[Novel] The Ciardha Factors

[Audo]

THE CIARDHA FACTORS
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CHAPTERS

[1]

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“Render the hearts of this people insensitive, their ears dull and their eyes dim.
Otherwise, they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and return and be healed.”
~Isaiah 6:10
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Chapter One
The Beginning Factor

Footsteps were all that Azazel had heard for hours, and it was of no help to him that those footsteps belonged solely to him. Every step registered into his mind over and over again. Even the sound of the wet gravel beneath him, shifting under his weight every time he put a foot in front of the other, was all but burned into his consciousness.

How long he had truly been out there, walking along the highway alone, held absolutely no importance to him. What mattered—what really mattered—was why he was walking down these empty roads in the first place. He knew it wouldn’t be long before his family would attempt to get him back—to come home—but he knew that their reasons were not out of love for him. They were out of something much different. While the idea of their motives being grounded in nothing but hatred had played in his mind before, he knew that it would make no difference in the long run. All he knew for certain was that he needed to get away, and fast.

Brushing wet strands of charcoal hair from his face, he briefly looked to the sheets of gray that had covered the skies. The rain had been descending upon him right after he had done it—ran away. Azazel teased the idea that perhaps it was someone up there, trying to get him to turn around and go home. But he had no intention of listening or caring. He didn’t believe in God anyway.

Religion was never something the boy had sold his soul to. Being only seventeen, he was among the group of teenagers who had chosen to rebel against all of that. His parents weren’t exactly thrilled, being of the Christian faith themselves; they were disappointed in their son, even to the point of being repulsed by him.

Anyone else would have thought that was the reason behind his mother leaving the two of them, but Azazel knew that there were far more contributing factors. Factors that, in the grand scheme of things, lead him to where he was now—walking a lonely road. When the boy took the time to think about it, as he led one step in front of the other, he realized that everything life is comprised of is just a series of factors. Hundreds of elements—most of which seemed insignificant at the time—contributing to a final result. No matter the various factors in place, the end result was the same—his mother had left him.

It was just Azazel and his drunken father for a long time. That was, until they started coming into play. The many women his father had taken under his wing in an attempt to cure his depressing life. There were many of them and they all fit a sort of mold. They all had unkempt blonde hair, track marks, obviously fake names and lasted about as long as the welfare cheques did. Soon it wasn’t just Azazel who didn’t believe in God.

He couldn’t help but pity his father Jack however. Jack had sunk so low after his wife had left. Drinking, drugs, prostitutes, beating on his own son to the point where his sides and back was riddled with the dark-blue-almost-black marks of an eternal death were all things that had forced Azazel to pity his father. All the boy wanted was to set his father, and himself, free. Perhaps this was the way to do that.

Azazel’s green eyes shot open. Lifting his head toward the sky, he craned to hear a far-off sound hidden beneath the roar of the rain against the gravel. His feet shifted in their place, as he turned to face the direction he was sure the sound had come from. As the beginning of a light appeared out of the darkness, a smirk appeared on his face. He knew it as his ticket out of here.

The boy stuck his thumb out. It wasn’t exactly the first time he had needed to hitchhike, but his father was far too self-involved and drugged up to ever have noticed such a thing. Rain continued to soak him as he stared at the oncoming car without a flinch of hesitation, confident it would stop for him.

It had begun to seem like he would have been wrong, as the car showed no sign of slowing down. But the moment that the light had encased the boy, pulling him out of the safety of the darkness surrounding him, the car began to slow down until it stopped a few meters in front of him. While the car held no familiarity to Azazel, he knew that that was no reason not to be cautious. Anyone could have been inside.

The passenger’s seat window began to roll down as Azazel approached the stalled vehicle. The window had fully descended by the time Azazel was standing next to the old Honda. Inside he could see the outline of a man and while Azazel strained to see who it was inside the faux-leather padded vehicle, he couldn’t make him out. That was, until the lights blared on.

