The first thing Cem remembered upon waking was the smell of burning wood. He felt a dull throb radiating from the side of his head where he had been struck. The unseen blow had knocked him unconscious. Regaining awareness, he felt the dull ache of bruises covering his body. Cem rolled over on to his back and reached for his head. Dried blood crusted his now matted hair, mixing with the dust of the alley. Vision still blurry Cem faced the sky. Two parallel brick walls ran some distance to either side of him opening to the twilight of a setting sun. Struggling to right himself, he grasped at the edge of the dumpster he was lying in. He could not find the strength to lift the dead weight of his body. He felt limp, and was having noticeable difficulty breathing; his lungs must have been raw from the smoke. He could almost still taste the scorching heat filled air. Darkness fell and he lay there as hours passed. Clouds came and it began to rain, the temperature dropped. He felt he would die by morning as the cool and wet chilled him to the bone. He threw the refuse of the dump over himself in an attempt to stay warm. He slipped in and out of consciousness several more times to the sound of wild dogs or rats scampering in search of scraps near by.
Morning came. As the rays of sunlight began to penetrate the garbage heap down the back of the deserted alleyway Cem woke with a start. He had managed to sleep off some of the fatigue from his injuries, and though he felt stiff from his bruises, he was remarkably alive. Successfully pulling himself over the lip of the dumpster he flopped out on to the hard stone street. The impact jarred him once more causing his head to pulse where the blow had landed but he managed to avoid losing consciousness or landing on his aching skull by cushioning his fall with his shoulder and forearm.
Smelling of refuse and damp cloth, he pushed his slight frame up from the hard stone and realized he had no shoes. The indecency of the situation left him feeling completely stifled. This was the first time that he had ever faced any hardship in his life, but who took an unconscious man's shoes? Recalling the night before left him dizzy but he vaguely remembered that he had been wearing shoes when he smelled the smoke and ran to investigate.
Cem was the third born child of the first family. The second and youngest son to the highest ranked government official in Latham. He had never known hunger thirst or the daily labors often suffered by most of the young men populating the city. He was privileged and was used to a standard of living, but now that life had come to an end.
He was covered in trash, nearly dead from the cold and most importantly shoeless.
The unfamiliarity of the situation assaulted Cem. He was clueless about what had happened to him, and had no idea how to proceed. Was his family alive, did they know where he was? Was the military patrol out looking for him? Did his house burn down? Who the hell stole my shoes? Despite all of the other burning questions this was the one he fixated on. My shoes..
Staggering Cem moved toward the mouth of the alley toward a more brightly sunlit street. He was somewhere in the slums, he could tell by the shabby dress of the people and the haphazard canvas tents erected by merchants. He did not recognize the shopping district he was in, while taking note of the vendors filling the streets. The milling venue was surrounded by a sea of gaunt eyed people fingering wares of differing size.
Urchins raced around trying to pick fruit off of some of the stands while hired toughs stood careful watch, smacking those who came close with a cudgel, or swift kick that usually sent the Urchins scampering away after avoiding an attack. One boy was not so lucky and the cudgel connected with his skull. The Urchin fell in a small heap, only to be tramped by the masses. The cruel and uncaring people involved in the boy's death horrified Cem. He had never witnessed anything of the sort around his family. Though now that he had seen it he wondered whether they knew of the atrocities occurring in the city each day. It brought about a realization for Cem. No one in this world cares. If I wish to survive I must be strong and fend for myself. Moving out of the mouth of the alley he stayed near the out edge of the market and made his way towards a towering building visible in the distance, though it seemed much smaller than he had ever seen it before.
The pinnacle tower was a symbol of the First Families authority over the city. It was usually colored white depicting a rose. Cem knew it was the symbol of the ruling families crest. However, today it was no longer white. Stunned he moved towards the familiar yet changed landmark. He made his way through the throng of people typically being ignored and at times avoided he started to make out the new image on the towers face; a black hawk. The unmistakable crest belonged to a rival family. It would never have flown in the city unless Cem's family was no more. They must all be dead, thought Cem. A true feeling of vulnerability and despair wracked Cem's slight frame. Seeking a shelter he darted into an empty looking shop found a secluded corner and sobbed. Tears streaked Cem's face leaving tracks through the dirt on his cheeks.
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The shopkeeper noticed Cem enter his store, this was the first person to enter in over a week. The specialty magic shop had never done much business; despite this it had been open for well over 50 years. Usually the shop's cliental were known by the owner or had a look about them speaking of dark deeds and desperation. This boy was lacking in the first two categories but seemed to be excelling in the third.
Leaning forward the shopkeeper examined the boy above his low resting spectacles. He certainly has the look of desperation about him thought the shopkeeper; quietly keeping watch as the boy sobbed. Looking away from Cem the shopkeeper glanced towards the door and with no other movement the door closed quietly and locked.