#its fine its okay because that first draft sucked ass anyways its so terrible its embarassing

[krytus]

a week ago i was ready to give up on kings blood and today i just finished outlining each new chapter of the restructuring/rewrite im doing 😌.....

[twistytwine]

Victor’s POV

A chapter that is the first chapter with Victor’s POV, which is from a super old and unfinished draft of Two Birds Cracked The Stone.

Warning: Has blood, violence, injury, alcohol, smoking, animal death, animal killing, language, and childhood trauma + abuse

(Disclaimer: I’ve changed a lot of things with Victor and Erik since then and I’m definitely changing his past and how it played out. His dad and mom still are kinda the same, but eh...? I’ll figure it out later)

(Also my writing’s pretty bad D:)

4

Victor

I’ve always had dreams. Dreams about my past. Dreams about the most terrible events that have happened in my life.

I was blinking angry tears out of my eyes and staring at the stale grass draped upon my backyard. There was that bird. That stupid bird. Its beak was inches away from pecking my bruised hands, the bruised hands of a poor, lonely child. My teeth were clenched so tightly that I felt like they would snap into a billion pieces.

“Victor!” I heard Dad bark. “Come on, just kill it already!”

“B-But—“ I hiccuped miserably, sniffling as my eyes became wet and damp. “But Mom a-and— and Erik said—“

“Who gives a shit about what Erik said?” Dad snapped. “And your mom’s words mean nothing! So just kill that damn bird!”

I struggled to hold onto the small creature, yet I was having even more trouble trying to let it go. The thoughts endlessly swarmed in my head like a flock of dizzy crows over a dry cornfield. The bird in my grip was fluttering helplessly, but I couldn’t release it. Its red belly was barely visible between my fingers. Another robin.

“If you don’t kill it, Victor,” Dad warned, “you won’t be stepping outside ever again.”

“B-But Erik—“

“Quiet! Kill it! It’s so noisy and it’s driving me crazy!”

Indeed it was noisy. The bird was squawking here, squawking there, practically killing my ears with screams and shrieks. My head was spinning. Why did I have to kill it? Why couldn’t Dad just let it fly away? Why couldn’t Dad just go upstairs and work? I was fine with it. Why couldn’t he be fine with it, too?

Erik wasn’t fine with it at all. I had only left him a month ago and I wasn’t ready to leave my dear friend alone. He was an angel to me. I could never let him go.

But as I heard Dad’s heavy footsteps trudge on behind me, fear took over my actions. Immediately, my hands snapped the bird’s neck with a sickening crunch! that made me cringe. Erik wouldn’t have liked that. He would have hated me for that.

Dad crouched down, resting a hand on my shoulder. It was rough. It squeezed me uncomfortably, wanting to control me. Dad had always treated me like some sort of object; I shouldn’t have been so surprised.

“Good,” he hummed, his voice growly in my ear, like a predator catching his prey. “Now bury it.”

His hand didn’t leave my shoulder, even when I stood up. I stared at the crumpled up, blood-stained carcass in my hands. Dad wanted me to throw it away. To clean it up. It was all my job, my duty, all I had. It was all I was good for.

Shaking, I took my hard hands and began to scrape away at the dirt, digging a nice comfortable hole for the corpse. What would Erik say. What would Erik do. What would Erik think. Then plop! The misshapen bird fell into its resting place, and I smeared it over with the dirt I had dug out.

“Go back inside and eat your breakfast,” Dad sneered. “And watch your hands this time, for God’s sake. You always forget.”

In that dream, I looked back at Dad’s face, and I saw that his eyes were cold and blank. Dark. Lifeless.

Dead.

My eyes fluttered open to the real world. Weak and heavy on my face, droopy and twitchy. Everything was blurry and distant. My heart felt like it was closing in on itself, all tight and locked up in its own little cage. I was surrounded by darkness. My head was foggy and incomprehensible. Where was I?

A coppery taste was flooding my tongue. I was used to it. But this time, it was so intense that I could barely breathe. It was like someone was squeezing my throat, piercing my skin with monstrous claws. This darkness was suffocating me.

I let out a groan as I tried to move, only to be hit by a wave of sores and pains. I blinked rapidly to try and rid of the muddy cover in my eyes. That was when the outside world began to kick in: distant chatter, honking of cars, rumbles of footsteps. I was in town. And as I saw the thick brick patterns across from me, I realized that I was in an alleyway.

