“I don’t know. Kick him or something.” Three little boys stood around Adrian, staring at the guy they only knew as The-Crazy-Kid. They stood there whispering to each other, contemplating if he was dead or just sleeping. Six year olds can never tell the difference.
Adrian groaned and rolled over to his side, facing the three boys. They screamed and ran to the far side of the hallway wall.
“W-What?” Adrian asked, still groggy, as he rubbed the crust from his eyes. They three kids were wide-eyed. One was shivering, another puffing his chest out as if it would intimidate the older boy, and the other sitting on the floor, his knees tucked in touching his chin, whimpering.
“What are you three looking at?” Adrian growled as he sat up and threw the cover off to the side. The three boys shook their heads, as if to say “Nothing”. Adrian rolled his eyes and walked into his room. He ran his fingers through his black hair and rubbed his hand on his shorts, getting rid of the left over gel.
After taking a shower, he dug through all the dresser draws. Searching for something clean. Maia had been too busy to do the laundry again. He couldn’t get mad at her. With 26 kids to take care of and a mansion to clean, she was probably too busy to do anything. He eventually settled on an old shirt with a whole on the hem and some dirty, but not too dirty, jeans.
Adrian jumped as he opened the door to the same three boys. They had been waiting outside the door the entire time. Just standing there and waiting for him.
“What’s with you three?” He asked as he pushed passed them. Adrian headed down the hallway without even looking back at them. He stayed in the center, making sure not to go too far to the side. He kept his head low, not wanting to see any of the pictures. The one thing he hated about St. Elizabeth was the art work that covered the wall of each and every hallway.
He shivered remembering the time he had stood to look at one painting of a small crying boy that sat on a park bench. It didn’t include that much color, just shades of black and white. The boy was covered head to toe with strange black markings. He remembered the way the boy had turned his head to look at him, directly at him. He was only 13 when that happened. He had run back to his room and hid under the covers until Maia forced him to come down for dinner.
So he kept his eyes glued to the wood flooring as he listened to the rhythmic tapping of his shoes on the floor. When he finally entered the dining hall everyone went silent. They heard you screaming. He said over and over again in his mind. They think you’re crazy. Just like your parents did.
Some of the smaller children took cover in the corners. Some laughed as he walked by. Some even leaned over to whisper to his or her friend. Probably talking about the scars on his neck, or his screeching fit the night before.

He passed by a table of giggly girls. They all leaned in to talk to each other, trying and failing to whisper.
“Did you hear him last night? The kid’s insane.” One girl said. The others giggled some more.
“Ya, but he’s kinda cute. In a dark sort of way.” Said another on the opposite side. Murmurs of agreement spread through the table. He smirked as he listened to their conversation. Crazy, but cute. I’m sure I could make that work. He got his tray of breakfast, some kind of oatmeal looking substance, and sat down next to Fyre.
The rest of the table was empty. No one wanted to sit next to the girl whose only friend was the psycho kid. She didn’t look up when he sat down. She just sat there, picking at her oatmeal with her plastic spoon. Every once in a while, she would take a tiny bite.
“Hey.” He muttered, taking a spoon full of food himself. She grunted in response. The silent treatment, huh?
“Come on. I’m sorry.” He said, nudging her. She just glared at him.
“You can’t go on holding grudges. It’s not good for you, ya know.” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “And I mean, it’s not like you can just stop talking. Maia wouldn’t let you do that. Remember how she loves to hear you sing? In fact maybe I should go get her, you could do a little concert before scho-“
“Just shut it, okay?” She muttered.
“See, you can talk. I-“
“I believe I told you to shut it. So what if you got me to talk? I’m still mad.” She said a little louder this time. The sound echoed through the large, but almost empty dining hall. Adrian shrugged and continued to eat his grey mush. He’d decided just to leave her alone for now.
Some of the others had begun to look over at their table to see what all the commotion was about. Adrian smiled at them and they quickly turned back to their own group. They may think of you as the weird one, but in the end, you control them.
