what kind of man {gabriel and alistair}

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

[presto]  n o w  i  c a n ' t  e v e n  r e c o g n i z e  m y s e l f  a n y m o r e [/presto]
[presto] s i x t e e n [/presto]	[presto] A L I S T A I R   G A L E They pointed him out one evening when the fog stuck to the ground. I remember their voices, their snide tones as they poked fingers between my ribs and grinned. "When you gonna man up, kid?" "You aren't gonna fail us are you, Alistair? We're just trying to help you." "I could see it in your parents' eyes when I was over, Ali you've gotta do it soon." I always nodded. I always nodded and agreed. Soon. But just the thought sent my stomach into knots and ice down my throat. Words left unsaid screaming at me in the silence of my room. I can't kill anyone. It was Joey's nineteenth birthday, that day. We didn't celebrate. Everyone was somber and sad as we sat at a long table across the bar and Joey got plastered because he was one of them now. The ex-careers with the dark eyes and black hearts, that shuffled about the world mourning the death of their purpose. He looked at me with those eyes, tonight, the ones I occasionally caught burning into the back of my neck or when their voices were low and hushed and I couldn't hear a word of the secrets they were sharing. He stared at me for a long while and I it made my heart ache because I'd disappointed him somehow, I always did. I don't know how to impress my friends so I just knocked back a couple of shots and tried not to think about it. We were walking back and my vision was a bit blurry but I could make out the boy with the tattered clothes passing the alley. Joey pointed and he had a smile that was too wide when he grabbed my chin. I shouted at him because it hurt, but I knew what he meant when he slurred one single word. "Him." And I made some excuse of why I couldn't do it that night and ran all the way home because I could feel their disappointment growing like a whip's welts across my back. (Mother and Father have always been a fan of corporal punishment. I have felt the leather strap's bite from time to time, dealt with the aftermath.) The next day I made another excuse. The day after I made another. And another. And another. But I watched the boy, watched him pass the alley at the same time and I tried to resent him. Tried to think of why he deserved to die. Maybe I hated the way he walked. Maybe I hated the color of his hair. Maybe I could hate him for his voice or the way he held himself. Maybe I could hate him for existing. But I've never hated anyone and I still don't know the feeling because I couldn't find a single fault within the tattered boy. He was just there. Living like the rest of us. He'd wronged me in no way but the others wanted him dead and I wanted their approval. I needed to be the best for them. (Because then I'll finally be happy with myself.) I've got a big bark and a bigger bite but it's all a shell 'cause inside I'm a shriveled little clam. Not the kind with a pearl either. Fourteen days after Joey pointed him out, I hid a knife in my coat. I didn't tell them what I was going to do because if I did I would have backed out. I can't put to words what I'm planning. Not even as I break away from the group and wave to them with a smile plastered on my lips. It hurts to keep it there. The cold metal burns my skin, I can feel it as I sway with the evening's breeze, rigid against my body trained to move with the current. It doesn't belong. And I can't even think of what I'm about to do because I feel like I'm going to vomit. I'm sick, in more ways than one, because even if this kid is a nobody like Joey insists, he's a somebody to someone and he's sure as hell going to be a somebody to me. A weight on my conscious for perhaps the rest of my life. (An old man with greying hair and dead eyes still thinking of the tattered boy who never got to grow old.) He's there, of course he is. I was hoping, praying, that he wouldn't show up today and that I could go home and tell myself that I tried and everything would be better. I force one of my legs to go lame beneath me, dragging it along the pavement as I crash into a wall in front of him. I don't have to force the air into my voice or the panic behind my words. Because I feel like I'm going to faint. "P-please help..." The knife is stiff against my hunched body. [/presto]	[presto] t a b l e b y e l e g a n t [/presto]
[presto] y o u  t u r n e d  m e  i n t o  t h i s [/presto]

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto][/presto]

Today when I left the tea shop I think I was a bit frustrated. Mam kept shoving things in my face for some reason, she was really angry about something. Sometimes when I've gone and done something to annoy her without realizing it, she gets like that. I didn't know what I'd done and I was trying to think about it but I really couldn't think of a thing. I know I've been working a lot lately but she can hardly complain about that, I'm making money for our future. I wanted to ask her what had her in such a spell but I was already running late for work. When I left, she stuffed a scone into my hand without a word, and didn't respond to my muttered 'thank-you' at all. The scone had been delicious but I'd barely tasted it.I hate it when Mam is mad with me.