I was slumped against a wall. Weakly, I turned my head to see the people passing by in the light. All of them were too busy to look closely in the darkness, to spot me. But I didn’t care; it didn’t seem like anybody gave a shit about me, anyway. I was always left behind. Unnoticed. Ignored. Left to fend for myself. It was a norm for me.

For the umpteenth time, I was alone.

I did my best to lift my heavy, shaking hand to my face. It was covered in new cuts and bruises. Memories of last night swarmed in my head. A bunch of guys. Bitter and drunk. One of them with a knife. Brittle anger began to build up in my chest as I thought harder of the fight that broke out, how I lost and was humiliated instead of them. I was beaten up by a bunch of idiots. Goddamnit.

For a few minutes, I just laid there, trying to ignore the dull aches in my body and the annoying voices of the people in the light. I hated how happy they sounded. How they passed by me without a second glance. They were glued to their phones or their friends, and they had smiles pasted to their faces. It pissed me off. They probably had a great morning.

Unlike me, who woke up to this.

Slowly, I bended my legs, hissing at the burns that were scorching my knees. My face felt numb and cold. My hands were practically burning with pain as I pushed myself against the wall, slipping a little but managing to stand up. A wave of dizziness crashed into me as I forced my eyes to open.

Something was in my mouth. I spat onto the ground. There landed two teeth and a splatter of blood. Motherfucker. How did I get hit like that, anyway? I swore that I was completely focused last night. Even if I was up against a couple of drunkards, I should’ve at least escaped. Angrily, I wiped my mouth with my fist. I’d get those assholes back someday.

With shaking legs, I heaved a quivering breath. I spat again and again, trying to rid of the disgusting taste in my mouth. But it stayed. Now that I was more awake, the pain was becoming worse. Stronger. Flooding my mind.

I spotted a pool of water. It was raining last night, hard and fast. A few raindrops fell from the gutter above me. I stumbled over to it and fell onto my knees with a grunt. I hated feeling so weak. So vulnerable. So useless.

Upon seeing my reflection in the water, I scrunched up my nose in disgust. One of my eyes were swollen shut. A nasty red gash was diagonally spread across my lips. Bruises were smeared all over my face. I already thought that I looked ugly before. Now I looked beyond hideous.

Not that anybody really cared. And I didn’t care since nobody paid attention to me, anyway.

I forced myself to stand back up, wobbling a bit. My head was spinning like a crazy carousel. If I had to walk out in public like this, so be it. Let me be humiliated. People will forget about me afterwards.

I leaned onto the wall for support. Then I slowly edged out into the open, forcing myself to walk as normally as possible to blend into the crowd.

The bright sun skewered itself into my barely opening eyes. The chatter around me quieted down, some of them turning into gasps as I passed by, head down and bleeding fists shoved into my pockets. I glared at the sidewalk; I had to pretend that I was the only person here.

“Excuse me, sir?” I heard a lady call to me. I began to walk faster, zipping around a corner and stepping over my foot, tumbling and tripping onto the ground.

I groaned, pushing myself up as a few people began to surround me, hissing, “Are you okay?” and “Whoa, what happened to you?” all over the place. They sounded like buzzing mosquitos, ready to suck the blood from me.

I veered back up onto my trembling feet and pushed them out of the way. “Move,” I growled at them.

The lady that was calling my name brushed my shoulder with her hand, causing me to jerk away from her touch and glare her in the eye. I gnashed my bloody teeth together. What the hell do these people want?

“Sir, are you alright?” she asked in a shrill, frantic voice. “Do you need me to give you a ride? My car is a few blocks back. I can—“

“Leave me the hell alone,” I snapped.

She blinked stupidly, frowning. “But you’re all beat up! You need to be taken to the hospital, at least! I—“

“Fuck off!” I snarled. “I can take care of myself.”

I left her staring, her eyes digging into my back as I stormed away. All of these people were nasty. Ignorant. Dumb. Some of them, like the guys who beat me up, were demons. Monsters who fed off of others. Possessing people.

You could ask, “Aren’t there angels, too?” I’d laugh at you, loud and bold. I only met one angel in my life. That angel left me a very long time ago.