.
.
.
Ash stood beside the man that was laying face first in the ground. A smirk approached his lips as he watch the blood mix into the puddles of water. The rain, that had been pouring earlier, was now finally beginning to die down. He bent down and set his mouth next to the man’s ear.
“Was it worth it?” Ash hissed. The man didn’t move.
“So you aren’t going to answer me?” Ash laughed and stood up. He looked at the large metal cross that was buried into the man’s back. He grabbed a hold of the staff piece and twisted it. The man moaned, a noise filled with pure agony, as blood spurt out of the, now larger, near his shoulder blade.
“Now will you answer me? Was it worth it?” Ash yelled. The sound echoed in the dark, lifeless alley. The man still said nothing. Ash shook his head. He doesn’t understand. Maybe I’ll just have to make him. Ash’s hands grasped the cold cross again. He slowly began lifting it out of the man. The man screamed as pain overwhelmed him. His body convulsed on the concrete ground. Ash laughed as he watched the thing cry out for help. As the thing screamed for him to stop.
“This is why you always answer my questions. Like everyone, I hate being ignored.” Ash hissed before gently placing the sharp tip of the cross’s staff on the man’s neck, but didn’t puncture the skin. The man wanted to say something, though all that came out was muffled sobbing.
“You’re pathetic.” He whispered. “A demon, crying? I’ve never seen that before.” Before the man could respond Ash plunged the sword down into his throat. Ash stood back and admired his work.
“Lovely.”
Ash removed the blade and gently slid it into the gaping hole on his shoulder. He shivered as he felt it go through him and the end of the staff go out the other side, from the open wound just above his hip. The wounds were still bleeding, but the pain had stopped long ago. Now it was just a numb. Sometimes he pierced something he wasn’t supposed to, but it didn’t hurt for long. Besides, where else am I supposed to keep my weapon? He’d tell himself whenever he did so and look down at his shirtless form.
He sighed, getting back to the issue at hand. He bent over and turned the man onto his back. Ash looked down and stared at the man’s far off gaze. He noticed the man’s pale complexion, not different from his own. But his is from death. He thought. Yours is because you’re different.
The man’s shirt was soaking wet, from rain water and blood, and was ripped almost completely off of him. Ash lifted his hand up in front of his face. It was hard to see in the pitch blackness of the alley, but somehow he managed. A smirk fell across his face as he watched his pale fingers turn into long, obsidian talons. He moved them around, watching as they slightly shined in the faint moonlight.
The man’s chest was already exposed. Ash took his index finger and dug it into the man’s skin, right where the man’s heart should be. He slowly, steadily dragged his finger along, ripping the flesh, until it made a complete pentacle. He stood back up, cracking his back as he did so.
The star mark had already begun to shine red when he looked back down. Ash put his index finger up to his thin, pale lips and licked off the bright red liquid, until it was gone, as if it hadn’t existed. Now the mark illuminated the whole alley, showing off the soaking and disgusting scenery. He watched as a small red star was lifted out of the man’s chest, where the mark was.
Ash set out his hand to touch it, but before he could the star was sucked into the earth below. The red, demonic glow left the alley and all that remained was Ash and the body. Ash cursed and put his hand back to his side. He just wanted to feel it. I just wanted to know what it was like to hold someone’s soul in your hands again. The power it gives you.
Ash was about to leave, but something caught his eye. He looked down at a puddle of rainwater and stared into his own reflection. His blue hair was barely visible in the dim light, and his pale skin didn’t show up much either. What he had noticed was the bright, neon blue of his eyes. He closed them and took deep breaths, trying to calm down.
When he opened them again, the blue was gone. The irises had returned to their normal deep blue. His weapon was gone; the wounds from it and his fingers were back to normal. Now that his demon features were gone, he was no longer visible in the alley. He took one more look at the bloody and torn body, then headed back, to the darkness of the shadows.