He had always known that he would die young. There had never been a doubt in his mind that someday his job would kill him. He didn't mind, though, because he also knew that when he did die, nobody would really care. Maybe his mother would grieve for a day, but by the end of the night, she would be over it. She didn't really care about her son. Never had. She was constantly reminding him how much pain he had caused her, how much time she had wasted carrying him because, for some strange reason, he had refused to die.
And now, as he lay bloody and beaten on the pine needles, he knew this was true. He would die here, 16 years old, alone and in pain. Nobody would miss him. Nobody would cry. It was better that way, right?
That's what he always told himself. It's best that nobody misses him. But now, as he stared up at the trees in the forest he had always loved so much, he thought something. Just a small thought, in the back of his pain-riddled mind. He thought that maybe, it might be kind of nice, if someone did care. But he pushed the thought away. Nobody cares, so why wish, right?
It hurt to breathe, so his breaths were shallow and uneven as he closed his eyes, taking inventory of the injuries to keep his mind off the fact that he was dying. It was worse then the last time, he thought. There was a searing pain in his right leg, and he couldn't even feel the left one.
Distant footsteps interrupted his thoughts, but he ignored them. He didn't care. Let them find him. They wouldn't do anything anyway. Nobody would care.
The pain was dulling now. He could hardly feel anything. He could barely hear the footsteps anymore, and when he opened his eyes, he could only see dark outlines of the trees. Everything was going black, and he knew that in a matter of minutes, he would be gone.
He closed his eyes again, not caring to watch the world go dark. He vaguely wondered if Damien still lived in Hell.
Then, he heard a shrill scream. He winced when he felt warm fingers touch the cold skin on his bare chest. He thought he heard his name, but it was hard to tell. He felt something wet dripping onto his face.
He opened one eye to see a blurry, dark outline crouched over him. He tried to focus on it, but he was just clinging to life as it was, and focusing on anything was just too much to ask, so he closed his eyes again. He could dimly hear what sounded like sobbing.
A small choking/whimpering sound escaped his throat, and the sobbing stopped.He thought he heard his name again, then, suddenly, something was pressed against his lips. The only thing he could think was of how warm it was. Opening one eye, he could dimly see something very close to his face. Hair, he thought. Brown? Or red?
The warmth stayed pressed to his lips, though he could hardly feel it. He couldn't see the hair anymore, just blackness. He wasn't even sure whether his eyes were open or not. He knew that this was it. He was dying. Just a few more seconds, and he would never be heard from again, and the last thing going through his head was whether or not Ryowen would miss him.