"Murderer!" The civilians screamed out, walking up the war torn stage, elves, the filthiest of the filth. The evil of the empire. The mistake that was meant to be fixed.
The boo's increased, the city that screams, a name for Apex Prime. The noises heard across the solar system, the place where the poverty and the rich collide. Living in harmony but separated by the landmasses that cover the entire planet. Now, a time where the lowest of peasants and thieves are united with the aristocrats, the time of beckoning and execution and the time of praise. A city known as the black sheep of the Big 3 cities.
Inside the crowd, the boy stood watching, his family that he had known for years about to perish in front of his ears. The cheers drowned out his sorrows and sadness, his tears and screams unheard by the masses. Only person was his uncle, behind him, trying to cover his ears and eyes to not see the violence. The boy saw his friend and her family, all locked in chains waiting for their death.
Their beautiful blonde hair, their pitch blue eyes, and their long ears. They had all the traits of elves, and somehow they were proud. The proudest he had seen an elf been since the war. He stared at his friend as she walked up the stairs, lashes all over and scratches marks all over her face. All he could do was look.
The boy shrugged his uncle's arms away to see the wrist-bands placed on the elven people's wrists. They had rocks and glass thrown at their faces, sharp items entering in towards their eyes but no emotion evoked as they had finally been at death's door. As they were spat upon they looked upwards ,the girl glared at the guards giving them their execution.
"Now for the crowd down below, it is the time of beckoning, the time of execution of this horrible race, the worst and most vile of them all, their extermination is needed for the betterment of galactic kind so right now we shall destroy these few with the power of a button!" the man announced, proclaiming from his chest with all his might as he smiled towards the crowd of happiness below him.
The boy senses his superiority, his ignorance, his ego, all of which was the pillars of the harm of man. The boy felt anger, the rage, he tried to call him out but as he tried to mouth the words nothing came out. He was in a state of shock.
"NOW LET ME PRESS THE BUTTON TO SEND THESE ELVES ALL THE WAY TO THE PITS OF FLAMES!" The executioner screamed out.
The boy's eyes widened as he could only watch, his uncle unable to stop him. As the executioner pressed the button the little girl with her family looked at Marcel's eyes exactly and smiled. As the shock ran through her body her pupils immediately became white and she fell to the floor, dead, her mother, her father, all of them had died.
His manifesting power grew as he tried to let all of his energy out but hands grabbed over his face and pulled him back towards the dark alleyway. The boy reached his hand out, trying to throw out all the power he had at the ones who mocked the death of others, the racists who didn't understand war but the anti-magic restraints were too strong. He tried to break free, but that wasn't going to work, he was never going to be free from the shackles of the hierarchy.
"Marcel, you must calm down, if you break free of these restraints we will both end up like Lilian and her family, we mustn't do nothing." The man calmly said. He was Mr. Watson or more commonly was known as Marcel's current guardian.
"Why must we suffer Mr. Watson," The boy proclaimed, shouting and releasing his anger over to the middle aged man.
"You must understand, we must suffer for the sins of our society, it is what we must do," Mr. Watson dauntingly said, keeping his eyes focused on the boy.
"Mr. Watson, the sins of our ancestor must not be brought force upon us, the cruelty," The boy kept his teeth shut, not saying another word.
Marcel stayed there, making sure not to utter another word as Mr. Watson's face immediately turned pale. A hand was placed on Marcel's shoulder.
Marcel looked behind him to see a hunkering giant of a Prok, close to 7 feet tall and in plaid gold armor.
"Mr. Watson, you must keep this boy in check, we wouldn't want him to end up like the family over there," The Prok said, huffing aloud as he laughed with the fellow 2 soldiers with him.
The boy stood there, trying to make the restraints go away, the anger and rage had been building up for too long. The boy looked behind and glared at the man behind him. The red eyes of rage and anger, glaring into the soul of the Prok.
Suddenly a cold breeze fell over the Prok as he saw the elven boy glaring at him. As the boy kept contact with him he was suddenly kicked in the stomach and sent flying to the other end of the alleyway. Corned in with a wall behind his back, nowhere for the boy to run.
"Know your place, you shitty elf," The Prok said, walking slowly towards the boy.
The boy still laid on the floor, coughing up sweat and blood, throwing up everything he had eaten that day. The boy couldn't stare at the being that had just attacked him. They were simply stronger then him.
