Past Deserts and Memories

The wind howled around a hooded figure trudging through the sand, his clothes torn and stained in blood. Sand continued to whip his pale face, tearing into his skin and slowly ripping his coat and sleeves in twine. He appeared to be a mirage far off in the distance, one that didn't fade with the lost miles. A real mirage with wounds that left a small trail of blood drops behind him.

He never once looked up, simply dragged his broken self through the slowly building and disappearing sand dunes. He didn't need to, destination never mattered. He didn't care. Didn't care enough to tell people where he was going.

Not that he cared where he'd end up. It didn't matter one way or the other.

One thing was for certain: he had failed in the eyes of the elders. Failed in the eyes of those who brought him up, taught him what he knew. Those who had thrown him out, those ones left him to die a long painful death in the wilderness.

". . . Not here . . . I don't belong here . . . I don't belong . . ."

He grimaced, biting his tongue to keep himself from feeling the pain. The pain of the trial, the sentencing, the penalty:

"I hereby state that the accused halfbreed, Vincent, son of Vladimir, is no longer a member of this clan." A tall pale figure with black hair held a piece of parchment, a pair of golden eyes scanning back and forth as he spoke each word."He is to be stripped of all rights and privileges allotted, as well as disowned and banished from this place."

"You can't do this!" Vincent pleaded, fighting the two guards holding him back from movement. "I did nothing wrong!"

"He is to be beaten and flogged, then complete and total removal from this place."

Vincent bit his lip, remembering the whip tearing into his back, the taste of his own blood from the beatings.

Vladimir tightened his hold on the whip, his crimson eyes tracing over the open wounds and scars on the dhamphyre's back before making one last crack.

"Father ..." Vincent grimaced, biting his lower lip tight enough to draw blood, refusing to scream despite a small trail of tears streaming down his face. "...How can you do this to me?" The vampire gripped his son by the throat, digging his nails into untouched pale flesh.

"You are no son of mine."

The dhamphyre stopped, breathing heavily. His entire body felt heavy, his legs about to give in from a lack of strength.  He dropped to his knees, unaware of how far he had traveled. 10 miles, 100 miles, maybe? Days had turned into nights, nights into days - so much time had passed.

Not that he was even aware of it.

"I can't . . . I can't . . ." His voice was dry, his cracked lips worn by the sandstorms he endured.  His throat hurt, his body sore from running on a low energy reserve.

Two crimson eyes peered out from the hood, catching a moving caravan resting at the palms' oasis. Right in the middle of a camp in the middle of nowhere.  2 people, both in garb he had never seen before. One rested beside one of the palms, the other holding a bunch of grapes over him.

With every last bit of strength, Vincent forced himself up and stumbled towards them, his eyes almost glossed over. He needed food, desperately needed food. Anything he could eat, anything he could drink.

Before he could even reach them, his body collapsed, his legs the first to give in.

Vincent groaned, unable to get any further than pathetically rolling onto his side. His eyes flickered around the faces of the group crowded around him, many of which didn't look happy to see him. Many who looked ready to kill him.

"Looky what I found." The dhamphyre felt 2 strong arms grab him by his hair and force him up. One of those hands grabbed him by the throat, pinning him against a palm trunk, making him cough up blood from the tightened hold. "Heh - a desert straggler, and a scrawny one at that."

"Hey boss, look what dropped in our plate." The man who had been reclining readjusted to glance in the brute's direction, eyeing the pale dhamphyre. "What should I do with him?" Vincent clawed weakly at the brute's grip, trying to sever the man's hold.

"Let me see him." The brute tossed him like a rag doll towards the man, landing with a thud onto the ground.  He grimaced from the fall, coughing from the pain in his neck as he forced himself up on invisible strength, hoping to God this man wouldn't kill him.

"Who are you?" The words stuck to the back of his injured throat, making it hard to speak.

"I-I'm just. . . just a-a-" His nearly dead voice wouldn't rise above a hoarse tone.

The large brute who he would've sworn broke his voice box kicked him in the lower back, knocking him onto the sand at his feet. "Speak up, you little shit!"

Clearing his throat as best he could, Vincent tried to start talking as he managed to bring himself to his knees, but everything started to spin. He grimaced, clutching his head as a continual beat began throbbing in his temples.

". . . Damn it . . . not now . . ."

Everything faded to black, complete and total blackout.

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Vincent slowly sat up, groggily rubbing his eyes just to discover crimson red staining his hands. He glanced down, terrified at the blood painted onto his clothes. He felt himself shaking, horrified at what had happened.  "No . . ." His eyes flickered around him, finding nothing but dead corpses of the brute, the man and any others around him lying scattered about the caravan tent. The entire area the site of a massacre.

"I couldn't've . . . I didn't . . ." He stood up, slowly backing away in terror before turning tail and running as fast as he could away. Away from this.  Away from what he'd done. What he knew he was capable of.

3 hours later, the dhamphyre was back out in the whipping sandstorms, exhausted from running and unaware that he had gotten far enough to reach the nearest town. Unaware that people were actually starting to watch him as he stumbled through the dusty ground.

