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Short Story : The Story Of The Boy '

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The sweet bliss of unconsciousness is cut short as pain explodes through the left side of my face. The bitter taste of copper stains my tongue as I choke, blinking back tears of shock. Another firm backhand snaps my head the other direction. I groan, the floor swaying under my restrained legs. Blood drips onto my pants.
I force myself to straighten, glimpsing the slapper through heavy eyelashes. “Whitehall.”
He clutches my hair and pulls my head back, straining my neck. “Look who decided to wake up?”
I slowly adjust in the chair; I’m strapped to, rolling back my shoulders. I glare up at him, my knotted hair falling in my face. His face seems different from the first time I meet him. Younger, slimmer. “You survived? Fireproof or …show more content…

One name stands out.
Whitehall.
I snort. “You got the report from him? The guy who tried to set someone up for my sister’s murder? Very reliable.”
The man laughs, exchanging an amused look with Whitehall. “Humans will say anything to save their own skins. Quite pathetic really.”
Whitehall’s gaze scorches into my skin, probably wishing he had laser vision.
I pop my lips. “Right, we’re pathetic. It’s not as if we’re all people deep down with the same basic instincts.”
The man sets the tablet down in his lap, clasping his hands. “But we’re not. I know it doesn’t seem fair from your point of view, but this was destined. Humans are such violent creatures after all. You would’ve all killed each other over one extreme opinion or another. If the Angels hadn’t established this Angelic Order, your kind would all be dead.”
This guy has got to be kidding?
He's chugging that crazy juice, that's for sure.
I glance at Whitehall and even he seems a little offset by this man.
Okay, so it’s not just me.
The man continues. “You should be praising the life, they’ve granted you; not out killing and damning them.”
“We all kill each other, even the Angels,” I sneer. “They’re no better than humans.”
A sharp slap has my lip cracked and my cheek swelling red. It’s a numb pain that I easily brush aside. I lick my lip, blood pooling in my mouth. I straighten, spitting at Whitehall.

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