Azazel brought his hands up to his face, shielding his eyes from the sudden light. He waited for his pupils to adjust, and when they did, he began to take in the being that was smiling at him from inside the car. The smile was one filled with uncertainty and anxiety, and Azazel took great notice in the way that the man was gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Wh—uh—where you heading young man?” The man managed to get out, his fist clenching against the wheel. His voice had quivered and Azazel had began to question why a man who seemed to be in his forties would be so nervous when it was him who should have been nervous. He was the one who was putting himself in harm’s way by traversing in the vehicle of a complete stranger.

“Anywhere,” Azazel replied, a smirk quirking his lips. “Where’re you going?”

“Maybe you should get in the car,” the man muttered, “out of the rain.” Azazel took no objection to ditching the rain in favour of the heated car, and quickly opened the car door. When he slammed the door shut behind him, the man showed him a weak but nervous smile as he pressed down on the gas and made their way down the highway. “What’s your name...?” the man said, looking at the young boy out of the corner of his eye.

Azazel glanced up at the much older man, noticing the way the light from the dash controls reflected against the sweat that plagued his skin. “Azazel,” he said, digging something out of his pocket. “Azazel Ciardha.” Azazel held a small silver object in his hands, twirling it between his fingers again and again. He looked at his barely visible reflection in the object and smiled. “What’s yours?”

“Wayne Laiho,” the man replied, and shortly after having done so, his face scrunched up. Something told Azazel that the man didn’t want his real name to be known and was most likely kicking himself for having bred word of it. “You’re pretty young,” the man said, after briefly cursing under his breath, “you running away or something?”

“Something like that,” the boy said, the smile gone from his face.

“Your parents must be worried sick about you right now,” Wayne said, taking another glance at the boy from the corner of his eye. He stared longingly at the boy, taking great care in absorbing his features in his mind: dark hair, green eyes, good form. They were all things that had reminded him so dearly of someone from his past, but he couldn’t ever tell the boy that.

“I doubt it,” Azazel said, feeling the engravings on the silver object. “My mother divorced my dad a few years ago, and she wants nothing to do with me anymore.” He closed his hand over the object. His grip was tight as he glared into space, hoping that somehow his mother could feel the hatred he emitted.

Azazel broke out of his own reality when he felt a hand on his knee—giving it a light squeeze. The boy stared at Wayne’s hand, fixating on how it shook against his body. He could feel his heart begin to pound against his ribcage, but all he could do was stare at the hand that was touching him.

“That’s okay,” Wayne said. “If... you help me out....” The man paused to take a considerably loud gulp. Azazel knew where this was going and the more he let his mind waver on it, the more he could feel himself begin to worry. Maybe hitchhiking wasn’t such a great idea after all. “I’ll help you out.”

The boy looked up from the shaking hand on his knee to the slightly weathered man beside him. “What do you need help with?” he asked. His grip on the silver object tightened with each passing second and as the man looked down at him, he noticed a sick smile on his face.

Wayne looked away from the boy briefly, keeping his hand firmly on the young soul’s knee, and stared back toward the highway ahead. Slowly he made his way for a small pull-off in the distance, and once he was there, the ignition was turned off.

“I’ve been alone for... a very long time,” he said, looking down at the boy’s wet jeans. “I’m sure you know what that’s like,” he said, “to be so alone.” His hand slowly grazed the thigh of the young defenceless boy. “It was just you and your dad, right?” he said, his hand inching higher and higher up the boy’s leg. “I bet your daddy misses you,” he said, a grin on his face, “you know, I miss someone too.... you look just like him.”

Azazel looked up at the man, and, after a moment or two, returned the smirk that was staring back at him. “Oh,” the boy said, smiling, “I get it.” He took a hold of the hand now inches away from his crotch and slowly pushed it off of his body. “I look like your son, don’t I?”