It was only during the middle of my shift that I realized what must have happened. It's ending the end of the school term. Report cards must have been sent out. I know that my grades can't be the thing to have made her so annoyed because I always get pretty good marks. It must have been the comments then. I was suspended for two days this term and I didn't tell Mam. It was for getting into a scuffle with Edwin Sharpe about a month back. He'd said something dumb to Nina and she'd socked him one in the nose, then he'd gone to hit her and I'd tackled him and, well, I suppose you can guess what happened after. I hadn't meant to break his nose, it'd been an accident. It'd landed me a suspension all the same.

If I'd been in one of those fancy training schools I probably would have been praised for it. The thought of that sort of makes me shudder. What kind of animal thrives on causing others pain? I'd felt so guilty after hurting Edwin like that that I'd written him an apology letter and used some of my hard earned money to buy him a bit of chocolate.

Miserably, I worked through the rest of my shift at the grocery store, trying not to think about it so that I wouldn't put off the customers. No wonder Mam was so mad with me. I should have told her about being suspended, only I knew that her reaction would be like this, which is why I didn't tell her. I'd have to be extra sorry for it. It was bound to be an exhausting conversation. Mam hates violence. I guess it's because of all those years of mom hurting her all the time. I should be ashamed, I was. I still am. My cheeks heat up all red and the girl I'm serving must think it's because of her and she giggles all sweet.

I offer a smile, breaking out of the cloud of misery I'm in. I shouldn't worry about something that I can't fix right at this moment, otherwise it's only going to make me sick. I resolve to worry about it later but put it aside for my shift. As a result, the rest of the day goes smoothly. I even make a few bucks in tips. It's good. I'll use the tip money I make today to by Mam something nice as an apology. Maybe a bit of salt for her cooking. We're running out and it isn't something that we like to spend much on because you can't put salt in tea. I mean, you could, it just wouldn't be so nice.

By the time I leave the grocery store, my apron is hanging neatly in my cubby and I've got a small pouch of salt in my pocket for Mam. I won't give it to her right away, I don't want her to think that I'm bribing her with it or something awful like that. First thing I have to do is apologize to her and resolve things. Mam and I don't fight much and when we do, I always like to make things good between us as soon as I can.

I guess I'm so intent on getting home to Mam that I don't notice the boy until he's crashing into a wall right in front of me. I skid to a halt, confusion and shock growing on my face as I take in how he's hunched over and all. His face is scrunched up, like he's in pain. Concern races through my body and I rush forwards, one hand going to his elbow to steady him, the other pressed firmly against his back to guide him. It's getting dark, the sun is setting and I should really be getting home or Mam might worry and she'll be even angrier, but I can't leave someone in pain either.

"Shh, hey," I say, voice gentle, coaxing, in order to calm him down, "You'll be alright." I guide him into the alley just in front of us and lean him against the wall. Worry knits my eyebrows together and I look down towards his foot, wondering if he's sprained it or something, "What happened?" I ask him.

[presto][/presto]

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

[presto][/presto]

I don't know what I was expecting. Perhaps for him to yell at me, to tell me to get out of his face and to justify the fact that I had to kill him. But he doesn't. His hand wraps around my elbow and the other braces my back and it's probably the most loving, careful touch I've ever received. From a complete stranger. From the complete stranger I am about to kill. "Fuck." The profanity leaves my lips as I stumble forward, purposefully slumping against him. I have to do this. I have to. Because I need their approval, I crave it. I want to mean something to them, so that when I'm dead and gone I'll be remembered. I can't stand the thought of being forgotten, of rotting away and never having mattered to anyone. But everyone always expects so much from me. Too much. This is too much.

