Dear Angel,

I was given this journal to write down my thoughts and wishes, so that someday I may look back upon it and smile. There is nothing to smile about these days, so I think I can find a better use for it.

Through my journeys and my toils in this vast sea of space and nothingness, the vision of you is what has kept me alive. I know you lived to learn, to explore and find, yet they took that away from you. So I find myself lead in the footsteps you once made, and then, stepping out and making my own. This is the use of this notebook. To tell you all that I have learned from my masters, my friends, and my enemies.

Since you left, I have learned two things. Life is hell. Hell lasts an eternity. I wonder if when I die, I will go to that place that everyone dreads, and I wonder how much worse it could be than living. But I won't give up. I owe you that much.

I think it is time for my stories to be told little Angel. I think it is time you learned that one does not delight in seeing the universe for what it is. Here is my story; here is the universe through the eyes of a wanderer.

Love,
Eli

Before I could read or write, I knew the ways of the world. I knew then, that pain ruled the hearts of the strong, and ignorance satisfied the minds of everyone else. I was born into a war of dynamic parameters; the first interworld conflict for humanity. Before I was three, visions of bloodshed and horrors filled my mind— and that was only from our local news channel.

But let me back up a little for those that don't know the history of my planet. This was all before the second age. Humans had just found out that there were other life forms out in the universe, and we could explore and find them. It is what started the world's civil war.

Mankind wasn't ready for space travel, but ready or not, it had come into existence as rapidly as any other science experiment. So many had opposed this science, stating that if humans could not get together well on Earth, how could we possibly expect to get along with people of other species? Not even to mention we didn't even have a common language. I guess it wouldn't matter anyway though. Sooner or later, some alien species would find us on this world, and we would have to find a way out.

So while The Republic of America and China were still fighting, some dumb American found the technology to take us places we had never been to or seen. The Americans dropped half the troops out of war to build the thing. Even then, I think our government was more interested in bombing our enemies from space, more than expanding or exploring. But we are quite an ignorant race.

Seven ships were built, two to stay and wait for more technology, and five to be sent out in different directions all over the galaxy. I think it was The spaceship Nova that encountered the Shiji. (As some of you may know, Shiji is just the human name of the species, which cannot be pronounced in any human language. However, the Shiji had universal translators, and could understand us.)

In luck or fate, the Shiji were a peaceful race, and we did not aggravate them. However, the new and different sight of them angered many of the people. The nations began to realize that we could not go out into space as Americans or Chinese or Russians. We needed to go out as Humans.

And so the struggles for world peace had come, yet it only achieved war. There was the side promoting peace between separate people, but with every group, there are rebels. Rebels were in every country, those who could not accept other nations as their own people. Before it was over, they banded together (ironic as that may seem) to throw down the others. And that is how the civil war of our world started.

My story doesn't limit itself to Earth, but it does start there. I'll begin with my first memory, and not a very pleasant one; I think you'll agree.

I never knew my mother. I was brought out of my bed in the middle of the night by a man I have never learned the name of. His eyes were cold; as dark as two endless pits suspended in his head. His face was pale and unshaven, and he wore a smirk that still haunts me. His hair was shiny, combed back nicely with care, and I remember dreading him, struggling to get out of his bruising grasp. There was something about his face and the way his eyes looked that made me know even then that he wanted revenge against me. I didn't understand why, I was so young.

The man grabbed hold of me, under my arms tightly, and injured my sides slightly. He was laughing as he took me down my stairs, common stairs, and into our garage. Our comfortable garage now had blood splashed over the walls, and my mother, gasping for breath, was in the middle, held by two men not unlike the one that held me.

I knew they had hurt her, even though she would not give them the pleasure of hearing her cry or scream. She knew no one would come.

My mother seemed to notice another presence in the room and looked up for a moment. She saw me, staring deeply into my eyes, and cried out in a mix of fear and hate. How dare they let her baby see her like this? Would they hurt him too? She saw what they had exposed me to, and struggled to be freed of their arms. They would not comply, and one thrust her down to the floor while another laid on top of her, moving up and down.

