Auras are blessings given by the gods, they radiate positive and negative effects, allow you to use magic, they come in different colors and temperatures, they can change your mood and they have different feelings and scents. Most people have them, people are most commonly born with them, while others develops them. There are also the Irregulars, those who have much stronger or strange auras, these people have often gone through traumatic experiences at a young age before becoming Irregular, others are born with it, and for some, they come out of nowhere. Then there are the Impures, they have no auras, it was a insult created by the Oreons, they are the ones who have auras, they think they are superior, we consider them a different species. I am one of the “Impures” as they call it. You could call me a nobody, an underdog. The Oreons often force us to fight their wars, they will sometimes fight too, but not often.

We are segregated, slaves and servants, beggars, it is difficult to get education, next to impossible to get a job, and often stripped of our rights. I am an Orphan: I never knew my parents. I ran away from the orphanage because the Oreons were “cleansing” the population; killing the Impures they didn’t deem worthy of living. I’m a rogue, on the run from the eternal genocide they rain upon my kind. They don’t have feelings, it can’t possibly be, any good being would not murder people just because. There are however, a few exceptions.

I drowsily wake up to the familiar musty smell of garbage in the alley, I reluctantly open my eyes, the morning sunlight seeps through the cracks between my eyelids, causing me to instinctively clamp them shut. I moan in pain from the healing wound in my side being poked by pebbles littering the brick alley floor. As I struggle to push myself upward, my hand slips on a puddle on the ground, causing me to fall back and hit my head on the broken pallet I had been using as a makeshift pillow the night before. I shout curse words as I scramble to my feet, hoping no one would notice, but it was already too late.

I hear people sprinting down to the alleyway, I quickly drape a moldy, feces-covered blanket over myself to conceal myself from the prying eyes of the Oreon supremacists. I remember that the blanket was tossed out of a window 3 stories up about two days ago. I hear the quiet steps of the officers walking down the alleyway, and despite the searing pain in my side and the throbbing in the back of my head, I manage to hold my breath and stay as still as a rock.

“Which one of you assholes screamed like a f****** pussy cat huh?” One of the men shouts.

“Forget it Daryl, we cleansed these streets weeks ago, there are no Impures here, only repulsive smelling bums. Now let’s get out of here, I don’t want to go home to my wife and kids smelling like rat piss.”

“You’re right, let’s get our asses out of here.”

As soon as the men leave, I toss the blanket off and cough and wheeze loudly, struggling to get fresh air. I freeze again as I’m afraid they will come running back, but instead of sprinting, I hear one of the men shouting “Godda** it Daryl I said forget it!” I sigh in relief knowing that I can finally relax. I collapse onto the ice-cold ground. I groan in agony out of the overwhelming pain creeping through my body. I gently place my hand on the wound in my side and wince as it touches the surface.

“These are the risks and sacrifices you must make in order to survive.” I think to myself. I raise my hand in front of my face and turn it so that I can see the palm of it. It is covered in both dried and fresh blood. The blood gleams slightly from the little light in the shady alley.

“Are you okay?” I hear.

“Great, I’m delusional. Perfect,” I mutter.

“You are not delusional, I’m using telepathy.”

Startled by the response, I scan the alleyway until I see a man sitting about 10 feet on my left, staring at me.

“Can you answer my question?” He says, using telepathy as he scoots himself over to my side.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a 3rd degree burn, a stab wound, a missing chunk of flesh, poison running through my blood, and PTSD. Never better.”

“I appreciate the sarcasm.” It is when the pain begins to slowly dissipate that I notice his aura, a bright magenta with a relaxing feeling, it smells like an aroma candle and my ears become indulged in a faint, but soothing white noise.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Issac.” He replies.

“Thanks, Issac,” I say.

“No problem.”

“May I ask, what’s your name?”

“Avalun,” I answer.

“That’s a curious name.” “

Can you talk Issac?”

“No, I’m mute, I’m just lucky I have telepathy.”

I suddenly realize, that this man is an Oreon, that I was so oblivious to this. But he is kind, he isn’t like the others. He has a heart. I was looking for a caring person for a long time now, someone I could be friends with, that didn’t care that I was impure, or human.

“That’s so flattering.”

He thinks as he makes a sound for is what I can only assume is a supposed to be a chuckle.

“I can never keep my thoughts to myself, can I Issac?” I mumble as my face turns bright red out of pure embarrassment.

“Nope. But I’ll try not to judge.”

“Thanks Issac.”

“I’ll say, Avalun, I’m quite impressed. You managed to survive for quite a while, despite the hardships and injuries you’ve been through. I assume that it is much harder for a human to survive then it is for an Oreon.”

“You’d be surprised.”

I respond laughing. “Since when was this a laughing matter Avalun?”

“Every moment could always be your last, it’s best to enjoy even the most horrible times of your life, you gotta find the light in everything. Otherwise, what’s the point in living?”

Issac ponders on this thought for a quite a few minutes before finally responding.

“Maybe you’re right about that, maybe that open mindset you have is the very reason you are still alive, it might be the very place you find all your will and strength. Most people would go insane or kill themselves without that mindset, the human and Oreon mind cannot take such extreme deprivation of happiness for long periods of time.”

“How the h*** are you not socially awkward Avalun?”

“I am, but I manage to stay sane by talking to inanimate objects and myself. It keeps me occupied.”

“You don’t act like it, you probably haven’t even talked to anyone but yourself for several years now.”

“You’re not wrong Issac,” I reply.

Issac’s eyes open so wide in shock that it is almost comical, it’s almost straight out of an old cartoon.

“It’s nearly dark out, we need to get to going before they release the Screamers.” Issac shivers the moment he hears the name.

“I saw a shack in the woods nearby when I was running from the Cleansers earlier. We should check it out while we still can.”

Issac nods in agreement as I help him stand up. I scan the area for possible weaponry and I examine the broken pallet. I put my left foot on one end of a board in the broken pallet and grab the other end with my right hand, I press down with my foot and pull up with my hand until the board snaps off. I examine the board and sadistically smirk as I see multiple sharp nails poking out on one end. I throw the board over my shoulder and carry it like a strong lumberjack would with an axe. Then I begin to walk in the general direction of the shack, with Issac following my lead.

Please tell me what you think! Comments are greatly appreciated.

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