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~*~ quiet reflection

The figure laying in the bed thrashed it's head. It couldn't wake, too far lost in the dream.....

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The streets were dingy, artificial day drowing out the stars. It didn't matter. He never looked heavenward anymore. It was a wasted effort.

Leers followed him. And wandering hands. He'd slip from them with practiced ease and vanish down an alley. No one would follow him there. Unless one was raised on the street they wouldn't risk going out of the light. It was a practical death wish.

He flowed with the shadows, eyes darting to the corners as he spotted movement. A winnow huddled in a doorway. A hooker catching her nightly trick before the backdoor of the whore house closed. no one paid him a second glance.

He'd become a master of being invisible. Despite long black hair pulled back in a tail, his lanky good looks and sharp eyes he'd learned to vanish into the mundane.

Attracting attention was asking for trouble. Asking for pain.

So he made sure that no one saw him. No one would remember him.

He'd vanish from thought as surely as a ghost.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Finally struggling awake Lonan wiped the hair from his eyes in a futile gesture. It took him some time to calm the shivering in his limbs despite the warm covers.

A soft whine came near his left, a hand automatically searching out the wolf to comfort her. Not believing he was as fine as he made himself to be she flopped across his lap and offered silent strength.

He did not sleep again that night, wondering just who the ghost was that walked his memories.

Lonan's hands flew over the canvas, the scents from the pigments blurring and perfectly clear in his mind.

The eyes staring out from the canvas seemed to bore straight into him, demanding he finish the work immediately.

He didn't feel exhaustion, thirst or hunger, just the need to complete the work.

The work completed he left it on the easel to dry, falling back on the bed and into a fitful sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You know me.

What?

You know me. You should anyway. I was you after all.

Bright blue spots stared out from the darkness, almost singing in their intensity.

I was you? Before?

Yes.

But how?

You remember. You just need to let yourself remember a little.

He could feel the sadness, and a bit of blood.

Don't let it happen again.

The darkness swallowed him again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Death was not so bad he decided. No pain. Not really.

But it was damnably dark.

If he tried hard he could remember how it happened.

One fight too many. One wrong move. A gleam of silver. A slash. And cold seeping so deep and hard into him.

One of the little ones had found him while he lay there. Scared of course, but knowing the inevitable. A key was shoved into a small hand, told to raid it for what she could, share with the others since he coldn't help them anymore.

He got one of those little smiles that used to help him push through another day.

One last request.

Close his eyes.

Glass.

Darkness came with the fading blurred image of a little hand, petting his forehead.

He hoped she made it.

The memories were a bit harder now. Blurring together. He fought to keep the important ones stored away. Even if he never had them again they'd be there, stored and ready if needed.

The dark was warmer than his tiny room had been.

And he wasn't really afraid of the dark. It had always let him slip through like a fellow shadow.

Darkness had always been safe for him before.

Maybe it would be now too?

~*~*~*~*~

Lonan woke from the dream, tears in his eyes. His own tears, not bloody ones.

He could see the grubby little faces. Feel the cuts on his arm that weren't there. And he remembered the names.

Plus one.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He watched through someone else's eyes as bodies were carried, disposed of like so much garbage. Tossed in mass graves where they could rot with their bretheren. There were no tombstones, no markers. Those that lived in the alleys and gutters couldn't spare the time or money to make one.

Ghost made his own. Systematic cuts went up and down his arm. he remembered each name for the cut. Remembered the small ones whose eyes he'd closed for the last time.

It hurt. Even after growing up in this filth and living a theiving life among the decay of a corrupt society, it still hurt to close the eyes of a child.

Will you forget them?

How could I?

But you did before.

I was not there then. You've reminded me.

I'm only a ghost myself.

Did you have a name?

Does it matter?

I suppose not.

Do you have a name?

Does it matter?

I suppose not. What will you do?

I won't let mistakes repeat.

How?

Can I really know that before the opportunity arises?

I suppose not. But will you?

I can only try. Perhaps if others do as well, we can keep from repeating.

That would be good.

How can we be talking, if you and I are the same person? If you are who I was, a memory?

You gave me a voice. You knew something before, but you were fighting it, just like the bleeding. The fever let me out a little. You'll remember more in time. Just try not to let this world end up like the last.

I don't think I could live with that idea.

Neither do I.

So.

We agree?

Yes.

The rain was fainter than it had been. Just a slight drizzle now rather than the raging deluge from which he'd caught that cold. It was almost gone, just a little bit of color to his face now and a blanket around his shoulders as he painted.

He had images of that Ghost, that other self, running rampant through his mind. His muse demanded he catch it before it fled.

Darkness, streaks of yellow so pale it was almost white and at the center of it all a set of smoldering eyes dark enough to be thought of as black they were such a deep blue.

Done with that particular image he set his paints aside, washing the basins and ceramic so they wouldn't permanently catch the colors he'd used. He had to move slowly but he was efficient. The only sounds that swpet by his ears were the running water from the sink, Sonata's breathing from where she slept on the bed, and the soft pattering of rain on the roof.

Lonan's head jerked up from what he was doing at the sink. Turning off the water and wiping his hands he walked over to the glass door, undoing the latch and sliding it open.

"Greetings, Day. Come in and warm up."

The other teen's voice as a bit soft even for him. The blanket wrapped around his shoulders made him look smaller as he stepped aside to let Asra in. After closing the door he offered him a towel to dry off with.

"Well enough, thank you. Just spending time in the quiet and letting my muse run rampant. You?"

He moved over to the stove, hands moving with practiced ease to fill the kettle with water and put it one to boil. A set of mugs were brought down from the cupboards and set out with a tea bag a piece.

On the bed a white head rose up, snuffling the air at the new person's entrance. Hopping off she walked over and began a thorough investigation of the guest's scent.

"Sonata, be nice."

He got a huff for in reply.