I didn't understand it then. I didn't even understand it for another twenty years, until I looked back upon my memory and broke down. They had been raping her, and judging by her ripped clothing, it was not the first time that night they had done it.

She glanced at me, her baby. If it was killing her inside, she wasn't showing it. She smiled. Her body was covered in blood from their lashings and beatings, but she smiled at me. And her eyes, her eyes...

Her eyes are the one good thing I'll remember all my life. The blue sapphires looked like offerings of peace amidst the darkness, amidst bloodshed and conflict. "Elijah," she whispered, almost silently. I could tell no one else could hear her, but she sounded loud and clear in my mind.

The man kept my head turned toward my mother, and no matter how much I tried looked away, he poked my neck with a knife, hitting me and reminding me to keep my eyes on the woman in the middle of the floor. When I tried to close my eyes, he would kick me in the leg, sending a blinding pain up to my hip. He made me watch them finish with her, and hold her up. To my horror, (I must have screamed until I was hoarse), one of them grabbed at his side for his gun.

All she did was smile.

It was an old gun, in fact, a hunting rifle. I guess at the time, the rebels weren't adequately funded, and would take whatever they got their hands on. He sneered at her serene face, knowing that in a way, she was mocking him.

Did he shoot her? Did her end her life quickly and painlessly? Did he show her any mercy at all? No. The dirty son of a bitch grimaced at her and hung the gun over his shoulder as if it was a baseball bat. He swung at her, nearly blinded by his own rage. The force was enough to put a bloody dent in her head, enough to throw her head into the wall, enough to send her body flying with it. But it wasn't enough to kill her instantly.

"No! Mamma!" I cried as the man smirked in satisfaction. I tried to run to her, but was held back by the enemy. I glared up at him and bit his hand, feeling the metallic taste of blood run into my mouth as I did so. I hardly heard him scream, but I did feel him let go in surprise, and I took the opportunity to sprint to my mother's side.

She looked up at me with those bright cobalt eyes and I gasped. She smiled and tried to move her hand to my face, but could not muster up enough strength. "Elijah," she murmured. "My Elijah. Don't give up hope."

I watched her fade out of my life, a life that had started only a few short years before. I was too young to know her... too young to love her...

And watching her die, I knew I could not honor her wish. As I saw her blue eyes close, blue eyes full of life that I would never see again, I couldn't help but know that all the hope for the world was gone. The blue fire was gone, the one haven, one sanctuary from the cold, was forgotten. All that was left now was dark.

She was my mother, and I knew I would have loved her. But I'm glad I did not, because there is enough pain to live with already, without the added weight of my mother's loss. And that is a good thing.

I turned off the palm journal. That was enough for tonight, my hand hurt too much. Tomorrow I may write more, but for tonight, I'm finished. People say writing helps the soul, that it might "get it out of my system". In reality, I go over worse accusations in my head every second of my life. Writing doesn't heal wounds that run that deep.

I meet the empress in a week. Or should I say, assassinate. I laughed softly, pressing my head against my pillow. "Empress" of the Rahni, the one who unites the evil that killed my family and friends. I've pretended to be on their side for so long; it's about time I got the chance to splatter her brains across her royal thrown. She'd pay, and soon.

It's been easy getting them to trust me. All they wanted was someone who would agree with their beliefs without question; someone to tell them they were right. Ha, it is easy to fool those who have not yet been betrayed. If they lived to learn it, it would be a lesson they'd never forget.

I smirked and turned out the light. Tomorrow is a new day.

I munched my breakfast silently, listening to the telegraph that was playing on the table in my living quarters. The Genshi home planet had been purged by the Kanhogen yesterday, and millions were massacred for the sake of land. I clicked off the idiot message— who gave a damn anyway? So a few more people died, they weren't important at all, just like when I die, no one will care. It doesn't matter.

