It was the same dream again.
He was standing in a frozen wasteland, alone and numb. There was nothing but white, but every now and then, he would feel as if someone watching, hidden behind sheets of ice and snow. It was an uncomfortable feeling, almost to the point of being terrifying, and he could do nothing but stand in his disillusioned state, waiting for something to change. It never did...
A gentle touch caused Jerico's eyes to open slowly, fluttering as calm sunlight entered his vision. "Mom...!" he said in a drowsy excitement, pushing his body upright and stretching his arms above his head. He gave her a gentle smile before looking off elsewhere, allowing his mind to wander, as it normally did for a kid his age.
Jerico had been born a hero's son, and everyone in Gabrealle seemed to want to tell him of his mother's bravery. How she was one of the few to survive the final battle, stopping a crazed demon from destroying humanity, or something like that. He was only eight, but Jerico could tell when a story was starting to become a little too exaggerated. But exaggerations or not, it was truly a remarkable moment in history and to be a part of it made Jerico proud to be where he was. But, there were other stories...stories of his father. He knew his mother tried not to bring it up, the subject obviously being hard on her, but Jerico couldn't help but hear the whispers of Gabrealle. They said his father was a traitor, not only betraying their city, but Gaea as well. And nothing could be a bigger sin. His father's name had been cursed more times than Jerico could count, and the trust between humans and Voldos had fallen even lower. And Jerico was stuck between the two, a being of both worlds. Human and Voldo, hero and villain. Proud and ashamed. Of course, he was honored to be her son, but disgusted by his own race and...deformity. It was bad enough being born of mixed heritage, but to be an albino as well...it was as if the gods wanted to curse him in every form. For a Voldo, being an albino meant there was no pigment in the eyes and wings, and their hair was a ghastly shade of pale blonde, a stark contradiction to their tanned skin. And Jerico was no exception, apart from a lone black feather in his right wing, which he would stroke absentmindedly between two fingers. A gift from his father, he thought it as.
It wasn't rough growing up without a father. Gabrealle was a fantastic city, beautiful and safe, an ideal place to grow as a child. And his mother raised him properly; Jerico was a great kid. Shy, yes, but well-mannered and sweet. And every once in a while, his grandfather, Babu as Jerico called him, would come to visit, despite his mother's best wishes. They didn't get along too well; Jerico could tell because the mere mention of his name would cause her lips to purse. Babu was a nice man, though he was quite intimidating. He had taken Jerico to get his first tattoo, a common practice amongst Voldo. The young boy had never cried harder in his life, and Babu's lecturing didn't ease his tears. Now Jerico had five tattoos, a red stripe under each eye and one his chin, one wrapping around his arm and another around his calf. Each of them hurt more than the last. Babu kept trying to force Jerico into the Voldo way of life, to follow their traditions and customs, but in all honestly, Voldos scared him, and he would much rather stay in the middle than pick a side.
A sudden cheering from the crowd brought Jerico's thoughts to the present. Mom had begged him to leave the house and come to this performance, despite his protests. Jerico hated leaving the comfort of his own home. He wasn't what you'd call a people person, and preferred to spend his time alone rather than in a crowd, which thankfully wasn't too bad, thanks to his mother's choice of seating for the performance. They were in the back of the crowd, with enough room to breathe comfortably yet still hear what was going on onstage. Jerico had heard of this man before, a famous singer and teacher of sorts. Although he wasn't really a fan, he was still interested to hear the talent that had made this man a star. The people of Gabrealle needed someone like this.
Latching onto his mother's arm, Jerico leaned his head against her shoulder, stretching his wings as he got comfortable again, though this time wide awake, a subtle excitement keeping his young body energetic and even a little twitchy.
"Mooom, when is this going to start?" he said with a pout, noticing the sound of cicadas rising up from the surrounding forest as night came closer. "They need to hurry..."
Jerico
View User's Journal
Um...
 |
