Beautiful Bloodshed

The Beginning-

I feel the smell of smoke painting my lungs dead. The country once I would rule, now is burning in fire, with ruins of crumbled buildings covering up the asphalt. Despair hangs me and traps me in the uselessness of my existence. The only thing I have is this six pungent words in my mind: "What the fuck is this shit?" There's a light, coming closer and closer, getting bigger, ready to blow us away, when I feel the shake.

I'm taken back to reality with Shaan asking if I heard everything he said, leading me to the door. I nod in agreement, following him to the car: I didn't hear absolutely anything.

-So make sure you don't get into trouble and, under no circumstances, pick a fight with the President of America's 1st son,- he says, narrowing his eyes at me.

Unfortunately, the first person I spot as they open the doors of the White House is Alex Claremont-Diaz (had this boy ever stopped haunting me?), who just wet his shirt by spilling a glass of water as he stumbled down the stairs towards the table where the assembly would take place. It seems like this kid is always trying to get attention, what did he intend to show by displaying his abdomen to the entire White House?

-Alex!- his mother shouts. -Where are your manners? Go clean yourself up immediately!

Alex quickly passes by my side, embarrassed, and I, without realizing it, let out a small laugh at the unusual situation. I enjoyed the unexpected scene, since in 5 years he had never been so humiliated. As soon as he reaches the door, I hear him muttering curses while staring me up and down.

-Sorry, did you say something?- I question him mockingly.

-Not at all, Your Majesty, what made you think so?- He smiles in that sick way he does when he wants to get into an argument with me, like a wild animal ready to attack.

-Your Royal Highness,- I correct him, stepping towards him. -Your Majesty is reserved only for the king.

-Thanks for the etiquette lessons, I'm a bit outdated on a subject as archaic as monarchy.

-Don't worry, I know it's too much for your brain to comprehend something more complex than 'The Sun'.

-You read it? Did you see how hot I looked on the cover of the last edition?- His white shirt is still soaked, water droplets dripping from his chest and wetting the expensive carpet.

-Well, I wouldn't say 'hot' are the words I'd use to describe that photo.

This guy is unbelievably unbearable.

-Damn, you're so into me it's pathetic.

Alex bends his body in a sarcastic reference and with his laughter cutting through me between his teeth. His words bounce off me and leave me paralyzed, my cheeks turning as red as watered-down wine. His body, so typically from an American movie, fades away down the hallway while the words uttered reverberate in my head like a death sentence.

When his silhouette enters another corridor, I feel my legs automatically entering a state of pursuit, running past the paintings until my hand touches the 'America's sweetheart's' clumsily work-out back.

-Yes?- He turns around and immediately I deliver a punch to his stomach.

-What the...- He gasps, bending over. -What the hell, Henry!

The image of the American bent over, hand on the soaked fabric, complaining of pain brings me back to my senses. Guilt for my recklessness takes over me, so I try to help him up.

-Alex! I'm sorry, I... - I crouch in front of him and put his arm around my neck in an attempt to assist him, but before I can think about it, Alex retaliates against my act of insanity with another one. His left elbow hits my chest and pushes me to the cold floor behind me, along with Alex's arm, and consequently his entire body, now on top of me.