No, I will not complain, because I do not care to complain. I will not retell events either, because I have already been there, and once was enough. All I know is that I am angry. I am angry with a world that cannot see fit to change because it will not accept that perhaps things could be better than they are. They cannot recognize depravity because it has become a most loyal bedfellow. Their eyes are open, but they cannot see. So no, I will not complain, because I am sick and tired of hearing it from everyone else.
I walk, as most do, with the carefree ignorance of a person who values materials more than life. To fit in is to be normal, is to be unrecognizable, is to be…
But what is human, when you think about it? Does your genetic code make you that, or your actions? Can society ever view a part-blood demon as human? It is worse, for me, bearing that small spark of something “human” inside due to an unfortunate mixing of parentage-such that who made you, who gave you life, determines one’s stature in life. And for a demon outcast from her kind for being human? A human outcast for being a demon? Such sad affairs.
I suppose I should have been watching my path. There are many things that I should have done that day to keep up my guard. Oh well. As I said, retelling is useless.
A blow to the head. Dodging, left, right, eyes blurred.
It is always a ‘he,’ is it not? Mankind, as a generality? There are cold hands clamping on cold skin that, miraculously, warms with the prolonged contact.
I shot glaring eyes to him, a warning growing stronger as my dim “human” retinas began to burn with an unnatural light. A passionate color, so very inhuman. A whispered promise of retaliation. For an ordinary man, it was such extraordinary strength he held at that moment. He did not run from me.
Jerking arms. I attempt to escape. I fail. Flight is no longer an option. How can this be? How can this human have bested me?
More surprising, he leaned in to me, his nature calling to mine.
“I’ve dreamed of you.”