"I'm sorry." A heavy, desperate sob leaves me. I don't know why I'm apologizing. Apologizing is asking for forgiveness and that I won't ever deserve. Not when I'm a complete fucking monster. I guess I didn't notice the tears crawling down my cheeks but I can see them upon his shirt. Dark droplets slipping from my eyes and I'm so ashamed. I can't do this. Can't. Can't. "I had to do this." My voice is hoarse and I want to run away but my feet are stuck. He's taken us to an alley. He's done my job for me.

I'm crying so hard it's disgusting. My eyes are swollen and I'm shaking all over, head pressed into his shoulder as my hand slowly inches its way towards the inside of my jacket. The blade I've held so many times is calling my name and I've never wanted to disappoint someone so badly because I can't do this. This kid, a stranger, is showing me more kindness than my own mother when I could want to hurt him. I want to tell him he's an idiot, stand up and take his shoulder's within my hands and look him dead in the eye. You can't trust people like this kid. The world's too terrible a place. Because he doesn't seem to know that and I've known it all my life. And then I could run off and never see him again and he wouldn't have to bleed out and I wouldn't have to stick my knife into his chest. I have the chance to stop this.

I don't. "I'm sorry." I whisper again because my blade has made it's way into the open. He doesn't expect it. I know where to hit him. An artery, his neck, there are so many places that could be fatal. It'd all be over quickly. I could stab any number of places and he'd be dead within the minute. But I can't. I can't i can't i can't i can't. It's pressed against his stomach, for only a split second the very tip of the blade digs into his skin and I close my eyes because I don't want to see it.

It slides into his abdomen easier than I'd ever have thought. The hide isn't as tough as the cloth dummies at the training center. If anything, if feels like cutting into a piece of meat. "Holy shit." I stumble back, leaving the knife buried within the boy. "Holy shit I just stabbed you!" The whole of what I ate that day leaves me in an instant, the smell of blood hitting me like a train. I brace myself against the wall and I'm throwing the fuck up and I'm crying and I'm scared.

I don't know why but I'm fucking terrified. I'm the monster. I'm the murderer. I have all the power here but I've never felt so small. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit." I manage between gasps, and I know I shouldn't turn back to look at him because I already regret what I've done. I couldn't do this. I'm falling to pieces in front of the boy I've just killed. My hand is in my hair and it's pulling, clawing, at it violently. I've ripped out chunks and I want to scream. I've just killed this boy but I feel like I'm the one dying.

There's an emptiness that overcomes me. For one moment as I turn to him and rip the blade from his skin. A part of me knows I can't leave the evidence but the blood on my hand only splatters more of my guts on the wall. (I manage to turn away from the boy in the nick of time.) I can't stand blood. Not when I was a child and scraped my knee, not the time that one of my brothers got a bloody nose and I thought he was dying. Not when I'd accidentally scratched one of my sparring partners and near fainted at the sight of crimson crawling across her flesh.

And there's so much of it now.

Because I've killed him.

I've killed this boy.

I can't do this.

Too late.

[presto][/presto]

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto][/presto]

I had a father.

He had a sword that was his father's and his father's before him and Mam said that she had loved him. I never understood that- till later at least. I knew that Mam had loved Mom. Very much, as she had told me. But I had had a father too and he'd had a sword. Mam said that he swung it once and it took apart a human being piece by piece. Stories like that used to scare me. I've never been much into the blood and gore that keeps this district running. Mam said that she had loved him very much but she'd never told me if he'd loved her back. I guess she didn't really know. She'd said that he loved me though, had always, even when he knew that Mam had loved Mom more.

I'm named Gabriel after his father and Mam said she'd been alright with that because I did look like an angel.

When I'd learned I had a father, I'd often ask about when I could see him and Mam never really answered until one day, when she sat me down on Mom's side of the bed and took my two hands in her's and she'd said, "Gabriel, you can't meet with him. he's dead."

