Okay so this is set in a fictional city called Acacia (dubbed 'city of angels'!). It's the year 2780 and crime's at its peak and the police are pretty rubbish. No one can really get her out of the mess she's in and Sark's pretty powerful so he'll find Sydney pretty quick if she runs to the other side of the world! Anyways Vaughn makes his appearence in the next few chapters as her saviour...but I garauntee a heartbreaking ending to this entire story lol! Anyways here's the first chapter...it's not toooo gd because I'm really js concentrating on the following chappys n not this. Neways enjoy and PLEASE COMMENT! 
<span style='font-size:14pt;line-height:100%'>The City of Angels
‘And here is where I sleep - in restless nights and broken dreams…’ - anonymous.
The misty, winter cold was almost a sign of comfort for me. The heat, which Acacia thrived in, was now finally lifting to reveal the cold it relished. It iced over the dead leaves dangling weakly from the branches and defined each warm breath into a frosty cloud. It was as if the city was able to sense my misery and adapt to its suit. I obtained a slight satisfaction with the knowledge that I no longer had to envy the cheerful hostility of the vibrant summer.
It was the beauty of irony that conjured the well-known nickname of this city Acacia. In a place where the word ‘angels’ rarely applied to the people it was dubbed - City of Angels. The city earned the nickname as it was once a law abiding rich city but it soon followed the trend of drastically increased crime and unemployment with a sudden change. The police began to reveal their truly useless abilities and the only time they intervened were if they were bribed.
The corrupt nature of those in American society had tainted many and victimised others. I had become the victim - the victim of the tainted.
I carelessly swayed my feet, walking through the crowds on the roads contemplating my current life events with my arms tightly crossed against my body. I managed to express a cool exposure but my emotions ignited a burning flame of pain - one that pulled at my eyes and tore at my unknown smile.
There was at least one positive to growing up in such cruel world - I knew how to take care of myself. Those who lived in rich safe areas would never know how to deal with any situation…but at least I had an idea. This place is what created my confidence and determination - and what devoured it…
Enough with memories and reminiscing though…and back to life…
The tears were strong enough to rip down the skin of my face. I hated myself for letting him see me like this - weak. He stood with his head tilted back in a nonchalant manner looking down on me dominantly. The sound of my quivering breath clearly rippled through his ears and it brought out a sadistic, cocky side smile. His whispering laugh drowned through me as if I was a ghost.
The bruises ran down my left arm surging with electrical prickles of pain. I yearned to press my hand comfortingly against the bruises but I knew I should stay still with perfect obedience. Any signs of the psychological breakdown I was enduring would only provoke him to satisfy his disgusting desire to see me in sobs by his heartless actions. He took a sigh of impatience and teasingly reached his hand towards me to have the pleasure of seeing me twitch with a reflexive fear.
Another laugh - but accompanied with a strong echo of control. His hand began to stroke my hair playfully: his eyes shining with unclear motives.
The way he moved, looked and touched me created the feeling of me as an object - something for him to manipulate. His few second glances at my face sent a dip through my stomach and gave me the sense of a clasping grip around my neck and shoulders. My breathing grew soft and husky and my cheeks ached with stillness.
The crisp, black suit he was wearing expressed so much about him. It seemed to convey a blank negativity and dark heart. His golden, bed hair though made me look at him as almost a lost soul, one entrapped in hate and obsession. I found it surprising how easily he managed to hide any signs of emotion from his face but then a thought struck me - was it possible he felt no emotion?
Now his fingers stroked gently against my bruises as if he was marvelling his work of art. He stared with a depth of cold awe.
I locked eyes with him keeping my lids wide. Soar dryness began to absorb the tears back into the eyes. Sark’s lips rose to mime a word…one word…
“Mine…”</span>
I hope you all liked that - ask for a PM if you want the update on the next chappy...thnx for reading!
<span style='font-size:14pt;line-height:100%'>The City of Angels
‘And here is where I sleep - in restless nights and broken dreams…’ - anonymous.
The misty, winter cold was almost a sign of comfort for me. The heat, which Acacia thrived in, was now finally lifting to reveal the cold it relished. It iced over the dead leaves dangling weakly from the branches and defined each warm breath into a frosty cloud. It was as if the city was able to sense my misery and adapt to its suit. I obtained a slight satisfaction with the knowledge that I no longer had to envy the cheerful hostility of the vibrant summer.
It was the beauty of irony that conjured the well-known nickname of this city Acacia. In a place where the word ‘angels’ rarely applied to the people it was dubbed - City of Angels. The city earned the nickname as it was once a law abiding rich city but it soon followed the trend of drastically increased crime and unemployment with a sudden change. The police began to reveal their truly useless abilities and the only time they intervened were if they were bribed.
The corrupt nature of those in American society had tainted many and victimised others. I had become the victim - the victim of the tainted.
I carelessly swayed my feet, walking through the crowds on the roads contemplating my current life events with my arms tightly crossed against my body. I managed to express a cool exposure but my emotions ignited a burning flame of pain - one that pulled at my eyes and tore at my unknown smile.
There was at least one positive to growing up in such cruel world - I knew how to take care of myself. Those who lived in rich safe areas would never know how to deal with any situation…but at least I had an idea. This place is what created my confidence and determination - and what devoured it…
Enough with memories and reminiscing though…and back to life…
The tears were strong enough to rip down the skin of my face. I hated myself for letting him see me like this - weak. He stood with his head tilted back in a nonchalant manner looking down on me dominantly. The sound of my quivering breath clearly rippled through his ears and it brought out a sadistic, cocky side smile. His whispering laugh drowned through me as if I was a ghost.
The bruises ran down my left arm surging with electrical prickles of pain. I yearned to press my hand comfortingly against the bruises but I knew I should stay still with perfect obedience. Any signs of the psychological breakdown I was enduring would only provoke him to satisfy his disgusting desire to see me in sobs by his heartless actions. He took a sigh of impatience and teasingly reached his hand towards me to have the pleasure of seeing me twitch with a reflexive fear.
Another laugh - but accompanied with a strong echo of control. His hand began to stroke my hair playfully: his eyes shining with unclear motives.
The way he moved, looked and touched me created the feeling of me as an object - something for him to manipulate. His few second glances at my face sent a dip through my stomach and gave me the sense of a clasping grip around my neck and shoulders. My breathing grew soft and husky and my cheeks ached with stillness.
The crisp, black suit he was wearing expressed so much about him. It seemed to convey a blank negativity and dark heart. His golden, bed hair though made me look at him as almost a lost soul, one entrapped in hate and obsession. I found it surprising how easily he managed to hide any signs of emotion from his face but then a thought struck me - was it possible he felt no emotion?
Now his fingers stroked gently against my bruises as if he was marvelling his work of art. He stared with a depth of cold awe.
I locked eyes with him keeping my lids wide. Soar dryness began to absorb the tears back into the eyes. Sark’s lips rose to mime a word…one word…
“Mine…”</span>
I hope you all liked that - ask for a PM if you want the update on the next chappy...thnx for reading!