Chapter 1: An Angel In The Making - A New Beginning

Everyone passes him by. Pushing and pulling. Some apologise, others mutter a curse under their breaths before continuing on with their harried rush. Multitudes of unfamiliar faces glanced past, not stopping to take a closer look. Glaringly reminding him of the obvious fact;
The world don't revolve around you, buddy.

The clutter of human traffic edges past by. Some rush by hurriedly, anxious not to miss the evening bus, for if they did, they would have to wait another hour for the next ride.
An hour's wait in time, an eternity of opportunities missed.

Only an old man lumbers past taking his time. Clothes tattered, he does not run the urgent run that everyone else does. The street is his home, the papers his cot. The streetlamps his light, the stale leftovers from the cornerside bakery his daily bread. He does not hurry to grasp the things that others clamour for. Money, fame, precious gems.

He is contented in having enough to eat and watching the world unfold as a play unfolds in the grand theatre of life. And as the evening sun sets and the crowds filter past, slowly he ambles past in anticipation for the upcoming mealtime. A simple filling of an empty stomach. Bit by bit he edges past, till even he too fades into the shadows of the evening.

And the world don't revolve around me either.

The streets are empty, save for a single entity. No more than a person, no less than a soul. From the morning rush to the old man; all of it is still fresh in his mind. The old man interests him more.

For contentment is rare where there are many to grasp, many to master. But if even in poverty one seeks fulfilment over possession, then could the whole world be wrong where one man stands right?

A scream cuts through the silence like a hot knife through butter. It is the cry of the old man; a desperate plea for help, an urging for rescue.

And yet no harm comes to him. Rubbing his eyes and glancing furtively, the old man chides himself that it was only an illusion.

Reassured, the old man continues his trek, his frail eyes unable to catch the splatter of discoloured ichor in the alleyway. Unaware, he moves on to another meal. Unaware, he lives to see another sunrise.

Tonight the streets are cold and unforgiving. Tonight the hunt starts.

Ties From Before That Bind The Present

Gerard peered at his watch. It was already past 9.30pm. 9pm... the time we had agreed to meet so long ago. 'Maybe they had forgotten?' he thought. 'Or maybe they have passed on? But no, we all made a promise...' Gerard refused to lose faith in his friends.

The long wait began to take its toll on Gerard, dragging him into a dreamy reverie, one which he now so frequently slipped into in the recent times...

...Young Gerard stood clasping the hands of his three best friends, Yoshi, Vann and Jaron. "On this day, I pledge," he started, the rest in tow. "That I will be present at the fountain at Bugglebay Pier at no later then 9pm, on the 21st of December." The pact was childish, for it meant that they would all have to meet on their 100th birthday. They had all known this, but they had all, with silent conviction, want, to fulfil the pledge. It made sense to all of them. A friendship that withstood the test of time. After that, the band of four filed out of the small town chapel, never to meet again, till it came to fulfilling their promises. All four were born on the same day, all four had met in preschool, so all four decided their time to pass on, would be as one.

...Gerard snapped back into reality. Staring at his now lifeless body, he knew he couldn't wait any longer. Though free from the burdens of the corporeal world, Gerard's soul bled sadness. "Passing on alone," he wondered out loud. " No one to hear me, no one to grieve for me, no one to care about me." More so, his sadness, was for the absence of his friends. "Is this all that our promise is worth?!" he screamed in vain agony.

"Gerry!" a voice cut the air. Gerard whirled around, unsettled by the functionality of his spectral senses. 'To hear even in death. Will i never attain peace even in death? Be hunted by beings of the nether planes?'

As Gerard's phantasmal eyes set upon the source of the disturbance, they lit up in bewildered familiarity. There, floating beside the fountain, were Yoshi, Vann and Jaron.

"But..." Gerard started.

"You'd thought we'd miss this? Gosh, I'm saddened by your lack of faith in us!" Jaron taunted. "No..." Gerard replied weakly. The four friends embraced. The de javu was too much for Gerard, but even still, he felted a renewed vigour from within his spectral form. Death does not bury emotions and old alliances, Gerard realized. Regaining his composure, Gerard shot back,"Now why have you all passed on before me? I thought we were supposed to go together?" Raising his fist in mock anger, Gerard proceeded to give each of his friends a playful punch.

"Sorry bro, couldn't wait, I died a clean 75 years ago, the day after we made that pledge. Was walking home, minding my own business, when a car sped past, slamming into me. The ruddy whacko wasn't appeased by the first one, and proceeeded to give me pancake treatment two times more. I died quickly enough to see myself made into human pancake.Trust me, it wasn't pretty." Yoshi said. Disbelievingly, Gerard teased,"You sure? Or did your musical talents leave you when you were supposed to entertain a bunch of drunkards?"

"Ask the rest," Yoshi replied. Vann and Jaron nodded grimly, and Gerard was convinced. They turned to Vann, as he related his own death.

"Fifty years ago, I was 'experimenting' with an electric socket and got fried. Short and sweet," he said. "In all my retired glory..."

"Well, you were always that 'inquisitive'," Yoshi laughed.

