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Sound good so far? Any critisisms? (It's not finished)
Terrence sat awake on the old worn bett in the room he and Daemon shared. The blanket was over his knees, which were pulled to his chest. His head rested on oben, nach oben of them. He couldn’t sleep. He never got much sleep these days anyway. His mind would not let him rest. It was always replaying memories. Places, events, feelings. All of past events in which someone he loved was in trouble, and he could not save them. The world seemed like it was always making sure he was in harms way.
At a soft noise, Terrence turned to look at Daemon, who was sleeping soundly on the bett Weiter to his. Terrence’s eyes traced over the face of his brother. The worn features he had grown accustomed to seeing, features that should not seem so old, that should still look young. There was that slight crook in his nose. There were those thick black eyelashes that would hide bright blue eyes if the dark lids were open. There were those short, springy curls of his black hair. Then, there was that deep scar that ran from the oben, nach oben of his cheekbone to his chin.
Daemon had gotten that scar after one of the Utopians knifed him. They, along with many other families, were stolen from their homes in the dead of night, and rushed to a dark, damp holding area, where they awaited their death Von lethal injection. Daemon had been six at the time, and Terrence had been eight. The scar came when Daemon shot off his not-too-smart mouth, and the Utopian was not happy. He picked up his pocketknife, and slashed the dark six-year-old boy across his face with it.
Terrence shook his head to clear the memory away. That, among others, was not something he wanted to dwell on. He had too much else to worry about now, anyway. He had the lives of six other children resting on his shoulders.
He sighed. He felt too old for only being sixteen. He had had to grow up so quickly…
“Terrence?”
He looked up at the sound of Daemon’s soft voice. He smiled lightly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
At a soft noise, Terrence turned to look at Daemon, who was sleeping soundly on the bett Weiter to his. Terrence’s eyes traced over the face of his brother. The worn features he had grown accustomed to seeing, features that should not seem so old, that should still look young. There was that slight crook in his nose. There were those thick black eyelashes that would hide bright blue eyes if the dark lids were open. There were those short, springy curls of his black hair. Then, there was that deep scar that ran from the oben, nach oben of his cheekbone to his chin.
Daemon had gotten that scar after one of the Utopians knifed him. They, along with many other families, were stolen from their homes in the dead of night, and rushed to a dark, damp holding area, where they awaited their death Von lethal injection. Daemon had been six at the time, and Terrence had been eight. The scar came when Daemon shot off his not-too-smart mouth, and the Utopian was not happy. He picked up his pocketknife, and slashed the dark six-year-old boy across his face with it.
Terrence shook his head to clear the memory away. That, among others, was not something he wanted to dwell on. He had too much else to worry about now, anyway. He had the lives of six other children resting on his shoulders.
He sighed. He felt too old for only being sixteen. He had had to grow up so quickly…
“Terrence?”
He looked up at the sound of Daemon’s soft voice. He smiled lightly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
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