Shadow

My name is Arkera. You can call me Shadow, but most people don't call me anything. Most people take one quick glance at me, then immediately rush away from me and towards their friends. Others will turn on their phones and text their so, very important besties, ignoring me even though I'm starving to death right in front of them. You might be wondering what I'm saying. I'll explain, but don't you dare tell anyone- not that it will matter. If you're reading my journal, I'm probably dead. Big surprise. So. This summer, I turned sixteen, but when I was six, I lived in a big house. I never had to scrounge for food, or steal for survival. I had all I could ever want, and it was just me, Mama, and Papa. A triangle of love. But that all changed on one bright and annoyingly sunny day.

I was playing with my friends, Elliot and Savanna, in my large basement, which was full of toys just for me. I know this is kind of dorky, but our favourite thing to do together was playing with our dolls.

"Hey, Emily!" Elliot had said, grasping her doll (Catrina)'s hand and waving it. Elliot's doll had golden blond hair, just like her.

"Hi, Catrina! Want to go shopping with me?" Savanna squeaked in her doll voice, clutching her doll, Emily. "Can Cybil come, too?"

"Ok!" Elliot agreed, waving her doll side to side. I dragged my doll, Cybil, to the small play store that came with the dolls when Elliot, Savanna and I bought them.

"What should we buy?" I asked, pretending my doll had said my words.

"Let's buy clothes!" Elliot decided. We all dropped our dolls and started looking around the basement for doll clothing. I picked a blue and red pair of shoes, a lilac dress, and white leggings. Funny how I can still remember such a small detail. Before we could start dressing up our dolls, Mama called from upstairs, "Arkera! Elliot and Savanna's moms are here, come up!"

We groaned in unison, then plucked our dolls from the soft, bright pink carpeted floor and headed upstairs. We made sure to stomp extra loud on each step so that our moms would understand that we didn't want to stop playing. "Well, it was a pleasure to have you girls here," Mama said.

My friends' moms left. Both moms took their children by the hand and led them through the fancy birchwood door. As she exited the house, Elliot gave me a quick little wave, though it was hard to tell it was a wave because she was holding her doll, and it covered most of her hand. Mama closed the door. I singly played with Cybil and dressed her up. Then, I took some of my stuffed animals and acted as them. "Hello, Ms. Muffins," I made a bear say in a deep voice. A flamingo replied in a voice an octave higher than my usual one.

"Hello! How do you do, Mr. Growly," I know it's a stupid name, Ms. Muffins- and Mr. Growly is worse; but come on, I was six! I made them go on a little imaginary adventure and Cybil joined them, petting unicorns and finding sloths.

Half an hour later, my mom came and offered, "Want to resume The Lord Of The Rings?" Yeah, I was reading that. At six years. I looked up at her, my broad grin revealing my two missing front teeth as I shook my head up and down vigorously. I lost them when I bashed my head on a metal pole. We walked up the house's elegant spiral staircase, hand in hand. When we got to my room, I let go of her hand, ran past my bookshelf, and cannonballed onto my bed, laughing all the way. My doll slipped from my hand and fell to the floor. I laid down on my pink princess bed, slid to my favourite spot next to Lamb-Lamb, my new stuffy I had gotten from my birthday that year after the big blast of celebration, and gazed at the walls of my room. They were always special to me, as they were painted by my dad. On my walls, happy fairies laid on perfectly green grass, bathing in sunlight, and looking up at the perfectly blue sky with no clouds. A few beautiful mermaids sat on grey rocks near the ocean, while others played with seals and dolphins in an aqua-blue sea. I sighed happily as I caught sight of the smiling fairies. Mama plopped down next to me, and began to read where we'd left off. Papa came in and patted my head.

"I'm going to go cook," he said in his familiar, deep voice.