The four friends paused, and a hush silence grew in the air patiently waiting for Jaron's own turn of events. "As you know, Gerard," he said, turning towards Gerard. "I told you all that I had wanted to head to India for a life of conservation. Your reactions and taunting convinced me otherwise. Especially you, Gerard, your outstanding achievements grew much jealousy in me. All of you had your own dreams. All of you worked for them. It seemed, to me, that mine was the most inconsequential. I felt inadequate, I felt inferior. But most of all, I felt jealous."

Gerard winced, feeling pity for his friend. He had never meant for his actions to be a source of antagonism for his friends. He had sought to use his actions to drive his friends.

"So when you all left, I stayed behind. I gave up my dream, and instead sought to do my best for my dad's restaurant. It has now gone regional, with franchises all around Asia. All these while, I slogged and tolled to bury all my troubles in my work..."Jaron continued, shaking his head at the futility of his actions. "Then when i retired, the very demons I was trying to avoid, all came back and, in my reckless agony, I ended it all in a surfeit of alcohol."

The conclusion of Jaron's oratory marked the return of the unnerving silence. Wishing to end it once and for all, Yoshi started," Well, its all over now right? Now shall we, gentlemen, make our way to utopia and have a drink or two with our Maker?"

"Why, you, you haven't forgotten that I don't drink, have you?" Vann retorted.With that, roars of laughter marked the closure of the lives of the four friends.

As the four apparitions fled into the howl of the night, a body lay cuddled in the snow, with a look of blissful contentment belying the biting cold of the frostbitten winter night. Even in death, the body corresponds to the will of its soul.

Fallacious Beginnings

Malcolm stood, hunched in the merciless wind. Yet again, he had killed. Yet again, he feels the pain of losing one's kin. But he can't stop, not when he's started, its like a rollercoaster ride gone wild. Pain they inflicted on him, he shall inflict on them. The pain he endured when he saw his family dying by his eyes, the pain he felt when the bullet buried itself deep into his tender flesh. It was all years back then. They failed to kill him. Now was his turn for vengeance.

Malcolm didn't feel the euphoria of repaying the blood-debt. What he felt didn't make Malcolm feel as great as he thought he would feel. Instead, he felt pain. He wept inside for those he had killed. But that was all necessary. He had hunted down, and slew his murderer's offsprings, every single one of them. The only debt left to be settled, was with Jared.

Malcolm remembered the day he'd first gotten his automatic pistol, after passing his firearms test. It felt familiar, the gun. It felt as if the gun was meant to be in his palm. It transformed him into a killing machine. Then, he sought for the identities of his family's murderers. And vowed to hunt them down, even their descendants.

Turning back to the task at hand, Malcolm headed into the master bedroom. The old man was lying feebly on the bed. Malcolm cocked the safety off his pistol. In a few seconds, all would be over...

"Boom!" the bullet ricocheted off the wall, making only a crack in the wall. "Don't touch my dad!" The words reverberated within the walls of Malcolm's mind. His shot had misfired thanks to the timely leap of a young boy. Though small in stature, Malcolm recognised the sense of purpose in his eyes as the boy sought to protect his family. Instantly, he remembered the time so long ago, when he did the same. "Don't kill my dad!" the boy repeated, this time, pleading. The words shocked Malcolm. So long ago, he'd said the same words. So long ago, they were ignored.
Nevertheless, he was startled by the reverie of time long past. "Tell me, boy, how old are you?", Malcolm said, turning toward the boy.

"...Seven, but i'll act like... like... a seventy if you touch a hair of my dad!", the boy's cheeks instantly flushed when he realized his slip of tongue. He'd not been pleased at showing disarray in front of his enemy.

"Alright...," the atmosphere was too much like that of his childhood. Malcolm could not bear to continue his senseless massacre. 'Senseless, hah, a massacre I never thought senseless, till now. Too late to bring back the dead, but early to stay my hand,' he thought. Turning toward the door, Malcolm said,"Go to your dad, tell him the feud ends here."

As Malcolm edged towards the door, he wondered how he did not know of another son of Jared. Suddenly, a shot rang in the air. Malcolm clasped his stomach. "Dad taught me to kill whoever stands in my way. You tried to kill dad. You shall die." Malcolm shook his head. 'No, that is not Jared's biological son. That, is an abomination.' he thought. The boy couldn't recognise Malcolm, but Malcolm could now. It was all in the files. Cloning assassins. Malcolm knew now why he did not die. He was not meant to die. He was made to hate, to test his killing capacity. He'd passed the test. He was no longer needed. Now was the time of his demise. He could be easily replaced, the boy behind him proved so. The once-feeble Jared came striding out of the room. Hatred filled Malcolm yet again.

As the wisps of his conciousness seeped into the nether planes, Malcolm pushed a tiny trigger. He had everything prepared. He always did. And if he was to go down, they all should go down with him. A blast erupted from within the backpack Malcolm carried, ripped him asunder, along with the rest of the house. Once sturdy columns became twisted rubble. As the smoke cleared, a phantasmal voice whispered to the wind,"Go to hell bastard, you deserved this."

