Chapter 1

i. Ghost Town

‘Wake up and smell the corruption’ screamed the bold, black markings etched on the run down towers of the city. A familiar phrase that quietly slipped from the cracked lips of the fourteen year old boy, long before the display of graffiti could make itself vulnerable. 

His body rocked gently to the movement of the wheelsets over the train tracks, obeying every bump and slight swerve the woeful ashen train took. His eyes, a dull shade of deep brown, chased the blurred landscape of the ghastly place outside the window. He found that amidst the silvery, misty air, tones of tawny browns, ominous black and gloomy greys coated the entire city, starting from the infamous crumbling tower to the crooked blacktop streets. All he could hear was the rumbling of the rusty train carrying him along earth’s demolished state – not the voices of the soulless individuals around him, nor the careless laughter of the quiet children several years younger than him. In a city full of empty people, Theo Russell had learnt to tolerate it’s painful silence. 

A golden beam suddenly broke out from atop of the land, embracing the land of ruins in it’s golden wake whilst almost blinding the dazed boy. Redirecting his gaze, he focused on the filled brown paper bags that threatened to topple over with each forceful jolt. Theo yawned. After blinking his sunken eyes several times, he wearily reached down to grip onto the handles of the bag, that is until an orange escaped. Down it rolled, weaving through passengers’ motionless feet and out until the fruit founds itself trapped in the frigid grasp of a sheepish little girl. 

Theo observed her. The way her oversized clothes rarely sat on her frame, slipping ever so slightly off her shoulder to reveal the prominent dents in her collarbones, the pallid complexion of her hollow cheeks that stood as a solid contrast to her black attire. In an attempt to return the fruit to him, her arm jutted out weakly to grant him the pop of colour their world lacked. But, instead of plucking the orange from her palm, the corners of Theo’s lips tugged upwards before he shook his head full of mahogany curls – silently gesturing for her to keep it. He couldn’t help but notice how vividly the green in her eyes lit up – even if just for a second – before a bashful “thank you” resounded from her thin, pink lips. 

The adolescent orphan instantly pondered on the future consequences of his actions as his fire-breathing dragon of an aunt came into mind. He winced at the thought of the shot flames searing and scorching his brown skin once she finds out about her missing item. He’s learnt from experience on how perceptive the older woman can be, yet in this moment – the moment in which the surviving Harrington girl peered up at him as if he’d granted her a large 

amount of money – he was willing to face the wrath of his aunt if it meant the stray child had at least something.  

Pearl Dorsey, a woman as poor as a church mouse, held the title of the pickiest woman Theo has ever encountered. So it should come as no surprise when the woman would send her nephew out of town to fetch her groceries rather than put the local stores to use. Not that Theo minded – anything to break free from the smothering holds of hell that came in the form of a box-like structure house. 

Theo leaned his side against the glacial glass, feeling the callous cold seep through the thick material of his clothes to kiss his brown skin. He could feel his fingertips turn a horrid shade of purple at the realisation that he’d forgotten his wooly gloves at home. 

This day, he’d been in a haste to leave his aunt and uncle’s household out of fear he’d miss the blossoming sunset rise above the cheerless clouds. In a world full of distance and despair, the display of orange gold is the only thing that wasn’t tainted. It brought him solace knowing that the work of art couldn’t be taken away from him. 

It isn’t until the train gradually rolled into the next station with an ear piercing squeal that Theo’s curiosity was raised. Light-hearted footsteps, belonging to a group of young people, suddenly clamoured up into the unfilled carriage. Their saunter was as cool as a cucumber, completely without warning. The abrupt noise of joyous chatter filled every corner of the train, catching Theo off guard. Seven of them walked past him. Five of them huddled, and not in single file, as if the strict rules applied to them in school never existed. Three of them were sporting a funny looking drawing, inked, on their upper arm. Two of them roared with laughter as they stumbled in, with one holding the other in a headlock that made even Theo wince. The last one, trailing behind the group, was the one that separated the wrestling duo – strangely enough, with just a simple look. 

They were the same troublesome pack his aunt and her circle of gossiping women tormented with their words, warning her nephew to steer clear from them. Yet, Theo just couldn’t help but find them intriguing rather than problematic. Even though they dressed like every other citizen – with simple, bland and artless attire made to render it impossible for anyone to stand out in society – they spoke a language of forbidden creativity, one of banter, wit, and vividness. Everything that was lost and banned when the world was torn apart.  