Sometimes I think he's up above my head, watching me, keeping me safe. So knowing that I have him, I've never really been afraid. Not many kids have their own guardian angel. Like this kid.

He swears and leans against me as we walk. I hope he isn't suffering too much but worry seeps into me. If he's in a lot of pain then maybe I need to get help. He apologizes and I murmur words of encouragement and sounds meant to sooth him as my hands find the hem of his shirt. He keeps muttering things and sweat pours out from under his hairline. He must be in a lot of pain. Concern makes my eyes droop and my hands fumble. I've never been as good as this stuff as Mam has ever been but I know enough not to leave a stranger in pain. Gran sometimes says I'm foolish for it, that one day I'll get into trouble for it. No matter what, I can't leave a stranger in pain, not if I can help them.

"You see too much good in them Gabriel."
"In who, Mam?"
"People. You shouldn't trust them so much."

He's sobbing and I try to catch his eyes, my hands resting gently on his shoulders as I duck my head questioningly. I don't know what's wrong. I've never seen a person cry this much. The last time I saw someone cry this hard was the night Mam and I left Mom. Mam was sitting on the kitchen floor and her leg was twisted funny. Orange juice was sliding across the floor like gravity had shifted. Our house was built on mud and we were sinking, slowly. I came climbing out of the cupboard because Mom was finally gone and Mam held her arms out for me and when I climbed into them, she kissed the top of my head and told me not to do that, ever. "What?" I'd asked, "Do what?"

"Be like that. Cause pain like that, for the sake of it, don't."

So I guess I hate it when anyone cries, even strangers. I'm thinking about what I should do, maybe take him home to Gran and Gramps. I could give him a warm cup of tea and maybe Mam could spare a scone with jam for the poor bugger. "Hey," I say, voice gentle so as not to startle him, "Why don'-"

The knife shines in the dim light of the alley and I wonder how I didn't even notice it. "I'm sorry," he says. I wonder what I've done, what I'm taking payment for. I step backwards slightly, my hands leaving his shoulders. I don't run. I can appeal to his better nature, I think. I can ask him what's wrong, I can help him. I want to know what's wrong, if he's alright, I want to help him. I open my mouth, "Wai-"

It slides into my gut, fast, easy. I feel it as the blade pierces my skin, my flesh, the soft lining of my stomach, cold. It's cold. It's so cold. I open my mouth, my hand goes up to reach for the blade and I stumble backwards, back hitting the opposite wall with a dull thud. It doesn't even hurt at first. It feels like immunization day, when the Peacekeepers line us all up and stick flu shots into our arms. There's just a twinge.

"Holy shit, I just stabbed you!"

"Yeah," I say, confusion lacing my voice. I look down at the knife hilt buried in my skin and panic stems from between my teeth, growing and growing and growing and grow- "Yeah!" I say again, hands wrapping around the hilt. I tug on it and it hurts. I let go, hands climbing up to twist themselves in my hair. I stare at the boy, panic and fear growing larger by the second. Why. I want to ask why. I open my mouth, I'm going to ask. He's throwing up, I don't know why he's throwing up, I'm not dying, i'm just stabbed, I'm just stabbed, aren't I?

"Am I gonna die now?" I ask him, voice hitching as a sob of fear grows in my throat.

He doesn't answer me. I watch, looking down as his hand wraps around the hilt of the knife and he tugs.

It's like he's pulling on a thread.

I unravel as he pulls the blade out, blood follows the steel in a river and I stumble as the pain screams through my body. It happens all at once, like a delayed reaction and I whimper as I fall to my knees. I piss myself, warm liquid spreading under my work pants, staining them, making my shaking legs hot. I bite my lips and press my hands to the wound, knowing it won't do any good as blood slips out between my fingers, staining my hands a dull maroon. It covers my shirt fast and I cry out in fear and confusion. Why?