Sometimes, even in my darkest of moments, I thought of him. He gave me a sparkle of hope. Drove me on to fight all this loneliness and anger.

But that hope would burn out afterwards, because I knew that my angel had forgotten me already.

What do you want me to talk about? Symbolism or some shit? How some things mean predictions for the future? Future, my ass.

Fuck you. Fuck everyone.

* * *

It took me some time to actually get into my apartment. People kept bugging me and stopping me in the hallway, and I pushed them out of my way the best I could. One person even complained about me dripping water and blood all over the face; I thought it was the janitor.

“Stop getting all this dirt all over the halls!” I heard him shout. “I just cleaned this up!”

I blocked out his voice as I slammed the door to my room, grumbling and hissing curses underneath my breath. I didn’t give a damn if I was messing his job up. He was the one annoying me, anyway. None of my business.

My room was plain as hell. Shrunken and small. It made me feel like I was strangling the walls and floors with each and every step I took. I felt like there was barely any room between the kitchen table or my bed, and the bathroom was terribly tiny. Reminded me of my own head. Shrunken and small. Locked away to keep anything from slipping out.

In this case, my room was probably the only place I ever felt safe in.

I was all alone, too. I had to patch up everything on my sore and aching body. From the scrapes on my knees to the bruises on my fists. But like everything else, from getting beaten up and moping away from people treating me like a little baby, I was used to it. I was used to being the lonely, irritated Victor Norres.

I did my best to wipe away most of the blood in the bath-room. I winced and hissed when the wounds stung, especially the one on my face. I washed my mouth out with water, still pissed off at the two hollows left in my gums. Would they grow back? I didn’t know and I didn’t care.

I applied ointment to most of them and wrapped them up afterwards. As I stared in the mirror, I began to feel stupid. I looked stupid. Black eye, jagged lips, torn jeans and knuckles covered in red and blue. Sometimes I wished that I was the only person in the world. I wouldn’t have to deal with anybody’s bullshit. Nobody would get in my way. Nobody would humiliate me. I wouldn’t be so disappointed in everything.

But at the same time, I wished that I had somebody beside me. Someone who could understand me. As I stared into the mirror and at the blood covering my skin, I wondered if someone would clean my wounds for me. I wondered if someone would hold my face. Hold my hands no matter how roughed up they are.

Hold me. Tell me that they were there for me.

I’d have a guardian angel.

I shook off the thought. No. I was all alone here. Monsters were surrounding me. Disgusting monsters that did nothing but hurt people. My dad was one of them. He was a demon who manipulated me and manipulated others into thinking I was the danger. But I knew better than him.

I limped out of the bathroom and to one of the cabinets in the kitchen. I took out a box of cigs, lit up one of the sticks, and pressed it to my lips. I inhaled deeply. It distracted me from the sores on my body. Filled my throat with smoke and warmth.

One of the only things I really liked about this place was that smoking was pretty much allowed anywhere, anytime. Best part was that the people next door to me never complained about anything I did.

Only that one dude. The janitor. I hoped he wouldn’t bark another word at me ever again.

I stepped out onto the balcony and leaned on the railing the best I could. My knees nearly buckled. I took a deep breath, blowing smoke into the grey sky. Felt like a machine. A lonely machine, pumping out dust. Polluting the air. Polluting myself and rusting my engines until they were all dirty and crinkled.

My eye caught a few birds in the distance. It made my heart leap for a moment, remembering Dad’s voice. Good. Now bury it. These birds were free from my grasp, and I was free from their’s.

Still, I couldn’t help but look around, wondering if there were any other birds that were close. Slowly, I backed up, wobb-ling back into the safety of inside.

* * *

Later, I was all cooped up on the couch, staring at the television screen. I wrapped myself up in a cozy blanket, my jacket off to the side. I couldn’t believe that blood had gotten onto my shirt. I didn’t have that many clothes and they pretty much all looked the same. But I was sure that my jacket was zipped up just fine last night.

“Look at all those doves,” Jack said to his lovely sister Diana. “Remind me of Mom and Dad. You get that feeling?” He pointed to the dark evening sky, coated with silhouettes of many birds — devils they were in the bloody horizon. “Look at those two. They’re right next to each other.”

“Ah, yes!” Diana exclaimed. “Just like Mom and Dad. They’re gonna soar off together.”

