Mallethorium Chapter 1

People filled the streets. All were moving, heading off to their own destinations. Windows were open in the massive skyscrapers and apartments, and the sun was shining full force down upon the heads of the city's population. Yet no one looked back into the alleys that spaced these massive structures apart. It was in one such alley that a large number of teenage boys were shouting, beating, and horribly abusing one of thier number.

The one being beaten was named Raimon. Fifteen years old, he was fairly tall, stocky and slim. Other than the cuts, bruises and scrapes inflicted upon him by the other young men, he would be considered normal. Except for the bandanna that was draped over his left eye. Not even Raimon himself knew what was wrong with his eye, he never even tried to take off the piece of cloth and see what lay underneath. Yet once his peers took one look at him, with his wild, neck-length brown hair and Blue-Grey eye, and the responsibility of not removing his bandanna from his other, he became the target of many cruel jokes and beatings.

These current boys had been abusing him for around an hour now. At least, thats what it felt like to Raimon. They had torn off his watch and smashed it at the beginning, before circling him and shoving him around between them. Then came the taunting, and the first strikes snuck in as he was tossed about between the teens. Finally Raimon had been fed up with taking everything, and the next boy he had come close to recieved a fist to the chin, with all the built up momentum of Raimons movement behind it. The fact that the boy Raimon had hit was the ringleader of this gang, didn't go over too well for Raimon. At first he had tried to fight them, but he was only one guy, against a much larger group. Overwhelmed, Raimon decided he had no choice, and relaxed himself to the inevitable pain he knew would follow.

Finally, the ringleading boy, who happened to be holding his hands to a rather broken nose, called off his lackies and gave Raimon one final kick, before taking his boys and fleeing the alley. Raimon lay there for another few minutes, catching his breath with ragged gasps, and working up the strength to begin his trudging walk home. He was hurt, yes, but not overly so. Not even the teenage thugs who constantly beat him would attempt any serious damage to him. That would mean they wouldnt have a target anymore.

Raising himself slowly off the ground, Raimon shuffled towards the opening of the alley, and stepped into the world he knew hated him. It wasn't just his fellow peers that judged him. His teachers and neighbours would chatter and talk about him where they thought he couldnt hear, and some even tried to cause him harm. His nieghbour, Mrs. Jenneva, once called the cops on a burglar that ried to rob her house. When police officials arrived and asked for a description, the lady had pointed over to Raimons house and simply stated "The boy in there. He's always stealing and robbing. It was him for sure."

This of course, was not true. Raimon had been at the park at the time, and had gotten home only minutes before the police had arrived. He had never stolen anything in his life, and avoided most human contact when possible. However, he was still taken into police custody, thrown into jail, and forced to await trial, until it ended up that the acctual burglar was caught robbing Mrs. Jenneva's house again. Silly as it was, it got Raimon out of jail, and back home. Mrs. Jenneva had yet to give him a proper apology, and Raimon wasn't holding his breath for one anytime soon.

As he stepped into the busy city streets, Raimon let his mind drift from the pain of injury to his schedule for the night. He was going to have to have a shower as soon as he stepped inside, to wash all the blood and grime from his body. Then he had some homework to attend to. But once that was finished, he was free to do what he pleased. Raimon began to scheme his plans for this time, when he was brought out into the world again by the honking of a jeep. Turning his head, he saw the vehicle pull in to a nearby parking lot, and the owner get out to come rushing over to him.

Raimon knew her as Jaqueline, his caretaker. Short, pudgy, and usually very dull, Raimon didnt much like her company, yet she was the only one who seemed to attempt at showing a care for him. You see, Raimon was an orphan. His mother died giving birth to him, and his father passed away on a buisness trip out West. In his father's will, he had asked Jaqueline, who said she was a very dear friend to Raimon's father, to watch over him. But watching over him was different, in her books, than taking care of him. Raimon, by the time he was eight, was dutifully mowing lawns and other household chores, to finance his grocery shopping. Jaqueline never cooked for him, did his laundry, or tidied up the house.In fact, she never spent much time with him at all, other than occaisional visits. So it fell on Raimon to maintain his living area and keep himself occupied.

"Raimon! By the Lord, what happened?" Raimon simply shrugged at her question. It wouldn't do much even if he told her, so he kept to himself. Jaqueline had caught up to him, and was now leading him back towards her jeep. "Here, let me give you a ride home." Jaqueline seemed to be worked up about something today, because she never offered Raimon rides anywhere. Raimon let the curiosity slip, though. He was just too tired and sore to focus on much at all right now. As his care taker opened the passenger side door, and he got in, Raimon's mind began to drift again. Not towards anything significant at this point, but just a free drift that, as the door was slammed shut and Jaqueline moved to the other door, inevitably led to sleep.

Fire burned around him as Raimon stood tied to a pillar. Heat seared his chest and scorched his legs as the licks of flame danced around his body. He heard what he thought were voices, deep, squealing voices that ground on the nerves very quickly, chanting outside of his view. Nothing that was said made any sense to him though. Whatever these voices were speaking, it wasn't English. Raimon shook his head vigourously from side to side, not believing any of what was happening. "Its all a dream, it's all a dream..." He repeated to himself, over and over, yet his voice was quickly drowned out by the agonizingly horrible others chanting out of sight. It all seemed to eternally loop, until, with one final screech, the voices died down. As the voices died, so too did the flames.

Behind those flames, he could now see figures, cloaked in black, all turned towards him. As one, they began to step forward. Searing pain shot through Raimons body, all the pain he could imagine, and then much more beyond that. All this pain coursed through his body, and centered on one spot. Raimons left eye. The figures, now within arms reach, each began cackling a hideous laugh, as they each drew what looked like a jagged spike from behind the blackness, and as one they stepped forward again, arms raised. Raimon screamed a howl which was not human, and the spikes fell towards his head.