The Boy [mxb]

Prologue

"Beast!"

Strong hands jostle my shoulders. "Beast, what the fuck?"

My vision swims, hazy. I blink, breaking through the reprieve of darkness. I open my eyes again, and the fiery orange hues seep back in. Ken's concerned, dirt-streaked face glares daggers at me.

More water is poured over my face. Deliriously, I bob my chin down and watch the rivulets stream soot-black.

"You wanna kill yourself?" He demands harshly. Other faces bob into view. "Tell me next time. I'll do the honours myself."

My throat is raw and burning. Weakly, I grapple for the bottle. Its contents are immediately poured down my throat. My Adam's Apple bobs painfully. Throat seizing, eyes watering, the smell of smoke still pungent on every breath, I look around.

I choke and sputter when I remember.

"Did-did..."

"Yeah, dumbfuck." Ken nods seriously, once, twice. Then, slowly, a wry smile spreads over his face. "Yeah. Every last one of them. You did it, man."

The liquid wave of relief that washes over me is more potent than the water soothing my body.

I slump back against whatever is holding me up, heart drumming out an unsteady beat. Every molecule in my body fights to collect itself.

Wearily, I lift my head.

Incinerated. The once-sky-scraping building, ash-black, collapsed in on itself and reaching like the jagged prongs of a pitchfork into the fiery skies of hell.

Clouds of grey suffuse the air, make it hard to breath.

I lie lax and cooperative while my face is mopped clean, while arms hook under my armpits and lift me, staggering, to my feet. Arms alternatively support me and clap me on the back. It's all fuzzy, white noise.

"We're all going to take turns killing you," Jackson mutters gravely. "Starting with incident command."

The others fill me in as I suck air into my depleted lungs and down an entire water bottle.

Not everyone survived.

I want to curl up and go to sleep forever, but I don't stop moving.

I don't know if it's been minutes or hours. I've been helping man the hoses, and the fire is finally completely extinguished. Burnt charcoal and debris are the sole remains of the once grand building.

I'm talking to emergency personnel when, suddenly, I feel the strangest thing happening: a small, cold hand worming its way into mine.

I tense up immediately, the alien sensation hitting me completely out of left field.

Heart stuttering, I turn around slowly.

I look down in shock, and my breath catches in my throat when I'm met with a pair of big owl eyes.

A scrawny boy stands before me, dressed all in white.

He's small, even for my looming height. He's got on an oversized, raggedy white t-shirt and very faded pyjama pants that look altogether too thin for this cold. The white stands out in sharp contrast with the dirty greys of the grisly scene and whirling lights around him. His clothes flutter in the wind on his stick thin frame.

He's got pretty eyes. Like, really pretty eyes. Thick lashes frame shockingly intense, storm-cloud grey eyes that look like they're charged with a thousand bolts of crackling, potent electricity waiting to be discharged. They're impossibly large, bugging out almost comically. Too big for his gaunt face and stick-thin body. His bony cheeks are ruddy and flushed, skin pale, expression solemn but kind with a touch of apprehension belying the tentative smile on his face. Wild, curly hair of electrocution proportions surrounds his head like a halo.