Pain twists through me and drives me senseless, white hot and raging as my body recoils against the wall in confusion. I try to make sense of it, but he's turned away, blood stained knife in his hand. "My blood, I say, voice thick with pain, "That's my blood." It's mine. Why does he have it? Tears leak out of my eyes and I fall to the side. I broke my arm once but it never hurt like this. That was just a broken arm, now I know why Natalie always called me a wuss. I shouldn't have cried over that, it didn't hurt, not in comparison to this.

I try to stand, whimpering slightly as I use the wall as support, "Please," I beg him, "Help me."

[presto][/presto]

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

[presto][/presto]

"Don't!" I turn and I scream. He's leaning against the wall and he's begging for my help. I can't leave him here to die but it's against every lesson forced into me with blunt fists and sharp leather straps to do anything but. "How fucking dare you ask me to help you! How dare you make me want to help you!" I'm not angry although my tone is painted with violent hues. I hold the knife within one hand, grating the silver against my palm again and again and again and again....

(Again and again and again and again.)

I don't think I've cut the skin because I can't feel a damn thing. I'm standing with my back to the boy and my head bowed. There's diamonds falling from the tip of my nose but I don't know how they've gotten there. I'm not crying. I can't feel the pressure behind my eyes. I can't feel the ground beneath my feet and I cannot feel the clothes upon my skin. Maybe I'm dead because I'm lost, floating in absolute nothing and it only worsens my panic because I can't feel anytHING AND-

My palm stings. It's because of the tears. They're painting thin lines in the thick red upon my skin, carving harsh words into my flesh. (Coward. Murderer. Coward. Murderer. COWARD. MURDERER.) And the words scream at me, so loud that I cannot even hear the boy's pleading behind me and I don't care anymore because I'm a selfish asshole who's scared and alone and there's a monster burning the hairs on the back of my neck with its hungry breaths.

Why? Why did I do this? Why? I don't know. I can't see the world ahead of me as I stumble forwards. I just move one foot at a time, breaking into a run and leaving the dying boy and my demons behind me. (The skeletons that have made their home in my closet cause a terrible cacophony as I sprint.) I'm going to die. I deserve to die. And I wonder what kind of animals the victors have become. The kind who have survived, thrived in the face of death and destruction. Filled their goblets with the blood of the innocent and drank deeply while ascending to greatness upon their comrades decaying corpses. I can't. I never could. I should have known because I was born a coward and I deserves to die one too.

I deserve to die. Not that boy.

But I haven't the courage to right that wrong.

And I don't know when or how I made it to my house but here I am. Collapsed against the stairs and painting the concrete with a sick mixture of my own blood and the blood of a dead man. The sight of it makes me want to vomit but I've emptied myself of everything back with the boy. I'm empty. Completely and utterly empty. Like a porcelain doll upon these steps.

One of my brothers opens the door and he screams at the sight of the monster I've become. He calls for my parents and I lay my head upon my forearms and I heave and sob and crumble to dust at their feet. And Dad picks me up by the collar of my shirt and holds me so tightly that I cannot breathe. (The pain is nice. The pain I deserve.) My feet don't touch the ground and my back is against a wall and I'm trying to look at my father's face but all I can see is stars. He's shouting words I cannot hear and slamming me against the wall, demanding things I cannot give him. Because I don't understand what he's asking. I never did.

"I killed him." the words leave me in between my father's violent throws. "I killed him Papa, I killed that boy." and he's so angry. I've never seen him so angry. I've disappointed him. He's thrown me across the room and my head hit the opposite wall hard but I don't care because he looks so angry. Dad's not supposed to look at me like this. Not with those eyes. "I'm sorry Papa, I'm so, so sorry." He grabs my face and he makes me tell him where I did it and he calls me so many things and I wonder if he's going to kill me and I wonder if I'd really mind it all that much.

But then he storms out of the house and I'm still curled up on the floor.

Alive but dead all at the same time.