"Ok!" I yelped as Papa went downstairs. "I love you!" I just randomly said this, as if knowing it would be the last word I said to my father before tragedy striking. I smiled as Mama began. This was the best life could ever be, and it wasn't going to get worse. Not with me, Mama and Papa, happily living together. "Chapter Ten," she read aloud. "The Choices of Master Samwise," she coughed, apparently she went too far with the dramatic voice. "Frodo was lying face upward on the ground and the monster was bending over him, so intent upon her victim that she took no heed at Sam's cries, until he was close at hand. As he rushed up he saw that Frodo was already bound in cords, wound about him from ankle to shoulder, and the monster with great forelegs was beginning to half lift, half drag his body away." Just then, we heard a series of loud knocks at our front door.

"Can you get it, Papa?" I asked loudly. I didn't want Mama to stop reading, and I certainly wasn't going to get it.

"Yep," Papa answered from downstairs. I heard the door opening, but after that, there was nothing but an eerie silence. I had supposed that it was just mail or something.

"That's enough for today," Mama decided a few minutes later. She gave me one last smile before she slipped off the bed and exited my room.

"I'll be right back," she promised. "I'll help you choose your clothes for tomorrow." I sat in silence as I heard her soft footsteps padding down the spiral staircase. I sat on my bed and waited patiently. After a minute passed (ok, maybe I wasn't too patient), I started to feel bored, so I grabbed my doll from the floor and went downstairs. I wanted my parents to see how annoyed I was from waiting, but when I saw their expressions, I knew boredom would be the least of my problems right then. By my wide open front door, two demons stood guard, ready to leap if any of our neighbors saw the scene. Five other demons stood close to my parents. I could tell the one closest to Mama was a Goetic by the dark energy radiating from her.

My parents were frozen in fear, but they still whisper-yelled, "Arkera, RUN!" Clutching my doll, I ran. I ran, and ran, and ran and never stopped running until I was very far away from my former home. The last thing I heard before I was too far away from the battle to hear any action was a powerful Goetic blast hitting a target. Choking back tears as I ran, I glanced at my smiling doll. She was my last memory of my parents, and my old life. But even as a six year old, I knew I had to start a new one, once I heard the Goetic blast. Goetics are powerful. And they wouldn't miss. But... One of my parents may be alive. I hope...

Eventually, I found an abandoned alleyway to hide in. Over time, I've learned to adapt to my new habitat. Now, I know to keep things simple. If I have a choice, I will NOT use glue and I haven't. Ever (Well, maybe twice). I realized it's a bad idea to beg, but a good idea to take things when I can. The homeless Arkera is a thief, a pickpocketer, orphan, and a liar. If I spot a rich kid, I follow them home and take their useful possessions. I usually find a good utilization for the items to help myself, but sometimes I give them to a fellow homeless. I keep my doll, Cybil, with me, in a ragged leather satchel, as she is the only remnant of my past. The demon attack on my family has permanently changed me. I will get reven- Sorry. There's a kid staring at me. Gotta run.

Ugh. It's him, stubborn kid. Last week, he chased me around the neighborhood for thirty minutes straight, shouting some nonsense about interviewing. I quickly speed-walk away, trying to blend in with the people around me. Aw, damn. As I look over my shoulder, I see him advance towards me, picking up his pace. He's following me. Again. He gasps and doubles over, grabbing an inhaler and slamming it into his mouth. Peering at me with pure curiosity, he begins to run, newfound determination in his eyes. I don't want to deal with the same situation as last week's, but I have no choice but to speed up. As I run, I attempt to brush some dirt off my clothing - as I'm extremely dirty. Like, to the point where I can't walk a step without trailing dirt, soot, and blood. Probably because I'm covered head to toe in it. I start a sprint, leaving a pile of dust in my wake. Quickly, I take a few turns, ducking past people and hoping I lose the kid in the crowd. No such luck, I can tell he's still at my heels.

I suppose I am noticeable, even in a crowded street. Although my messy, closely cut grain blonde hair is a bit of an eyesore, it doesn't compare to my piercing violet eyes and extremely pale skin. I am definitely not a forgettable face, much to my constant dismay. Sometimes when I dart through the city, I hear teenage gossips calling me names, like 'Ghost-Girl' and 'Zombie Cinderella'. Not that I care. Humans have such small brains, always flocking to any excuse for gossip. I just don't get these kids' decisions. How do they get so stupid so fast? It's like their IQ halves by the time they enter middle school. Teenagers remind me of 95% of kitsunes. Just like them, they are mean and sassy, and waaaaaay too obsessed with crushes.

