Okay, this is a story I wrote... If you want me to write something for you, you can pay to have me write you one. This one is about Ebilia's. If you like this story and want to use it for anything, feel free to, but please give me credit for it, because I did take the time to write it.
From a distance, they lurked in the shadows, watching me. I felt four pairs of eyes on my back, that familiar chill winding its way, like a python, down my spine. The sun had fled from the loneliness of the alleyway, allowing the shadows to surround the brick alley. I felt the shadows mocking me, with their cold, silent eyes and filthy smiles. I heard water dripping from a leaky pipe, smelling the mildew in the air. Listening intently, I heard cars zooming past the end of the alleyway, almost a mile away. I shivered and pulled my blue jacket tighter around my shoulders as I walked down the alley. The zipper was broken and there were holes in the sleeves, but it was my only comfort.
You see, I was orphaned when I was 6. My dad died from an overdose of drugs, and my mom and I were left on the streets. My mom, who was pregnant at the time, was the one who kept me alive for 6 months. She found scraps of food and filled the cracked jam jar we drank out of every night, and when it came the time for her to have her baby, she died. I couldnt save her, I tried and tried to help her. As she took her dying breath, she whispered, "I'm sorry". My brother died that day with her. I cried for days after that, screaming , "Why, God, Why!?!"
Its been 9 years since that day. I went through 3 orphanages, but I ran away from each one. I avoid the police at all costs, I never want to be forced through a hellhole like those orphanages again. I have no friends. The only one person I befriended is Mr. Aster, the baker. Every morning, he leaves the scraps and burnt pastries on the back steps, along with a bottle of water. The weird thing is, he and I never speak.
I saw a few mangled Chimby and scrawny Meiko bolt from behind me. Someone was there. I ran, hearing footsteps from behind me. Making the mistake of looking back, I saw the glare of metal, and tripped over my own feet and landed face down on the cold, damp brick. For a moment, I thought I had been shot. My ankle burned with pain, and I heard the footsteps approach. I tried to stand up, and the moment I put weight on my ankle, my leg collapsed with the pain. I looked back, seeing the four men approach, and looked at my ankle. The joint was bent farther than I thought possible, and my foot lay limply on the ground. I had broken my ankle. The men were getting closer, and I told myself, 'This is it. I'm done'. It was at this time, I heard a rustling to my left. Hoping for a savior, I called out for help. There was no answer, and I squinted, to see two yellowish-green eyes glaring at me in the dark. An adolescent Ebilia stepped from the shadows. The four men, one with a gun, saw the Ebilia and fled. The one man wearing a green coat, dropped his gun.
The Ebilia, jet black, looked into my eyes. His fur was shedding in places, and his flesh had been stripped off on his legs and shoulders, yet, in my eyes, he was beautiful. It began raining, and he stretched one of his wings over me to protect me. There were holes in the webbing in his wing, but to me, it didn't matter. I reached out a hand cautiously. He looked at it warily, but allowed me to stroke his head. His fur was course and dirty, but to me, it felt as soft as an Iluvu's fur. I scratched behind one of his torn ears, and he made a noise. It sounded like he was choking, but I assumed he was purring, as he seemed happy. I fell asleep under the protection of a spirit.
When I awoke, he was gone. I felt dismayed at this, and missed the strange Creatu that saved my life from the murderers that would've killed me. Yet, somehow, I felt he was still in my heart.
It took me about half an hour, and I currently have not edited it. This is raw, and I will later edit this, but basically, this is how I write. I do write differently then most people. Instead of wasting time with a rough draft, I write the final draft on the spot. I basically type a story that is good enough to be a final draft, and never have to rewrite it completely.
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