I hold my palms in front of my face but everything is filtered in blurry light. Maybe my hands are shaking or maybe my eyes are I can't tell. The world is in fluid motion around me. Complete and utter chaos when everything is supposed to fall into strict regiment. Everything has it's place but I don't fit in this puzzle anymore. I'm not even the same piece.

And I've never had this much freedom. Never had a moment determined by my own hand and not the glory-hungry palms of my parents. It's ruined me, freedom has. Ruined every single part of me because I can see the cracks in my flesh begin to crumble and fall away. A perfect facade that I didn't even know was such completely shattered. Slowly I impale myself with every single piece.

Because that is what I deserve.

[presto][/presto]

[gamemaker kelsier]

G   A   B   R   I   E   L

He shouts at me.

Then he runs away.

"Don't leave me like this," I plead weakly, reaching out a hand to catch at his jacket but I'm seeing him wrong, he's not as close as I thought. My hand closes around thin air and I fall forwards, away from the wall. My palm hits pavement, then my elbow. My knees follow and I groan in pain, one hand still pressed to my stomach.

Blood drips out no matter how desperately I try to hold it inside myself. It doesn't care, I'm punctured, broken. I remember crying once after Mom had a go at Mam and she was so mad she was spitting. She threw a plate at the wall and it shattered. Pieces flew all over and a shard hit my Mam in the face, putting a gash right in her forehead. The blood flowing from that wound was so scary that I cried. I had to step between broken pieces of china painted blue and white just to get to Mam.

"Where are you going," I whisper to the view of his retreating back. Doesn't he know that I'm bleeding here? Doesn't he know that I need help? I don't want to die here, I need to clear things up with Mam and i have math homework due tomorrow. I've got a lot of stuff to do. If I die, I'll lose my job. How am I supposed to get Gran and Gramps their new tea shop unless I have my job?

Dying is inconvenient.

So I can't.

My spit is too thick to swallow and so I spit it out instead. It dribbles down my chin, all red. Spit is't meant to be red, it's meant to be clear I think. At least I'm pretty sure. I can't remember. "Hey," I ask quietly, in the hopes that the boy hasn't wandered too far away, "Aren't you coming back?"

I remember the salt then. Slowly, I take my hand away from the wound. It's red all over, like someone's gone and dipped it in a bucket of paint. I reach into my pocket, searching for the packet of salt. When y hands find it, my worst fears are realized. My own blood has ruined the paper packaging. The salt will become nothing but a half melted clump. I spent my tip money on this and Mam won't even get to use it.

I should bring it to her.

I move to stand up and a sharp pain engulfs my abdomen, moving up and down my entire body like lightening. It feels like there's been a knife shoved in there all over again. A cry of pain escapes my lips and I fall real slowly. I fall and roll onto my back, curling my legs up as if I'm a tiny dead spider. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut tight. I've never been too good with pain anyway, but this really takes it.

A sob of pain escapes through my gritted teeth and I struggle with myself, needing a better position but I can't move well. I make it to lying on my side but that almost hurts worse. I can feel the spot in my back where the blade went through and I know that the blood bubbling up my throat is a very unnatural thing. I'm going to die here unless I can get help. I can't even stand up. It isn't likely unless that boy comes back for me.

He won't be.

Gabriel, you're so dumb.

He stabbed you.

You fell for his trick.

But why? I want to ask him why. What did I do? Whatever it was, I didn't do it on purpose. I've always been careful like that. I can't understand, I do-

A tearing pain evaporates my thoughts and I scream because it hurts so bad. Cries fall from my lips as easy as rain from the sky and I curl inwards on myself, a mess. My legs are damp from when I pissed on myself and there's blood all over me. There's no doubt that I'm going to die here, right in this spot. Mam won't know, she'll think I'm just late. She must be getting even madder now. She'll be sitting at the shop's window, angrily darning socks or stirring her mixing bowl, watching for me.

I used to think all her worrying was silly.