Sometimes It's Better To Leave

Scars adorned Willie's body. For the umpteenth time, his mother had hit him, and poured scalding-hot water all over his body, as punishment for the perfect score he did not get. "I want a 100% for each and every subject! No less than that!" His mother had threatened. And when he didn't he had gotten hell from her. First came the belt, then the water. 'What else is to come?' Willie thought. He did not cry at each of his "punishments". No, he had no need for tears.
'Why weep when I have done my best? This is my life, and I live for myself,' he thought.

Willie got up and started to clean himself up. ‘One day, when I make my mark, I won’t ever let you look down on me again, ever,’ he thought. Suddenly, the door creaked opened, and Lisa walked in. “You must understand, Willie, that I hit you only for your own good,” she told her son. “Look at that wastrel of a dad you had. He left us just as he found a rich lady to woo.” Then, she started to laugh. “I’m glad he didn’t get a chance to marry her. He didn’t deserve it. We mustn’t let him look down on us. You have to take revenge. Come, give me a hug, Mom won’t ever blame you if you get 100 marks for all your subjects the next exam.”

“So, it’s all because of the feud between you and the Dad I never knew?” Willie screamed, enraged. “You’d compromise my happiness and dreams to achieve your ultimate revenge?! NEVER!” Willie stood stock still, unwilling to go forward and embrace his mother.

“You ingrate! I raised you, fed you, clothed you and here you say you don’t want to listen to your own mother?!” Lisa screeched. “I knew I should never have bore you, you worthless creep. You’re all the same, men, all ingrates!” She stormed out of the room.

“Yeah! Get out! Get out of my life. You want revenge? Go do it on your own!” with that, Willie ran and packed his belongings. ‘Witch, tyrant…’ he cursed in his mind. Willie walked out of his room, taking only his clothes and the little bit of money he had on him. As he turned the doorknob of what was once his house, he swore never to turn back again.

‘I’ll build a life of my own from now on. If I die, it’ll be of my own doing, not yours. My life is not meant to be spent as a puppet.’ Willie thought.

As Willie left the vicinity of his neighbourhood, a whisper from the wind breathed, “That’s right my boy, leave your mother, or she’ll kill you like she did to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t watch you grow.” His late father had spoken.

Love Beyond Boundaries

Little Jacky peeked from within her room. 'Mommy and Daddy are at it again,' she thought. 'But why? Why do they have to fight all the time?' The little girl couldn't understand the many quarrels that rocked her house.

"You listen,I'm not going to let you take her...!", Marah had said, before being drowned out by John's great bellow,"No, you listen! We could have made a tidy profit from his sale. You said you wanted to take care of him for awhile and i already let you have your way. No more! I've been too soft on you already. Jacky has to go. He's been taking up way too much of my money already."

"So this is all its been, your money?!" Marah retorted. "All you care about is money. You breathe money, eat money, drink money, and now you want to take away little Jacky for money?! I refuse to let you take her away. You don't even know if your child's a boy or a girl!"

"Whatever!" John replied, infuriated. "Don't tell me you didn't come into this for the money! I don't care about petty details. Heck! I don't even care about that petty runt!"

At this point, little Jacky couldn't take it anymore. Though she didn't understand her father's incessant curses, Jacky somehow knew that they were squabbling over her. She charged at her mother, confused, unable to take the charged atmosphere anymore. "Mommy! Daddy! Why are you both so angry? I'm scared," Little Jacky cried, before wrapping her arms tightly around her mother's waist.

"Oh...," Marah wept. "I'm sorry, Jacky. I'm so sorry. Nothing bad's going to happen. Jacky. Hush now, Mommy's so sorry," she coo-ed, bending to hug Jacky. John stared dumbfoundedly at the mother and child. Suddenly, he regained his anger, his rage at the growing bond between mother and daughter, afraid that he wouldn't get his due. "Get lost, you little witch," he shrieked, tearing Jacky from the arms of her mother.

The sudden blow dazed little Jacky. 'Why do you hurt me, Daddy? I've never been a bad girl. You were never like that,' She thought.

The frenzied John, in vengeful fervour, started to batter his daughter, all the while hurling vitriolic insults in his fiery trance. "You little weasel, you worthless midget...," John screamed. It was all too fast for Marah to react. One instant, Jacky was wailing, trying in vain to flee from her raging father, all the while calling out for help from her mother, and the next moment, she lay still, battered, lifeless, uncanningly peaceful. Marah's heart shattered. She had forsakened her daughter in her moment of shock. She stared disbelievingly. "NO! JOHN, STOP IT, STOP HITTING HER! SHE'S... SHE'S DEAD!" Marah wailed, snapping out of her trance.

John's hands grew clammy as the words etched themselves in his mind. He froze and let Marah rush to tend to her lifeless daughter.

As Marah tried in vain to check for a pulse on her daughter's wrist, her heart grew heavy. The tears fell many and quickly, but that still didn't stem the growing void in her heart.

Then, as a single tear slid down the contours of Jacky's cheek, a voice from beyond called," Mommy, Daddy, don't worry, I still love you, I'll protect you..."

Heartless as John was, he still felt a pang of guilt, a tinge of remorse...