Wayne swallowed hard. Azazel only continued to smile as he undid his seatbelt and inched closer to the man. He leaned in—his lips only inches away from Wayne’s. His breath was hot against his skin, and as the young boy spoke, he couldn’t keep from smirking. “Did your wife leave you?” he breathed, causing Wayne to shift uncomfortably beneath him. “Is that why you drive these highways so late at night—hoping to find someone to ‘help’ you?”

Wayne stared into the deep green eyes in front of him. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m doing what you wanted me to,” Azazel grinned, “I’m helping you.” He leaned in closer, his lips a mere centimetre from Wayne’s. “You remind me a lot of my dad,” the boy said, smiling, “you never did ask me about him you know. You never asked me why he isn’t out looking for me right now—why he isn’t looking for his son that ran away.”

Wayne’s voice trembled. “Why isn’t he?”

Azazel stared into the familiarity looking back at him and smirked. Closing the distance between the two of them, he whispered something soft in Wayne’s ear. “It’s because,” he said, pronouncing each word slowly as he became closer and closer to Wayne’s sweating body, “I killed him.”

Before Wayne could even react, his throat was met with the knife concealed away in the silver object Azazel had been holding. Wayne gasped for breath as the knife harvested the blood from his artery—it dripping down his chubby neck like wet paint.

“And now, you’re free,” the young boy said, smirking as he watched the man die in front of him, “just like my dad.”

[Audo]

HEY YOU 24 PEOPLE WHO HAVE READ THIS:

COMMENT!

[Nevermore]

Originally Posted by Audo

HEY YOU 24 PEOPLE WHO HAVE READ THIS:

COMMENT!

lol, now you know how I feel from my previous attempt.

Well, being a person that read the previous version of this chapter, I must say that the improvement is obvious. Not so much with grammar and such (you're usually pretty good about that), but in the imagery. Though the descriptions are still minimalistic enough to suit your style, the additions/changes really add to the overall picture.

It was a bit preachy/monologue-y at the beginning (mostly telling, not a lot of showing), but that's not all that surprising from a first chapter, especially the start of it. Unless it can be explained through the story later, a certain amount of introductory work is unavoidable.

twilight it between his fingers again and again.

Maybe I'm just not familiar with all the uses of the word "twilight" but . . . what?

Aside from that, I didn't notice anything specifically. Once again, I love the way you transitioned Azazel's personality at the end of the chapter.

[Almagest]

I read the short stories you had for TCF and I found them to be deliciously dark and twisted. I'm interested in how the novel version will turn out.

I love your diction too. "Brushing wet strands of charcoal hair from his face, he briefly looked to the sheets of gray that had covered the skies." I especially like the use of "charcoal" instead of plain "black". Charcoal implies dark, filthy, lowly. Love it =D

[Audo]

Originally Posted by Nevermore

It was a bit preachy/monologue-y at the beginning (mostly telling, not a lot of showing), but that's not all that surprising from a first chapter, especially the start of it. Unless it can be explained through the story later, a certain amount of introductory work is unavoidable.

I don't know if anyone else would have notice this, but I actually cut a few sections and rewrote it a bit so that the beginning introductory paragraphs didn't seem as "Satire-y" as they used to be. There were a few outlandishly blunt comments in the original that gave it a feeling of a satire. I decided that, for the novel version, I wanted the story to be more serious.

Maybe I'm just not familiar with all the uses of the word "twilight" but . . . what?

oh boy, lol. that was supposed to be "twirling". clearly my mind was elsewhere.

Once again, I love the way you transitioned Azazel's personality at the end of the chapter.

Thanks :3

Originally Posted by Almagest

I'm interested in how the novel version will turn out.

lol you and me both. Though the ending and a few major plot points have already been decided on, the journey between then and now will certainly be a surprising one for all.

[khfreak17]

wow. thats awesome!!!!

[Audo]

Originally Posted by khfreak17

wow. thats awesome!!!!

Well, tell me what you liked specifically...

[choboco_king]

I like the way the main character thinks.