Jack paused for a moment before looking at the ground, sighing. “What’s wrong?” his sister asked.

“I miss them. I miss Mom and Dad.”

Jesus fucking Christ, I thought to myself. Get over it. I should’ve played a drinking game while watching this shit. Every single time they said “Mom” or “Dad”, take a shot. Alcohol poisoning 101.

I rubbed my face tiredly with the blanket. My bandaged hands came into view. Ugly, beaten, and raw. It hurt just staring at them. Once again, those desperate thoughts crossed my mind: would anybody want to hold these hands?

Watching this movie wasn’t helping at all, either. Jack and Diana still spoke in cheesy, forced voices, staring out at the sunset that didn’t seem to move from its place.

Diana spoke about her boyfriend, a man who wore funky glasses and went to libraries. I wish I had a boyfriend, I moped. Then Jack began comparing his sister’s boyfriend to his own girlfriend, a woman who was a painter and writer. I wish I had a girlfriend, I sulked. I wished that I had somebody. Even a friend. Just to sit with me, talk, drink. I wished, I wished, I wished.

That lovesick feeling was practically dancing in my stomach the longer I watched. Grumbling to myself, I stood up, went over to the fridge, took a bottle of beer and went out onto the balcony once more.

There were times when I’d experience a heavy swing of emotion from thinking about love. Or anything, to be honest. My loneliness was practically controlling me, heaving itself onto my shoulders whenever I realized that even in my small home, there was so much empty space.

Afterwards, that emotion would toughen up, squeeze itself, then become nothing. It would disappear, basically, and I would feel empty. Hollow. Unmotivated. It happened a few times, I remembered as I took a sip from the bottle, when I was a kid. Mom would fuss about it, telling me to stop putting on that “long face.” At that time, I thought I had depression, but since neither Mom or Dad really paid attention to my mental health, I shrugged it off like they did.

The night was dark. Pitch black. No stars to be seen, no moon to awaken from slumber. Kinda made me sad as I stood there, leaning on the railing. I shivered from the gust of wind that brushed against me, swinging my jacket on. Winter was coming soon. A bit too soon for my tastes, to be honest. I hated the cold. I only had one jacket and it was getting a bit worn down. Barely gave me any warmth.

Below me, I heard laughter ringing like birdsong. I looked down. A few ladies and guys were paired together, giggling childishly and tip-tapping away at their phones. I frowned at them. Cigarette smoke was practically steaming from their throats, up, up, up into the air until they morphed into a thick cloud.

I sharpened my glare at the group, wanting them to look up at me. They were giving me a headache with their shrill voices. Idiots. They didn’t know how loud they were being and it was annoying the hell outta me.

Still, as I stared at them, I didn’t yell or shout. The emptiness inside of me was still very much there. The anger in my gut was weak. I watched them wearily, slipping out of my sight, their giggles dying in my ears. I took another sip out of my bottle, sighing deeply as the bitter taste flooded my mouth.

My tongue ran over the two hollow places in my gums. Two teeth. Punched out. Made me wonder if people would cringe when I smiled or laughed. I imagined myself in place with the ladies and guys, laughing with them and smoking with pride. Then I shook the thought away. Impossible. I would remain alone.

Only time I ever felt alive was with Erik. Met him a long time ago, left, never saw him again. Thought that afterwards we’d at least cross paths. At least once. But nope; we stayed on our own sides, never to spot each other’s faces ever again.

I had always had a longing for him, a feeling that I didn’t know how to describe. Hot, burning, searing in my chest. My face would grow hot whenever he was near me. He was almost oblivious to it no matter how close we were to each other. But we were just kids. Both of us would be denying those feelings no matter what.

What if he forgot about me? The nicotine from the passing group was flying into my nostrils, dusting my face. I accompanied it by taking another long drink from the beer in my hand. What if Erik didn’t know who I was anymore? What if I was crazy? Did anybody remember their childhood friend, even after tons of years of never seeing them?

I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to lurk into danger. It all seemed too risky making friends, having hope. I didn’t want to crawl out of the safety of my shell.

Deep down, even though I wouldn’t admit it, I was afraid.

But I won’t show it, I thought to myself, finishing the rest of the bottle and slipping back inside to watch Jack and Diana leaving the sunset together.