As they walked closer, to cause more harm Mr. Watson jumped over the boy. SHielding him with his fat, frail body. The soldiers looked below, Marcel staring through the crack of Mr. Watsons elbow to see the soldiers scoff.
"Such a weird man, protecting elves like these, leave him alone, if we harm him we'll lose our jobs," The Prok said, turning behind to go back to the execution line.
Mr. Watson stood up and extended his hand out towards Marcel, Marcel grabbed his hand and stood himself up. Wiping off the dust from his pants and coughing out the last remaining drops that remained in his body.
The boy walked away silently as Mr. Watson followed. Both of them walking together, back towards their house. They walked the crowded streets, some entering the rich lands of Rizasia, while the peasants in the ripped clothing went to Luve, the two continents, separating the rich and the poor on this planet.
Tough in the middle ground, is known as the elven habitat for refugee elves to stay. What the Riz and Luve people have most in common, is the hate for the elven people. As Mr. Watson and Marcel walked to their elven decorated home, they saw paint desecrated over their walls, and slurs pointed towards them.
I see we have to refurbish this place, we can't let it get any worse. Some people don't understand," Mr. Watson said, scoffing as he uses his thumb to open the door to inside the house.
Marcel was met with a living room inside, with a fireplace and 2 luxurious couches that Mr. Watson spent most of his savings to buy. The house have a cozy feeling, since Mr. Watson was a constant advocate and small-time politician; he had many royalties and protections. Causing him to afford many of these items, though the outside still looked like crap.
Marcel never understood why Mr. Watson always helped him out, or any of the other elven kids that lived inside these homes. He always gave refuge to people who he grew up to consider his enemy.
Marcel sat down on the couch as Mr. Watson brought out a first aid kit. He quickly grabbed bandages and pulled up Marcel's shirt, where a huge purple bruise was shown straight on his ribcage.
"I understand your anger Marcel, but violence should never be the key to your answer. Even if you did try to fight, these restraints would hold you back," Mr. Watson said as he applied the bandage on Marcel.
Marcel flinched as the bandages calmly wrapped around him, he looked at the metal circles that surround his 2 hands, restraints for his kind. What had he really done to deserve any of this.
Marcel pulled himself back as he relaxed into the chair, he wondered was this the way to live life. To live on a small island in the middle of two places that hate him. Mr. Watson left towards the kitchen, presumably to cook food for everyone in the safe house.
Tears covered Marcel's eyes as he looked at the ceiling above him, the waters flowing around going down his cheek. This time Mr. Watson wasn't there to comfort him, or the siblings inside the safehouse. Only him, in the living room.
"Marcel," Mr. Watson said.
Marcel quickly turned towards the kitchen and pointed upstairs, smiling as he called the children one by one.
"Lisa, Angela, Riya, Teen, Supro," All of you come down.
All five babies came downstairs, they rushed on top of Marcel, hugging him.
"Mr. Watson help, I'm being barraged by a gang of babies," Marcel said, smiling as he rubbed the heads of Teen and Supro.
"Marcel, will Lily be okay," Angela said.
Suddenly a feeling of dread aroused Marcel, his eyes grew dark and looked at the kids as he smiled.
"Yes she'll be okay, its going to be fine,' Marcel said smiling.
Mr. Watson noticed Marcel trying his hardest not to cry, not to scream and didn't dare look his way.
"Okay you all, it's time to stop playing, we are here to eat and give our blessings for another day," Mr. Watson said, keeping the same smile faded around his cheek.
Marcel rubbed the thoughts out of his head, for the children inside this house, he must protect them, no matter what. He must make them not end up like him, and learn about the truth of their messed up world.
The kids quickly got off of Marcel as he faced towards Mr. Watson walked to the dinner table where Cow porridge stew was served. Marcel sat down, the babies poking him and talking with each other about their favorite toys and cartoons. With no worries of the outside world.
"Before we eat, all of you guys pray to the Elven god of Light, Yran, ask her for anything and it shall be yours," Mr. Watson said as he clapped his hands together.
The other kids did the same, wishing aloud for toys and other worldly items. As Marcel clapped his hands he knew what to wish for. He closed his eyes and prayed for what he prayed for every single day at the wooden dinner table.
"Yran, I pray to you, for another day, to give me the power to destroy my enemies, Amen," Marcel mumbled.
He grabbed his spoon and dipped it inside the spoon, as he thought about his future, and thought about his freedom.