Tyrant

(𝟹) 𝚂𝚎𝚒𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝

I am alone.  

Completely, utterly alone. 

Alone as I wake up from the land of nightmares. 

Alone as memories of the previous day bulldoze into me.

Alone as my body rises from the rotting leather of the destroyed car. 

Alone as I realize who I had left behind.

It was for the best. You know that.

Do I?

Yes, you do. 

That's what it always was. Phoenix versus Phoenix. When were my heart and mind going to unite as one? When will I come to accept my decisions?

Was I still going to leave The City, travel through war-ridden Blackridge, and go off the Continent? 

Rays of golden sun peek out from behind gray clouds, and the rare sight of the bright candle in the sky does nothing to make me feel less dreary, less gloomy. The sunshine does not at all match the bleak, hopeless mood that is set upon The City. 

That has been set upon The City.

My long hair and cut dress had fully dried from yesterday's downpour, though both felt stiff and crinkly. My satchel felt like plastic in my hands, and I had a headache from the decaying scent in the car. I smack my mouth. 

Tastes like rotten meat.

I glance out the cracked window of the stuffy, cramped backseat, out at the rare, sunny midday sky, and stare into nothingness. 

Nothingness stares right back. A disgusting dumpster encompasses me like an ocean, piled with rusty car parts, heaps of plastic bags and bottles, and other filthy, abandoned items. A bright glimmer catches my eye, and I glance to the right. 

A small, sharp dagger lay alone on the dirt ahead, ripe for the picking. 

A dagger?

I quickly exit the rusty, broken car and dash to the mysterious knife, momentary rays of sunlight bouncing off its slim blade like liquid gold. 

I pick up the lonely, dangerous object and examine it, eying the sturdy handle. Steel, and beautifully crafted at that. On the pommel, a small silver circle the size of my nail glimmers elegantly. Smooth lines appear to be protruding from its perimeter: depicting a sun. 

A silver sun? Strange.

The tip of the blade looked so slender and sharp that I had to resist pressing my thumb against it to test the damage it was capable of.

This dagger is as lonely as I am. 

I grip the handle tightly, as this dagger is now mine. My old blade had been a simple knife, not at all this majestic and edged. 

That old knife, though, had managed to save someone I care about.

Cared about, Phoenix. Past tense. 

I shove thoughts of Caspian from my head.

Enforcers possessed guns and obliterators, but I possessed two blades. 

Not truly intimidating against government forces that are set on killing you. 

Inspecting the dagger one last time, I unzip my black bag and place the lethal beauty inside the worn out cloth, shifting some possessions around to make room. 

I am violently knocked to my chest before I can fully zip the satchel shut. 

A rough hand wrenches my bag out of my grasp with a grunt, and, in a moment of complete and utter instinct, I use my forearms to forcefully shove myself upwards, switching places with my attacker and pinning them down with my body. My satchel flings to the left.