Only Half Monster

The world is divided in two, the Vasco and the humans. You could almost say the Vasco had superpowers, but the reality is much, much darker. In a destroyed world where the Vasco rule, the humans are being slaughtered, and towns obliterated.

Z is a young man with a secret that must never get out, for he fits in neither with the humans nor the Vasco. But after reminiscing with his past, and a series of unfortunate events, he is thrust into the war and he must get his hands dirty if he wants to uncover the truth about himself and those around him.

It seems you can never truly know a person, until you know yourself.

Note: I've currently drafted 30,000 words of this story, but needs significant editing before uploading. Names of characters will change at some point, and chapters will soon be changed to delete plot holes and remove pointless ramblings.

If you're enjoying the story, please leave a like/favourite, and feedback is greatly appreciated!

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3. The Note

Chapter 3

 

'The Note'

 

Z stopped in the narrow hallway of what once was the house he lived in. The hallway branched off into three rooms. One being the living room on the left, where he noted that the ceiling had caved in and the room was more or less a pile of rubble; and one to the right, which was the kitchen that he could see was covered in cobwebs and looked like something out of a horror movie. At the far end of the hallway there was supposed to be a door which clearly wasn’t there anymore, so he knew that the dining room definitely wasn't accessible.

 

Z exhaled deeply before taking a step forward, into his dark past, a past that should have been left where it belonged. He padded lightly up the stairs to avoid busting the stairway even more than it already was. He told himself on the journey to Bingry that everything would be perfectly fine and that he was more than capable of remaining in control of his emotions, after all, he had had thirteen years of practice. But now that he was here, in his house, just meters away from his own personal hell, he realised that this was going to be a lot harder than he had anticipated.

 

On the second floor, the room dead ahead of the stairway was his parent's room. Just standing at the doorway made his breathing get heavier and he felt the sweat drip down his forehead. This was going to take a lot of mental strength, and although he didn’t have to, he felt the need to step inside. Was he thinking that if he went inside, he would miraculously recover and overcome his childhood tragedy? Maybe he just needed to relive the experience, in order for it to stop appearing in his dreams over and over again. Either way, he needed to go in, and nothing was going to stop him now that he was here. He stepped over the door frame and calmed his breathing as he looked around the room. It had hardly changed, but he didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. There it was. The large wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room, and it was almost perfectly intact. Memories flowed into him but he quickly shook them off. He didn’t want to remember, he wanted to forget, and only now did Z realise that this was a really bad way of going about it. Going to the root of his memories, in order to forget them, he almost laughed out loud at his own stupidity.

 

Z took a step further into the room, but his mind kept recalling the images that he saw from inside the wardrobe. He remembered how he was completely unable to do anything other than watch. His eyes wandered over, almost automatically, to the spot he really did not want to see. His body shivered and his eyes widened as he eyeballed the torn curtains that blew ferociously in the wind, the stained bed sheets, the smashed picture frames and the crimson blood, that was splattered all over the floor and covered almost every surface in the room. Images of his mother flashed before him, and he clenched his fists with anger. He may have been only a child at the time, but it still haunts him every day and every night over how weak and utterly useless he had been, too frozen with fear to help save his own mother.

 

The stench from the bloodied room suddenly hit him and he keeled over, feeling sick to his stomach. This was not good for him. He had ditched his painful past a long time ago, convinced himself he had moved on and that he wouldn’t be tied down anymore. At one point, he thought that maybe hatred was the answer he was looking for, and that if he avenged her death, then maybe he could finally be relieved of his guilt. But, he never came around to doing it. As he grew older, he became more impassive as he bottled away all his emotions. It was then that he decided to ignore what was going on, and to stay out of this country's affairs. By doing this, he hoped to avoid all attachments, all connections and could just get on with his life without a care in the world. And that’s exactly what he had been doing for thirteen whole years, that is, until he stumbled upon Rosemarch. 

 

Z tried to maintain his composure, but it was just too difficult. He steadied himself to his feet and quickly staggered into the room next door that was his bedroom; narrowly missing the gaping hole in the floorboards by the doorway. He collapsed against the bedroom wall and closed his eyes. He was having a panic attack. He struggled over to his bed and slid down onto the floor undoing the five large buttons on the front of his tight cloak and threw it off. A rush of cold air engulfed his body and he was finally able to calm his breathing. Now that the cloak was off, it was easy to spot the highly unusual sight that Z was hidden underneath. The thick black line under his eye continued down to his ear, along his neck and wound its way all over his right arm. The marks were simple abstract, circular patterns, with no significant meaning, only that all of the Vasco were covered in them from head to toe from birth. But Z wasn't fully covered in the marks, only the right side of his body was, the left side was completely mark-free. Ever since he was born he had these marks, and because of that he never knew where he fitted in, for he was neither human nor Vasco. He knew his mother was human, but his father had abandoned them before he was even born, and his mother snatched from him too soon.

Z clicked his tongue in annoyance, but he was finally feeling a bit more like himself now. He inched forward and pulled up a floor board in front of him, setting it aside. A small black box resided deep within the floorboards and he was glad to see that it was still perfectly intact. Inside, he found a folded piece of paper. He knew what it said. He even remembered writing it all those years ago.

"I am seven and my first adventure is about to start. Alistair says we can live in a big house by the sea and have the whole island to ourselves. He says we won't need to worry about the war there and I am so excited. I promise I'll be careful and I will take care of him. This note belongs in this house, so that we can all be linked together forever.
Goodbye Mum. Goodbye Dad. Goodbye Abby.
I love you."

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