Where the Leaves Fall

"Stop lying to yourself."

"Keep swimming, little fish!"

"You know you're a monster."

"Pick yourself up like you always do!"

"Stay down like you always do. It'll get you somewhere, like it always has."

"Keep that beautiful smile for me?"

"Stop smiling. It looks even more horrid when you fake it."

Stop.

When will they stop?

I'm only a child.

So are they.

I am only one person. I can't take a part of myself and call it different. This mask I wear isn't me and it'll never be.

So I should stop faking it.

Should I stop faking it?

Those brats I call friends have an idea of what I am. They'll exploit me for it, too, use me until I run dry of all my strengths and virtues as a person.

My name is Etra and I am not human. I am Drakkon. I kill peoples innocence and happiness. A dementor from Harry Potter. I suck souls, because they sucked mine first.

My name is Elijah Reagan and I'm a happy 16 year old human boy with great parents and a great house and great food that's served by great maids that come from great money.

It's all so...

Great.

At least, that's what I told the police when they found me on the streets. I told them I was only lost ('On the road of life', I'd said, of course).

That's the picture I've painted. My self-portrait.

It's so hard. So difficult and taxing and exhausting to keep it up.

So I am done- I refuse—

Wait. I can't just keep letting them exploit me. I can't wait for them to throw me away. I have to move ahead. I need to think ahead. I can't allow myself to get used to this.

What will they do next?

...Where does it end?

It doesn't. And it never will.

So...?

"Fight back, little fish."

Okay, Dracnei. I'll listen for once.

:;:;:;:;:;:;:

Humans are weird. Every Drakkon child is taught this at a young age, and every Drakkon child will remember this.

Many millennia ago, Drakkons were at war. Swords flying, horns butting, fire spat from their mouths. Their war was pointless. They fought amongst themselves for the simple reason of children no one could have. Drakkon women could no longer bare children.

Sure, they were immortal, and had beautiful horns of all shapes and sizes.

But no one was happy.

After realizing their race was doomed, one quarter of the Drakkons decided it best to hide away while the rest fought and killed each other off. Those who chose peace over war were blessed by the gods. Blessed with human children...

And magic.

These children grew and became known as "The Blessed". They were exceptional beings, ones with humility and grace, and most importantly were capable of having children.

So their family grew in number and humans as we know them walk the Earth.

But what of Drakkons? Well, they hid. They did for many, many years until time wiped the memory of the ground they once walked, so that no trace of Drakkon-kind ever appeared again. Magic bearers lessened until a single family remained.

Nearly forgotten.

But now we live life in peace, where the leaves fall, under the ground our ancestors once strut.

Until the traitor broke the surface. He decided he didn't want to hide like his mother, and her mother, and her mother's mother before that. He wanted to live with the humans, even be like them. He wanted to learn to love them, the opposite from what he was taught. He wanted to learn their culture and how they lived their lives without magic.

It didn't go very well. Humans suck. I know that because I am that "traitor".

~

"Etra," Mother looked down at me with a scolding stare, "Tell me you did not just walk on my perfectly clean floor with your muddy boots.."

"'Blah blah blah, clean floor, muddy boots', Mother." I gave her a not-so-innocent smile and hide my hands behind my back.

"Cha! Cheeky little-" she reaches for me, and I take off. My beautiful but freakishly strong mother chucks our dining room table at me, and I dodge around the corner into the hallway bathroom just in time. That's the third table this month, that woman is on a roll.

I snap the lock shut before she gets to the door. It won't hold for long, but it'll be enough to escape.

I look in the mirror to see my scrawny 16-year-old self, wavy hair blacker than night and lower than my nape. I should cut it soon, "boys shouldn't have long hair" as mother always says. I look at my blue eyes and pale face. Mother always told me I'd be a heartbreaker when I grew up. I can see she was right. Despite looking a bit girly with my thin face and body, I'd say I look decent. Besides the horns and sharp, pointy ears, there's really no difference between Drakkon and human. That and the ability to see in the dark. That's what the textbooks say, at least. I've never seen one in real life.

"ETRAMA!"

I swipe my bangs out of my eyes and scramble under the sink. Closing the door behind me, I make my way to the back and work at the board covering the wall.

"I WILL COUNT TO THREE AND YOU WILL BE DEAD BEFORE YOU SAY- uh- LORYNX!"

I chuckle at her choice of words and slip through the hole that leads to the side of the (tree)house. This part has always been exhilarating, the thrill of weightlessness. I drop to the first floor from the third with a 'plop'.

As soon as I'm to on my feet, I start sprinting to my tree. Under its roots is something very important. It is there that I always keep a packed bag, just in case.

Just in case I need to run.

You know I do when my mother is... a beast. She isn't the problem, though.

I am.

"You are. Be confident in that, little fish."

'Shut up.'

1025 words