I dart into an alley, accidentally knocking into people on the way. That crazy kid is fast! He's gonna ruin my reputation! What is he anyway, some kind of psychopath?

"OW!!!" I cry out as he jumps onto me and pins me to the stone ground. I bash him in the face with my fist. He's earned a brand new bruised eye.

"Ack!" He screams in pain, and cups his left hand over his injured eye. Shaking off his pain, he growls, and kicks me weakly in the stomach. I narrow my eyes. He's got some nerve! I glower at him, standing up and tower menacingly over his weak form. The boy senses danger and slowly backs up, preparing to run, but I'm at full speed now. I throw him to the ground and slam my foot in his stupid face, letting out a sigh of relief as he blacks out.

While he's knocked out and immobile, I can see his features clearly. He has shaggy golden-brown hair, and bronze coloured skin. His features are sharp. Looking up from his face, I am thankful that our fight was hidden by the shadows and the stone walls of an alley. Scanning each detail of my surroundings, I realize I have no idea what street I am in. You'd think I'd have memorized the entire city by now, but I guess I do usually only stay close to my alley. Suddenly, he bolts awake, unfortunately, and suddenly he's like my biggest fan, asking me so many questions so fast that my brain can't process them. "HihowareyahowyadoinwhaIneedfromyouis-" He pauses and uses his inhaler again. "SoIhavetoaskyasomethin-"

I have no idea what he's saying. He's giving me a headache. I've had enough. I cup my cold, worn out hand over his mouth, shushing him.

"No, I think it's my turn to talk. Why'd you follow me, what's your name, and what do you want?" I snarl, planting my foot on his chin. When he stays silent, partly because he is gasping for breath, I cross my arms over my chest."Talk. I don't have all day."

Finally, he manages to catch his breath, and manages to cough out; "I-I'm Stefan, I just want to interview you, 'cause-" He pauses, grinning stupidly, but since he's wheezing, I move my foot and allow him to use his inhaler. He has a thick russian accent, making it hard to parse out what he's trying to say.

Stefan coughs again. "Cause... someone dared me to do it." I frown. People dare others to talk to me? I suppose I'm more well known than I thought. Either that, or I'm just intimidating and the kids were hoping I could get rid of this guy. Given how annoying he seems to be, I wouldn't blame them. "Go on," I say, slightly interested in his reasoning behind this.

Stupid Stefan (my new nickname for him) wheezes once again.

"I-I was playing Truth or Dare, and this is my dare. If I do it, I won't get- uh," He pauses, as if considering whether to tell me the truth. "Beat up. So, um, it would be great if you could... cooperate?" He gives me a weak smile. I don't respond, which he takes as an invitation to keep talking. "So, uh, what is it like to be a thief?" he asks. His braces make his "th" pronunciations sound like "tee", so it kind of sounded like he was saying, "What is it like to be a teeth?".

I blink, not expecting this question - or wanting to answer it, to be honest. Obviously, I don't like being a thief, but I don't have a choice. It's how I survive. "It's none of your business," I eventually answer.

"Where do you live, what's your name, and do you have friends?" he continues, clearly not deterred by my vague response.

"Again - none of your business. But you can call me Shadow." Not that he'll ever talk to me again... or that I ever want to see him again, to be honest.

"You don't need to know anything else." I say bluntly, releasing my foot from his neck. The kid wheezes and grins stupidly - AGAIN. It's more than irritating. He wobbles to his feet, salutes for some reason, and quickly stumbles out of the alley, and out of sight.

...

It's the next day, and I'm spying on Stupid Stefan and his school. I find that recess is the perfect time to spy. I blend in well with shadows, so I hide with them. From what I see now, Stupid Stefan is being cornered by a pack of hungry lions (also known as the grade twelve bullies). They grab his shirtsleeve, and dangle him in the air. "You said you'd let me be!" he screams while struggling to break free of a bully's grasp. He reaches towards his inhaler, gasping for air, and the boy sneers at him as he breathes deeply.