Imagine a topsy-turvy world stripped of all it’s artistic forms – no vivid art, no melodious music, no dramatic poetry. The abnormal destruction of the city forced the now tiny population into a soundless, emotionless and robotic way of living. Firstly, by killing its vibrant industry. Secondly, by taking away their identity. Too many had to give up on their dream to restore the city. Annalise Russell being one of them. Like a crumpled piece of paper slowly unfolding, Theo Russell started to think about a set of alien-like people Anna spoke so fondly of. She’d stay up retelling thrilling stories of The Great Gorky – a child of the streets, the greatest mystery to exist in his lifetime, with hands like samurai swords and spray-painted cans for weapons no amount of law enforcement could diminish his impact on their society. Yet, not a single soul has seen him in the flesh, bare face. Or have they?

“Ready?” Theo heard. He followed the cool tone of the man’s voice just in time to capture his dark features just before he covered the bottom half of his face with a ski mask. 

“Ay, Captain.” Another saluted whimsically. 

“¡Viva la revolución!” One more hollered, laughing seconds after when he was met with a knowing look from his friends. 

Theo’s mind was trapped in a fog. His mind ran in circles trying to decipher what was happening right in front of him. He felt even more out of place at the realisation that the scarce passengers barely batted an eye almost as if they were used to the infamous seven. He watched them fall into a routine of some kind. The buzz cut boy, who appeared to be the rowdiest of the bunch, glanced guardly up and down the carriage before shaking and tossing a can of some kind. A hand graced with specks of colour reached out in an effortless manner to catch the container. He, too, inspected the interior. His short dreads trembled by the sides of his head whilst turning from left to right. Theo curiously studied the boy’s appearance. Brown satchel clutched by his side, a beaded necklace threatening to peek out from under his dark shirt, his dark jeans ripped at the knees, his brooding expression. It isn't until the mysterious boy kick-started the artistic chaos that Theo realised what the boys were doing. 

Vibrant hues bled from the spray cans that drifted from one corner to the next, invading every space of the grey walls of the train. Theo can’t remember the last time he’s picked up a form of paint, let alone used it. He couldn’t even imagine colouring in the city, he knew the wrath of his aunt would be more lethal than any prison cell. He thought they were crazy! Free and wild but crazy indeed. 

Theo isn’t sure how long he’d been ogling the bantering seven whilst they committed a felony. He knew it was wrong, they knew it was wrong, but neither cared at that moment. It completely caught the young teenager off guard when the darkest pair of brown eyes ceased it’s frantic movements to meet Theo’s. Theo’s breath hitched at the intense contact. It was almost as if a sense of recognition flashed within the eyes of the mysterious boy – Theo couldn’t tell. The enigma’s hand hovered over his unfinished work whilst his friends buzzed wildly around him. Though, long before he could approach Theo, an authoritative yell alerted the delinquents. 

“Hey!” An officer appeared from the opposite end of the section, flaunting his glassy badge that outshone the dim lights of the carriage. 

“Whoops!” Shrugged the buzzcut boy mockingly. “Guess that’s our cue.”

Promptly, the seven of them were travelling as quickly as a bolt of lighting as they darted through each carriage, the policeman not falling too behind. Yet, before they disappeared completely from Theo’s line of vision, another one of the seven spotted Theo’s astonished gaze leading him to wink mischievously at him. And just like that, they’d vanished, like a vision of the night, leaving in their wake a dripping, wet painting. 

Slowly, the train reduced its speed as it approached Theo’s stop. The inattentive boy would’ve missed his stop if it wasn’t the last one. Gradually, he took notice of the sluggish motion of the train. An ear-piercing screech sliced the brisk air forcing the very few passengers to take their exits. 

Theo’s head of chestnut curls thrashed around in the open air. From just a glance, the furious gush of the wind had citizens all around him shaking. Like a sore thumb, Theo detected the strands of dark dreads from a mile away – his lanky body, the smoothness of his dark skin, his brooding eyes – the same graffiti boy from the train. He was in fact moving very fast now that Theo thinks about it, and in his direction. Before he could think of darting out the way of the bolt-like human, his body had already collided against a brick-like body. 

He winced painfully. He weakly attempted at picking himself up from the ground but the impact did a number on him; he resembled a baby deer in the act of their first steps. 

“Sorry, Little Man!” Came the rushed holler from over the shoulder of the moving boy. 

Everything happened so fast. One minute he’s slightly glowering at the careless boy’s retreating body, the second he’s feeling the hands of another person lift him effortlessly off the ground and onto his feet. “You’re good. Walk it off.” It was the buzz cut boy from earlier. 

Into thin air, the seven boys vanished. Gone with wind – leaving the breathless officers gasping for air.