Unaware he was trying to reassure himself out loud.

"I didn't do that . . . didn't do any of it."

You say that, but you know you did, Vincent.

The dhamphyre shuddered, not wanting to hear the voice in his head. His father's voice.

"Shut up . . ."

You are not fit to be with humans, nor vampires.

"Shut up . . ."

A fucking halfbreed like you should never exist in our world or their world.

"SHUT UP!!!"  He dropped to his knees, panting heavily as he collapsed from exhaustion, tears starting to trickle down his face.  "I didn't do it . . . I didn't . . . I'm not capable of that . . . I'm not . . ."

***

He grimaced, slowly opening his eyes. His sore body ached as he absentmindedly sat up, his eyes slowly focusing on his bandaged hands and arms.

His gaze shifted from his hands to the room around him. It was dark and cold, little visible light screening through cracks in a boarded-up window in the wall, small bits of dust resting on the floor beside the stiff cot he was lying on. His coat and shirt were hung on wires stretched across the room in midair to his left, 3 walls of stone and an open doorway surrounding the place. His weapon, a steel blade with a jeweled hilt, rested against a wooden chair on the other side, his boots placed on the same side as his upper clothes.

Vincent placed both hands on his forehead, his left temple cushioned by a wad of gauze and tape stuck to his head. He started to stand up, just to stumble onto a knee before letting out a groan of pain.  He haphazardly felt around the room for his clothes and his weapon, getting his shirt half on before hopping around frantically while pulling on his boots, stumbling around the room like a wild animal desperate to escape the confines of its cage. Desperate to get out and away from human civilization.

He grabbed the chair for support, unaware of another person in the room startled by his abrupt movement, and reached for his sword. His fingers barely touched the hilt before losing his balance and toppling over due to his injured right leg not allowing any pressure.

A scream of pain escaped his lips, loud enough to draw two people towards him.

He felt a soft hand touch his shoulder, a hand that made him shudder. He glanced fearfully in the direction of the hand's owner, a young girl no older than mid-20s with dark brown hair.

"What are you doing out of bed?" She gently gripped his arm, helping him lie back down on the stiff bed and started to pull off his shirt, an action which he resisted.

"Come now - I have to check your wounds. I can't get to them unless this comes off." She tugged on the cloth, cocking her head to the side. "You have severe burns and cut all over. I have to treat them so they don't get infected." Vincent clenched the edge of his shirt in one hand defensively. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The second person, a figure with straight black hair with ice blue hues, crossed a pair of tan colored sleeves and shook his head with a sigh. "Just let him be stubborn, Skye. He's not gonna let you undress him again." Skye turned to glance at the black-haired man, scowling.

"You're not helping, Tyler."

Vincent blinked, a small shiver making him shudder slightly. He bolted up slightly, biting his tongue to keep from wincing as he tried to grab his coat and head towards the doorway. He turned sharply on his right foot, grimacing as he started to lose his balance again.

Tyler grabbed the dhamphyre by his arms, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him up. "Woahh, take it easy dude."

Vincent glanced at the man, unable to keep himself on both feet as he felt his strength give out on him. He didn't notice a few lines of blood dripping across his shoulder blades as he dropped to both knees.

". . . Who the hell are you people?" His tone came out almost hoarse, meaning his voice was still a bit shot from earlier as he felt the man lead him back to the cot and force him onto his side. He felt his shirt pulled off as a cold ointment was placed against his skin, making him hiss from the touch. ". . . Fucking hurts . . ." His fingers dug into Tyler's shoulder tightly, biting his lower lip to avoid screaming in pain.

"It's easier to let it out if it hurts this much," Skye responded, glancing at the pale dhamphyre, a gasp caught in her throat. "You poor thing . . . why would someone do this to you?"

The dhamphyre closed his eyes, swallowing a lump in his throat. "It's a long story . . ." He bit his tongue on his exposed fangs, glancing towards a corner of the wall. "I deserved it anyways . . ." A single tear fell down his face, recalling his punishment:

He was chained to a brick wall, silver cuffs clasped around his wrists as a whip dragged across his body. A whip stained with garlic and tied with pieces of silver. Vincent felt several blows strike him in the chest, his body giving involuntary spasms in response, spitting out blood in distaste. Not one scream escaped his throat, not one groan of pain. Several splatters of blood painted the wall and the dirt floor crimson. A stinging blow to his head drew blood from his lower lip as a cold hand lifted his face, a pair of crimson gold eyes staring into his own.

"There's no place for a half-breed like you."

"No one deserves this sort of treatment."

Vincent gave a small scoff, wincing from the ointment. "That's what they all say . . ." He twitched, feeling Skye's fingers traced the whipping scars on his shoulders and upper back.

"How could someone do this?"

Tyler gently squeezed the dhamphyre's wrist, loosening his vice-like grip and placed his hand against the cot. "It's amazing the sort of cruelty that exists in this world." Vincent gave a small nod, his mind shifting into oblivion and out of consciousness.