"That was if she came back with you, Snotfan," he sneers. Hmmm. What nickname is better, Snotfan, or Stupid Stefan? Well, Snotfan is just disgusting, and Stupid Ste- on second thought, this is probably not the right time for this sort of contemplation. I edge a bit closer to listen.

"That's not- you didn't-" The bully glares at Stupid Stefan, silencing him.

"I think that's enough talk. You didn't deliver, Snotfan. And now you'll have to pay for it." He shrugs, as if he was doing nothing at all. "Night night, Snotfan."

As I watch, something boils up inside me. For a second I don't recognize the emotion- I haven't felt it for a long time. But a name soon comes to my head. Rage. It bubbles up inside me, threatening to burst out. I can't let those kids bully him, a voice inside me says. Normally, I would ignore it, but something inside me tells me to move. To do something. I suck up a breath and step into the sunlight.

For a second, they don't notice me as I calmly walk towards them. My footsteps pound on the asphalt. Hearing the sound, the bullies see me and shove Stefan away. Now they are cornered. I give them a sharp glare. They seem intimidated by me, and I can use that to my advantage.

"I'm guessing you don't know anything about survival," I start, "Since all but one of you live life in the lap of luxury and riches, completely ignorant towards others who don't have as much." They stare at me in confusion. I rack my brain for facts about these nitwits, collecting all the secrets I've overheard from my past years of spying. I spend a lot of time sneaking around, so I'm pretty sure I have enough information. I point at the bully with thick eyebrows, and take a couple steps forward.

"You... Benjamin." His glare turns to surprise, and his eyebrows shoot up - probably wondering how I know his name. He should know. He brags about it all the time, saying it's the best in the world. "Your little sister is terrified of you, and you are terrible to her. But even though you already know this, you like the power it gives you. You bully her and play cruel pranks." His expression changes, and he tries to blink back his shock. It's too late. I already noticed. I earn a bit of confidence, and continue stating information about each of the members of the pack. "You, Ryan, are a rich snob," I say, pointing at a brown haired, blue eyed teenager. "Being rich isn't bad, but you give rich people, including you, a trashy rep." Next. "You. Jonathan. You have 12 homes, in 12 different countries." I am now only a couple feet away from the entire pack.

"But you, Emerson," I step closer towards him. "Your dad emotionally abuses you, and drinks all the time. Your mom is gone. You have no siblings to help you." My expression softens. "You don't have to be this way. You can get help from people who care." I step back.

"Have the rest of you ever spent days running, not having food, too scared to sleep? Have you spent hours waiting for someone to leave their room so that you could get the first drink of clean water in days? And I bet you didn't know why Emerson never invited you over to his house. You don't know what it's like to have a father, who's supposed to love you, treat you horribly. You don't know what it's like to lose your mother. And you don't know how alone someone can be. No. You don't. You just play on your electronics, whining, not grateful for what you have. And as for the people that do not act like you expect them to, you treat them like aliens. Like scum. You send your victims to interview them, as if people like me are a new species that must be discovered. If you didn't have anything except yourself and memories, you wouldn't last an hour. You're about to get a taste of your own medicine. So you should go now."

The bullies don't waste time. One by one, they scatter, many of them looking like they'd seen a ghost. For a second, only Emerson remains, looking both bemused and grateful. But once he notices me staring at him, he sneers, giving me a dirty look before running off to join his friends. A flicker of disappointment runs through me, even though I'm not surprised. Maybe someday he'll change. Maybe someday they'll all change.

But that's up to them, not me.

I turn away, ignoring Stefan's thanks as I run to the place I can't call home. I miss my real home. I miss my family. I miss my life. I've never had a real pet, but I have trusty companions in creatures. Creatures like Dracoponian, the blue-white ice dragon, who can breathe ice and frost. I have lots of trusty companions, or friends, but they aren't humans.

They're Vamcorl.

They're magic.