I sighed and glanced out the window. I have this somewhat unusual view of Zechen, the planet I'm on now. I can look into the grassy valley below me and see the summer flowers swing in the breeze. It's summer now, and will stay summer for the next ten standard years, and then turn winter. It was nearly impossible to adapt to this climate when I first arrived here, it's always, and I mean always, hot. When it goes into winter, it will be like an Earth spring. After my mission here is completed, I think I will travel to a colder planet, or one with an atmosphere similar to Earth's. I need a vacation.

I leaned back in my chair, putting my feet up against the table. Maybe after all this was done and over with I'd find her. I'd search the universe for her, the one person left in the world with some sense. I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, I didn't mean to turn her away, but next time I see her, I will stay with her and hold her close. I won't kill her with my sheer idiocy and ignorance this time. I turned the telegraph back on, listening to further news, maybe a story without such a sympathetic anchor.

But the broadcast was over. I had three hours to kill, so I opened up that little recorder notebook. It's not like there's anything better to do.

Those men took me to a prison. It wasn't really a prison, it was a school, but I think it was more like a jail than anything else. It wasn't supposed to be something incredibly horrible, but it was. I don't know why they didn't just kill me on the spot, but I guess they had orders from the higher ups not to kill little kids, even if they were allowed to submit them to things that would run in the back of their heads for the rest of their lives.

I grew up there, sharing a room with two other boys my age. They were named Stephen and Keith, and we ended up to be best friends for quite some time. We were always wrecking havoc about the place, and seemed to become the trouble makers.

Stephen was your typical pretty boy, with a smile that would win the heart of any girl that saw it. His blonde hair came down to his eye level, and he developed to have a slim yet slightly muscular build. He had seen his twin sister slaughtered before his eyes, and I think he hid a lot of his pain with his good humor. Stephen was the guy anyone would want as a friend, but for some reason, he kept solely to me and Keith.

Keith was black, and when I say black, I mean black. His skin was nearly the color of onyx and even his hair seemed a bit lighter than the rest of him. He grew up into a bulky build, and was very strong. His eyes we a rich brown, and could just make you feel warm when they were on you. He didn't remember any of his family at all, and had amnesia. He couldn't remember anything that happened before he came to this place. I later learned that amnesia was the body's defense to block something out of the memory so that the mind didn't totally break down. Knowing that, Keith probably went through more torture than either I or Stephen endured.

Our crusades included trying to find a way out of the school every day. Usually, we got caught. Other times, we just gave up for the night. I remember once, when I was around fourteen, we had been digging a hole underneath the barbed fence outside. The fence was what really made it seem like a prison, it was twenty feet tall and made of strong metal links. At the top, just in the event that someone might climb it, there was a ring of barbed wire. Since we knew better than to climb it, we picked a place close to the building that was shrouded with shadows. We decided if we couldn't go over it, we'd go under it.

It took us six weeks just to start digging the awful thing, sneaking out at the dead of night and making sure the dirt we drew up was hidden well. We always had it all over our clothes by the end of the night, which was hard to hide as well. We managed though, until one night we clumsily stomped inside.

One of our "teacher"s walked down the hall swiftly, probably making his way toward a bathroom. I'm assuming he heard a light laugh or something, and called out into the darkness, glaring with piercing eyes.

"Who is up at this hour?!" he bellowed into the shadowed halls.

We had run to the side wall and stood there, petrified. My back was against the wall, but with every step he took in our direction, I came more and more sure that he would find us out for certain, and lash out at us all. It seemed the others knew this too. I was about to step out from the light and run in another direction, drawing him away from my friends, but Keith beat me to it. Actually, I soon found that Keith had a different approach.

"It was me. I had to go to the bathroom... and I know it's against the rules but I couldn't wait until morning."

"How did you get out of your room?" the man growled.

Keith seemed to twist in his spot. There were locks on every door from the inside and outside, but we had broken ours years ago, always fixing it a day or two before room inspection. "I don't think it's working..."

"Right boy! You'll pay for being out past curfew!" he snarled, stomping towards my friend and grabbing his neck. I just then figured out who it was, Mr. Doyle. We couldn't have been caught by a worse person.