I guess I was really just an idiot. Elliot from school likes to tell me pretty often that I'm nothing but an 'Idealistic Nancy'. I didn't think people could be so terrible. Now I believe it, here I believe it. I shuffle closer to the wall, pressing my back against brick, chest heaving as I fight to stay conscious despite myself. My blood paints the alley floor and the opposite wall that he stabbed me against. If I turn my head, I can see the streetlights coming on but in here it's dark as night.

That kid was smart.

No one is going to find me here.

That alley mouth might as well be fifty miles away because I'm not going to make it out there.

He really killed me.

Tears form fresh in my eyes as that knowledge hits me. Up till now, I sort of thought that I could survive this. I'm just a kid, I've got a lot of life left to live. I was never scared of being reaped because I live in District One. There are hundreds of careers to volunteer for me. I knew that I was safe from that so I didn't live in fear.

Maybe I should have.

Mam told me not to trust people so easily. She was right.

"Help me," I tell the alley wall across from me. It doesn't listen. People are walking by, the last stragglers from the day returning home. I stare at them as they go by, listless. All the fight has left me. My breath is slowing down and the blood is coming out slower, sluggish.

Marina passes by. I can tell by the way her heels click against the pavement. She works in the makeup section of the grocery and sometimes she brings in home baking and leaves it in the break room. I watch her disappear past the mouth of the alley, not even looking this way. I don't blame her. I never looked into alleys before either. If I ever make it out of this alive, I don't think I'll be as carefree.

I take my hand away from my stomach to look at the wound.

It's an angry red mouth right underneath my rib cage. It's not as big as I thought it was but it does look uneven, like the boy had to wiggle the knife out of me.

I put my hand back over it, slipping my hand back into my pocket to take the salt out. I weigh it in my hand. It doesn't shift within its package. It must just be one giant red clump. Disappointing.

With a sigh, I slide it back into my pocket and decide to try again.

Either I die here, or I die one step closer to the mouth of the alley, there is no alternative.

Slowly, I grip the brick wall and drag myself up it. I've never been as strong as those careers, bit of a weakling really. Working for the grocer has given me the smallest bit of muscle from lifting sacks of flour. I manage to get myself up and I lean against the wall for a moment, panting heavily. Each movement sends a new wave of pain through me, weighing me down. I'm going to sink if this keeps up.

What will Gramps think of me if he finds out his grandson didn't even try to get help. What will Gran think if she finds out they found me in the middle of the alley. What if Mam finds out that I died, alone and afraid.

I'm going to protect them from that.

I grit my teeth and take a step along the wall, crying out in agony as my feet hit pavement, jarring my body. I never understood before how we are so connected as human beings, how every movement we make results in a movement somewhere else. We're like puppets. I take another step and I can barely contain the moan wanting to make it's way out from between my lips. The alley mouth is now two steps closer. I've beaten my initial goal already.

I take another step and the corners of my vision blur. This agony is one of the most terrible things that I have ever known. Even worse than Mom beating Mam up and there being nothing I could do, even worse than knowing that I had a Dad that I'd never know.

I told myself lies to deal with those pains, but there is nothing to hide this one. This one is raw and more real than anything I have ever felt. Rage, agony, fear, hatred. They are all there. That boy that stabbed me has morphed into a monster in my head already. He haunts me.

I take another two steps and I am halfway to the mouth of this alley. The people passing by have lessened by at least half. I am losing my chance, if I have one. I don't know if they can fix me, I don't know if I can survive this.

I don't know.

I take another step. The mouth of the alley is a foot and a half away. Maybe I get too excited, my legs give out and I collapse, falling forward against the pavement. I feel the rough rock scrape against my chin, drawing beads of blood. I didn't think I had anymore blood left in me.

I lie there, unable to move another inch.

Someone.

Someone, please.

Time passes. Maybe seconds, maybe minute.

Perhaps days.

Hands on my shoulders. They turn me over. I scream. It hurts it hurts it hurts. I can't make out the face above me, it's all shadows.

"Gabriel!" the voice says, it sounds excited. No. Worried.

Maybe it's an angel.

I shut my eyes then.

The world goes quiet.