From the Journals of a Furtive Mind

My brother and I would make wishes in the dark. Some were whimsical some were realistic. One in particular has always stuck with me and from time-to-time, when all is dark, it comes back to me.

We would wish with all our might that we could be normal kids with a mother and father, a home to go home to that wasn't cold or wet, full bellies, you know child's wishes. For awhile these thoughts would make my brother happy and his tears would go away, making childish wishes and forgetting the reality that waited outside our dreams. The harsh reality that we were the products of rape, our mother died giving birth to us twins, raped by our accursed father and now in the throes of transformation ourselves.

Lying here in a pool of my own blood, that wish comes back, and I wish it was real for a moment. To be in a warm house surrounded by a loving family instead of here in the cold—bruised, bleeding and cut. The harsh reality is in my hand, the pommel of my sword; the wish in my mind. The crying faces, who will defend them and give them warm places to live and food to eat. I grip my sword and stand, vengeance in my blood, vengeance for a lost childhood, vengeance to protect those who cannot protect themselves, vengeance for the empty bellies that go to sleep wishing for a mother and father. My brother calls me bull-headed, a compliment I say, but sometimes even with vengeance in my veins I still wish for the wish that would always dry my brother's tears in the dark.

I stand once again, like the many times before.

Dodge; duck; parry; feint; slash . . . another one goes down bleeding from his throat this time.

They, the ruffians, started out as four—now down to two. Come to beat me and my brother to death for being different, for being monsters in their eyes. My brother, still weak, hides in the trash heap behind me in this squalid allyway while I draw their attention. After finding this rust-pitted short sword in a gutter a few years back I taught myself to fight by watching the city Watch guards practicing in the Watch training grounds. Honed my practice on the bullies, thieves and other low-life scum that preys on the weak in this city. But that was nothing compared to the abuse we suffer now that the transformation has begun, once our features began to distort from human into minotaur the violence and threats escalated. We used to be in an orphanage, warm and partly fed, until the first signs started to show then the matron mother kicked us out into the streets fearing that it would spread to the rest of the children. Not knowing that only the accursed spread the disease while those born into it are the damned with no way to turn back.

I find myself, here now, facing off against two opponents, who once were four, remembering the past and keeping an eye on the one guy who looks like he can handle his sword. Wary now that two of his brethren are down and dying, he attempts to move to my side to hamstring me between them. My skulduggery, I believe, is still hidden by my attempts to make my left arm appear to be injured. Wrapped in the remnants of a heavy cloak with sticks lashed together underneath tied to my arm, appearing as if wrapped for a injury, is a dagger.

Just when they finish trapping me between them I make my move. I perform a shallow slash with my short sword on the guy to my right and continue the slash into a spin to face the wary fellow. The shallow slash does its job and the ruffian to my right raises his sword anticipating to block but the slash is no where close to him. So as I come to face the wary fellow on my left I reverse my grip on my short sword and stab backwards in the hope that my enemy behind me would have gone from a high block position to stepping forward to make that position into a downward strike. Twisting my body again to come back into the same position I was in before I feel my blade slide into the ruffian's abdomen and through his stomach. Surprised he can only make a baffled look as I twist the blade and bring my left arm up at the same time to block the leader's strike with my cloaked forearm. It works the leaders blade slices down into my arm but instead of cleaving my arm in half, or worse cleaving me in half, the sticks and rope under the wrapped cloak stop all but some of the force of the blade. I can feel it bite into my flesh but not deep enough to worry about yet.

I jerk the blade free from the stomach of the other assailant in a spinning motion bringing it around to strike the leader whose blow I just blocked. Being a competent fighter he recovers quickly as I rip my left arm free of his blade and brings his armament into a blocking position. During the spin my left arm is concealed from view behind my body and as his attention goes to prepare for the block of my short sword I flick my left arm and the dagger concealed there drops free and into my hand.

Our blades meet with a clash of steel and I shove my blade towards him as he attempts to direct my blade away from his body which allows me to capture his blade in the pommel guard of my short sword. In that moment he realizes what he did wrong and with his blade captured I continue to spin to face him and drive his blade up and away from his body. Before he is able to release his sword to escape I drive the dagger, that is in my left hand, into his abdomen right below his ribs, and stepping across the front of his body pull the blade completely across his torso and out the other side while continuing the movement, to get away from his body, as blood and entrails begin to come out of the opening I sliced in him. No use getting my hooves dirty if I can avoid it!

His sword clatters to the ground as the pressure from his grip loosens and the pommel guard on my short sword no longer has the friction to hold the blade. Checking the guy that I stabbed to make sure he isn't still able to fight I notice he is clutching his stomach and groaning in pain. So I step in and deliver a coup-de-grace through his eye. No use leaving a witness or someone to come after you later on for revenge if he lives!

With scant time before the Watch actually arrives, now that the fight is over, I do a quick pat down of each fallen enemy grabbing any money they have on them. Least me and my brother will get a warm dinner out of this and maybe some warm clothes now that winter is coming on. I hurry over to the trash heap to find my brother waiting there for me and as I approach he comes out. Grabbing his arm I guide him out of the ally and back into the throngs of people in the market. I can still feel he is in the grips of a terrible fever. I guess a healer is in order before we use this money on food, since if he dies, it won't be much use to him. Hopefully I will have enough money left to at least buy him a warm meal even if I have to go hungry to make sure of it.

If only I could wish all this away.