Stephen ran out and grabbed his hand, pulling it away from Keith's neck. I followed suit, hitting his back with both my fists clenched together as one. He let go of Keith and fell down to the floor, cursing. We ran.

We ran, but we knew we'd get caught. And soon, we were as Mr. Doyle sent screams throughout the entire school. Security boots thumped down the hall, and we made our way, panting, into the broom closet. Now there was no where to run.

We all backed up against the wall, wondering how we got ourselves into this mess. I noticed the doorknob turn, although only vaguely, and the light travel in to meet my eyes with sore welcome. What happened after that is sort of rusty in my mind. I was grabbed by the collar and tossed into another man.

"So, you think you can beat on a teacher and get away with it?" he asked softly.

I said nothing. What was I supposed to say?

That night I suffered a blow to the head and didn't wake up until noon the next day. I woke up in a storage room, and as soon as my eyes adjusted to the light, a big man pulled me up to my feet. "Let's go. You're in for it."

He lead me down the hall, never letting go of my arm, and I saw Keith coming out of another room. "What are they going to do to us?" I asked, more to myself to anyone, but I must have said it louder than I imagined.

"Gonna make an example out of you," the man said. He didn't smile or grin like Mr. Doyle would have. He knew I was in for some major punishment, and it would probably include physical pain. "They found your little hole outside. What were you planning to do with that? You know the fence goes six feet underground don't you?"

No, I didn't know that. I sighed wearily, as he lead me into the lunch hall where everyone was eating. I saw Stephen waiting in front of them all, and I noticed everyone was unusually quiet. Keith was soon to join next to Stephen, pushed into his side and nearly knocking him over. The man at my side lead me up through the aisle to join them.

"Great," I muttered, joining my friends.

It seemed everyone was staring at us. "What do you think they're going to do to us?" Stephen whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"I don't know," I answered quietly. "But they know about our escape attempt. That and being out passed curfew and assaulting a teacher should get us..."

"Students," said our "principal", interrupting my thoughts. "Yesterday we found these three out in the halls four hours past curfew. They attacked a teacher. These things shall not go unpunished. Let this be a warning to you all."

He left out the fact we had attempted escape, probably because everyone here liked to believe this was an ordinary school. If it was, a kid wouldn't want to escape. If it was... a kid wouldn't need to escape.

We stood there for a while. No one was eating. Mr. Doyle was too excited, rubbing his hands in pure delight, and the rest of the kids wondered if we really did hit a teacher; if all the rumors they heard were true. Stephen's admirers stood rigid in their seats, hoping he wouldn't get too much punishment. He started to shake. Keith stood perfectly still, his eyes not flickering in any sort of emotion at all. I don't know what I was doing. I think I zoned out, because what must have been seconds of standing in front of the entire school started to feel like hours. Finally I felt my arm being pulled back, the fingers pressing into my flesh so hard it bruised.

They made us face the far wall and brought out a whip. It was then that I noticed I was shivering. From the tips of my fingers to my knees I was already shaking. And the first lash had not even flown across my back yet.

It was only milliseconds before the whip started to rain down on me, but then again, I wasn't accurate on my internal clock at the time. I have only seen one person get whipped before; it was not a common practice in this school. Even then, it was someone who had broken a teacher's leg... not just hit them with a pitiful blow to the back.

But I soon felt the cold leather dive down into my skin, as the shirt on my back was split in two. At first it just snapped up and off of me, but then it sliced into my exposed skin, and deeper. I counted them slowly, not even knowing how many I was destined to get before they would stop the torture. After six, I could no longer feel them hit my back; it had become numb.

It didn't occur to me to think of Keith or Stephen, last night or regrets, all I my mind would process was the fact that I was getting beaten and it hurt like hell. I clenched my teeth and let it happen. I was on the floor by the time they were done with me, or so I think, because I couldn't really tell when it had ended or how long it had taken.

I don't know what happened next. I woke up the next day with scars. That's where the things on my back came from, not some valiant battle, not some horrible monster. I was fourteen and was too afraid to revolt against those who deemed it their right to punish me. I have changed by now.

Another good thing.