Born in Blood

Bam!

In a small living room — polluted with the smell of alcohol — a tall adult male towered over a skinny young man, crashing his bloodied knuckles over the latter's bruised face.

The young boy had a worn down black hoodie on and tight gym pants that stuck to his thin figure. He had lifeless black eyes and dark hair, with thin features and pale skin.

The middle-aged adult had a humped stomach and a frowned look on his face.

"Didn't I tell you not to be late?!" The adult shouted, swinging his large fists and suddenly knocking the young man unconscious.

Malcolm King clicked his tongue in annoyance when he saw his son laying on the floor unresponsive.

He wiped the blood off his knuckles before shifting his gaze towards his son, Darius.

"It should've been you. Not her!" Malcolm snarled, before entering his room and loudly slamming the door closed.

Meanwhile, when Darius opened his eyes, he was no longer in his depraved, despaired room.

Loud wind wafted over his ears, and passing fluffy clouds seemed just an arm's reach away from him.

He looked below, finding himself laying atop a huge body of rough, red scales, each scale bigger than him.

In his hands, a pair of sharp blades were clenched tightly, clinging to his palms as though he was born with them.

A flapping sound resonated beside the howling wind, and upon a closer listen, a deep growling noise.

Darius smiled.

Never did he do so in reality, but during his dreams, it was as though all his hardship and coldness melted away.

He propped himself in one swift motion, before assessing his surroundings.

He was in the air!

Not only that, he was atop a giant bloody dragon!

Upon Darius' awakening, the dragon's low growl slowly turned into a bellowing roar, accompanied with blinding flames that assaulted the air.

"Hahaha! I've missed you too!"

Darius ran across the dragon's body and with a wide jump, perched atop its scaly head.

He stared down at the distant earth, its lush plains and vast mountains appearing as miniature paintings.

Rivers connected the landforms like veins, giving the fauna and flora life.

Before he could command his beast to lower itself, a distant roar entered his ears.

Darius' gaze shifted forward, a shadow forming behind a wall of clouds.

Suddenly, another draconic beast burst through the sky and flew rapidly towards Darius' figure.

Darius smiled and readied his blades as the two dragons were about to collide.

And…

Darius awoke to reality.

His bruised face no longer containing the joy it did a mere moment ago, replaced with a throbbing pain assaulting his entire body.

His ears couldn't hear the dragon's roars any longer, replaced with the deafening silence that he was used to.

'Ah. I'm home.' He thought, staring at the ceiling of his small living room.

His expression instantly turned to its usual detached coldness.

Darius had no energy to pick himself off the floor. He was broken, in more ways than one.

"Is this living?" He wondered, feeling like a bird stuck within a cage.

As a young man, he hadn't experienced a mother's love, since she died shortly after giving birth to him.

He hadn't really experienced a father's love either, or any love for that matter.

Though, it wasn't love Darius sought.

It was freedom.

'I'll never be free, will I?'

During his dreams, he got a slight taste of how that freedom felt. As fleeting as it was, it gave him a slight hope to live.

'Malcolm spends all his pension on beer. He's already cut me off at ninth grade because of his addiction. I'm not even nineteen and I've already gotten sick of life.'

'Shit. I don't really see any light at the end of this tunnel. It's not like I can really make a living in this ghetto either.'

…

'I've had enough.' Darius decided, his face growing colder and detached. 'I can use the rest.'

Darius mustered enough strength to push himself off the ground, ignoring the sharp pains that caused him to grunt.

He limped to his room, making his way to his small futon and laying down.

'How would I kill myself though? Jumping off a tall building would be ideal. I don't want to suffer too much before dying.' Darius thought, stroking his temples to lighten his headache.

His thoughts grew more wicked the more he reminisced about his past.

'I won't die before I make sure he suffers.'

His mind raced to think of various ways to go about the murder suicide.

'Does Malcolm still have his pistol from his time being a police officer?'

Tasers and batons were simply too weak of a weapon in the ghettos.

'He'd have to exit his room for me to search it, though.'

Right as he thought that, the entrance door to their small apartment creaked open, before slamming shut.

Darius instantly propped himself up and limped to Malcolm's room.

The space had beer cans and wine bottles scattered across the room, but at the very least, housed a proper bed.

Darius instantly started searching his cabinets and drawers, but was unable to find anything.

He heaved a sigh and sat on Malcolm's bed, preparing to groan and lament his luck, when he spotted the corner of a small box beneath his feet.

He instantly pulled it towards him and opened it.

Darius smiled, picking up the Glock-19 pistol and the eight bullets that it came with.

Now, all he had to wait was for his father to come home from the bar, drunk and unsuspecting.

…

Rain pattered against the living room window, and flashes of lightning illuminated the small living room. Blaring police sirens grew loud for a moment before fading into the distance.

Hours had passed and soon, it was midnight. The moon illuminated the living room Darius was in, casting a gentle silver hue on his face.

He felt incredibly drowsy, but pinched himself to keep awake.

A few moments later, the door creaked open.

Malcolm staggered inside the room, his face flushed and eyes drooping.

"You? Why're you awake, kid?" Malcolm questioned, seeing his son standing in front of him.

"Wha—!"

Bang!

A muzzle flash flickered brightly across the room and shook the air, and a bloodcurdling scream sounded a second after.

Malcolm's left knee spurted blood as a bullet pierced through it, pulling him to the floor.

He was instantly sobered.

Fear, confusion, anger and panic all entered Malcolm's mind at that moment, alongside a lethal dose of pain.

He anxiously grasped at his knee and shouted at Darius to put the gun away.

Malcolm's eyes gathered another layer of despair when he saw Darius smiling with cold eyes.

Gripping the gun tightly, he took aim once more.

Bang!

This time, it was Malcolm's right knee that suffered, forming a pool of blood on the floor.

Darius could see Malcolm's lips move, but he filtered what they said, taking aim once again.

A series of gunshots followed.

Malcolm's body was riddled with holes, yet it seemed the man still had a wisp of consciousness remaining.

With one final bang, Malcolm abruptly limped, falling lifeless with his eyes and mouth still open.

Darius heaved a melancholic sigh, sitting on the sofa and caressing the pistol's trigger.

"It's over. I can end it now."

He brought the pistol to his temple, before pulling the trigger.

Darius felt his consciousness yanked out of his body, before being shrouded in a dark light.