked across was made of fine tiles, and if you did not know where to step it would crack under foot fall. So I danced on the edges of the tiles, where each tile was only slightly overlayed by the next one. This is where the roof was at its strongest and yet if I dallied too long on a single step it would break, so I could not hesitate, I had to always keep moving, fight pressing lightly upon each spot, for only a second. After less than a minute of moving I reached the edge and without even hesitating I leapt, a gentle rippling sound of the tiles beneath my feet cracking, softly and quietly, but still cracking. I curse under my breath, as I land, feet first onto the next roof. Sometimes that extra bit of pressure that you needed to jump could break the tiles, most of the time I never did. This next roof was of similar make, but stronger. As I straightened up that was when I heard the shout. Scowling I moved deeper into the folds of darkness, the cries of peacekeeper’s growing louder and louder. I moved with deliberate slowness, the night air filling with the annoying pierce of men shouting. I felt no alarm or worry at being heard. I knew I could slip away easily enough. With a sigh, edging annoyance I set off, feet gliding over my territory the fading sound of men shouting drawing a smile across my lips. This was what I did best.

I'm on fire
Writers keep writing what they write
Somewhere another pretty vein just died
I've got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could see
That you’re the antidote to everything except for me