He walked for hours, only stopping when his legs began to tremble.
An abandoned building stood ahead, its windows shattered and its walls streaked with grime. It was shelter, and that was enough.
…
The images of that night still burned behind his eyes, the blood, the gunshot, the faces etched into his memory. But the past was carved in stone, and this was now. And now, he had a life to reclaim.
The floor was hard and cold, but he had slept on worse.
He sat with his back to the wall, knees drawn up, his rucksack tucked under his arm.
The moonlight slipped through the cracks, casting pale lines across the scars on his skin.
He traced one with his fingers, a thin line across his forearm. He could remember exactly which beating had left it.
'One day,' he told himself again, and the words felt heavier than they had three years ago.
'One day, and you will wish you had killed me when you had the chance.'
For the first time in years, he slept without being woken by someone's boot in his ribs. The peace was strange, but he let himself have it. Tomorrow, the fight for power would begin, and he needed to be ready.
The next morning, he left the abandoned building and tried to find some information about what was to come, but almost everyone he had come across ignored him or walked away, not wanting to get involved.
'Do I really look that bad?' he thought, catching sight of his reflection in a dirty shop window.
It kind of made sense.
He was of average height but was extremely thin due to malnutrition; his hair had grown down to the bottom of his back, and almost half of what was a natural Auburn colour was black due to being dirty.
He was adorned with cuts and bruises almost everywhere, and the almost black hole-like eyes didn't help make a friendly impression either.
That's without mentioning his dirty, ripped clothes, patchy shoes or the fact that he stunk from not being allowed to wash regularly.
'Okay… I've definitely looked better.'
He kept walking, moving through side streets and busy markets, his ears tuned to every scrap of conversation. Most of it was useless.
Complaints about prices, gossip about neighbours, the usual noise of people who didn't know or care about anything bigger than their own small lives.
Then he caught it.
A passing voice, two men speaking quietly as they walked by. "… the awakening… tomorrow…"
He slowed his pace, his focus narrowing. 'Awakening? Tomorrow? That has to be it.'
He followed the two men for a while, but they split off into a crowded street and disappeared.
He stood still for a moment, thinking. 'I do not know what it is exactly… but if it gives power, then that is all I need to know.'
By midday, he had nothing else.
No details, no clear answers, only the word and the timing. But that was enough. 'Tomorrow. I just need to last until tomorrow.'
When the light began to fade, he headed back to the abandoned building. The corner he had claimed was still as cold and empty as he'd left it.
He pulled the rucksack into his lap and opened it carefully. A packet of crisps. One apple. The bottle of water, a third full.
'Not much… but enough.'
Leaning back against the wall, he stared at the cracks in it. His breath showed faint in the thin moonlight that found its way through the gaps in the building.
He then tried to go to sleep. Except, it wasn't as easy as it was yesterday; surprisingly, it wasn't for any bad reason.
He was excited, as whatever happens tomorrow can turn his life around, and he shivered in delight at the thought of getting revenge and having the power to do anything he wanted.
For once, he might have control over his life... and not just his life, but the lives of others as well.
'This time tomorrow… I could have it. Strength. Real strength.' His hands curled into fists.
'I will not waste it. I will take it, hold it, and never let anyone take anything from me again.'
He tried to close his eyes, but the stillness would not hold. His thoughts kept moving, faster now, running through every possibility.
What he could do. What would they do when they saw him again? 'They will not see the same person.
They will not see the boy they thought they had broken.
They will see what they made.'