First Fixation: Amadeo

January 13, 2012
By Masashi SILVER, Sandy, Utah
Masashi SILVER, Sandy, Utah
8 articles 0 photos 1 comment

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Amadeo sat on the throne of cloud he had created for himself. He lounged luxuriously over the arms of the chair, reclining at his leisure, only halfway paying attention to his charge.
I hate this. He thought, his stormy eyes closing as he shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable.
I just wish that this annoying American would die. Ever since I got put on this job, I’ve been bored out of my mind. Maybe I should just kill him off... Amadeo’s dark side would often show at times like this, when he was feeling bored or sick of doing his job. Amadeo carefully hid his dark side when he was around his parents, but often allowed this side to show towards his younger siblings in the form of arrogance and a snappish attitude.

Oh come on, Amadeo. Don’t think like that! He hasn’t done anything to you! Besides! you’d get in huge trouble for killing him! There was Amadeo’s conscience. His hated conscience. It always stopped him from doing the most fun things.

What do you mean, he hasn’t done anything to me?! He’s keeping me sitting here, babysitting him! He’s sapping my power and frazzling my natural beauty by keeping me up at night! Snapped the darker side of Amadeo. Amadeo loved these little internal debates. They gave him something to think about while he was on duty. It was always a struggle between Dark Amadeo and his Conscience. His conscience usually won, discouraging Amadeo from doing stupid things.

I hardly think your “natural beauty” is worth killing someone over! Huffed Amadeo’s conscience. Amadeo snapped awake. That wasn’t his voice! His conscience had never been rude like that before! Deciding to overlook the slight abnormality, Amadeo closed his eyes again, returning to his inner dialogue.

I’m soooo bored. Complained Dark Amadeo. I think killing this idiot would be well worth the trouble.

For once, Amadeo’s conscience didn’t argue. A small smile snaked it’s way across his dark red painted lips. Sitting up in his throne, Amadeo focused his gaze down through his Seeing Stone on Michael’s tanned form. Focusing as hard as he could, Amadeo willed his power through the stone.

Come on! Get killed! Make it bloody!

Realizing he would have to be more specific, Amadeo focused on the teenage girl clinging to Michael’s arm. He envisioned this blond s*** pulling out the knife Amadeo had created in her pocket and ripping Michael open. As Amadeo watched intently, the girl, smiling sweetly, drew the knife, carefully concealing it behind her back as she pecked a kiss on Michael’s cheek. Silver flashed, blood splattered, and a thorough sense of accomplishment surged through Amadeo as Michael’s brown eyes flashed wide, his mouth gaping as he fell backwards, tumbling to the ground, crimson fluids staining cream colored carpet. Amadeo leaned back, smirking and standing up. He reached down to the table, collecting his Seeing Stone and tucking it away into his pocket. Feeling good about himself, Amadeo left his station, working his way back through the marble halls of the palace and to his own room, stripping off his clothes and lying down on the bed, feeling tired. Pale blonde hair tumbled over a white pillowcase as Amadeo drifted into a comfortable sleep.

Amadeo was wakened several hours later by a sharp shake to his shoulder. He blinked, long lashes batting as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking up at the Angel standing over him. Reaching over to the table, Amadeo picked up his glasses and slid them onto the bridge of his nose. The man standing over him was his older brother, Walker.

“What do you want?” asked Amadeo grumpily.

“Why aren’t you at work?” asked Walker, ignoring Amadeo’s question.

“He died,” grumbled Amadeo, lying back down and pulling his blankets up over his head.

Walker sighed, running a hand through his short hair. Sometimes, he really hated his little brother. “The little prince” they called him. Why him, of all people? The boy was a rotten brat.

Besides, I was first born! Thought Walker resentfully.

“Stop being such a little liar and get up. You’re twelve years old and well ready to have a job,” snapped Walker.

“I’m not lying. Some w**** stabbed him and he died. That’s the end of it,” grumbled Amadeo, pressing his pillow down over his head.

“Well if you’re going to be stubborn about this, I have no choice but to bring you to father,” said Walker sternly, gripping Amadeo’s shoulders and dragging him out of the bed.

Amadeo let out a startled squawk, long legs lashing out crazily.

“Why are you unclothed?” asked Walker, holding Amadeo up by one arm.

“I don’t like my work clothes. I took them off,” replied Amadeo, as though answering a child’s ignorant question.

“Your work clothes are perfectly sensible. Put them on and come with me,” snapped Walker.

“But they’re so plain! I hate them!” retorted Amadeo, turning up his nose at the white robes.

“Fine. Put on some clothes and come with me.”

Amadeo smirked and flung open his wardrobe. Clothes of rich fabrics and many colors hung in neat rows inside the dark closet. Amadeo pulled out a pair of black, velvety trousers, pulling them over his slender legs. Next, he meticulously dressed himself in a loose, black blouse and a wine red vest fabulously embroidered with black roses. The boy pulled a pair of black suede boots onto his feet and ran a mother-of-pearl brush through his thick, glittering hair. Using a strip of black ribbon, Amadeo tied his mane out of his face in a loose tail. Reapplying deep red lipstick quickly in a hand mirror, Amadeo walked to the door.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Walker, striding from the room.

The walk through the palace was silent save for the sound of Amadeo’s boot heels clicking against the floor. Soon, they came to that huge door that led to the huge throne room. Walter knocked three times before shoving open the door. Life was sitting at grand desk, glasses perched on his nose, pouring over a stack of papers. He looked up as his sons entered, a smile crossing his lips.

“Is everything alright, boys?” asked Life, noting the obvious displeasure on Walker’s face.

“Claude refuses to do his work. He claims that his charge has died,” snapped Walker, jerking a thumb in his brother’s direction.

Life turned to look at his younger son.

“Claude? Is this true?” asked Life, his voice serious.

“He died. What else can I say?” shrugged Amadeo, tossing his hair.

“Your job was to protect him,” said Life, glaring at his son over the tops of his glasses.

“There was nothing I could do,” lied Amadeo, “Besides, he was annoying.”

“Claude... are you lying to me to get out of working?” asked Life, his voice condemning.

“No! Check your lists. He’ll be there,” snorted Amadeo.

Life sighed, picking up the book containing the names of all humans currently living. He skimmed through to where instinct told him he would find the name of Michael Baushe. To his slight surprise, the name wasn’t there.

“I see. You two may go now,” instructed Life, closing the book.

Amadeo smiled easily, smirking impishly at Walker before turning and sauntering from the room, his hips swaying jauntily as he went through the door.

“That boy has nerve,” sighed Walker, sliding his glasses farther up his nose.

“Indeed he does. Sometimes he almost reminds me of my brother when we were younger...” said Life, smiling slightly.

Walker snorted. He had always seen the unnatural similarity between Death and Claude. Claude had the same mischievous glitter in his eyes. They even had the same color of eyes... that dark, stormy blue flecked with grey...

The author's comments:
This is the first chapter in a story that I am writing. I'll post more later.

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