PLAYGROUND OF THE NIGHT

By Kristin, age 14

Monsters are born only out of fear of the shadows. Creatures of darkness, all things grotesque, abominations frowned upon by the gods. We are the essence of nightmares, the lonely specters of forgotten tragedies. Our hearts and souls were lost long ago; shunned by the light, we have dwelt for as long as time remembers in the darkness. Yet even outcasts must come together to see companionship and survival, for, that's what we really were in the end.

The city was not charted on any map. Perhaps they, the Mortals, did not wish to acknowledge such a gruesome place. Perhaps they thought that if they denied the city's existence fiercely enough, then it would vanish altogether. But willpower alone could not erase us from this world. So they overlooked our presence and avoided our city. And we were grateful to be left in peace.

I was among the first to inhabit the city, back in its final days when straggling mortals still roamed the decrepit streets. That was before we hunted them down, one bye one, until the city became infested with death and carnage. Hence its name Genocide, for no Mortal ever left that place alive, or at least, unchanged.

Demons, vampires, lycans. No matter what species, they were all drawn to that place like moths to a flame. And so long as the sought the city's shelter, they were welcomed. As the populace expanded, Genocide was reborn as a sanctuary for strays. It became our home, our have. our playground of the night.

My name is Cetyna, and I am one of the Fallen. I have committed an unforgivable crime in my past life; the impure blood that now courses through my veins is a sign of my repentance. Half demon, half angel, it is one of the most potent combinations of heritage. Darkness and light were never meant to co-exist, and the perpetual battle waging inside my body will eventually lead to my demise. Until that time comes, however, I will continue to endure the burden of living, to atone for some fraction of my sins.

I loved this city like none other, for it took me in when everyone else turned away. Genocide was the only place where one could hope to escape the past. We came to have ur slates wiped clean, because we wall harbored something dark and secretive in the hidden recesses of our minds. We lived for the present, the past forgotten, oblivious to tomorrow. Our ignorance blinded us to the inevitable.

The day that he came into our lives started like all the others. I awoke to the usual midnight bustle in the tiny motel as our group prepared for watch duty. Although no mortal had set foot in Genocide for well over a decade, we had taken the precaution of constantly looking out for the occasional rogue slayer, as well as any newcomers in need of help. The people of Genocide lived in constant fear, and this was but one way to appease their worries.

It was a short walk to the watchtower, once a popular tourist site, now a sad relic of the undead city. The worn supports creaked despondently as we made our way to the top landing, as if groaning from the effort of keeping upright. Breaking off from the group, I wandered over to the far side of the terrace, gazing at the cold, shimmering stars strewn across the black heavens. So much had changed since I first fell to the planet Earth, even the constellations.

I will never know what made me look down, but that moment would continue to haunt me for the remainder of my days. Words could not even begin to describe the sight I beheld. There was the very epitome of perfection, standing on the distant crest, silhouetted against the full moon. The only intelligible thought that came to mind was: amazing. Somehow, I knew without knowing that he was another Fallen. As our eyes met for the first time, our destinies became explicably intertwined, and we were helpless victims snared in misfortune's relentless net.

The moon came and went; nights, weeks, and months melded together. Time did not matter when one was hopelessly in love. Since that fateful evening, I had devoted every waking moment to him; Necros. Such an ominous name, but back then, I was blissfully unaware of the terrible betrayal it denoted. Love overcame reason, and I dared to believe that we could be happy. Yet a renegade of heaven is forever cursed, so that not even love may persevere in the face of its condemning wrath.

In retrospect, Necros was in every way like the rest of us -lost, destitute, and forsaken. We gladly shared with him our home, our rapture, and our love. We should have known.

Three months after Necros' mysterious arrival, the disappearances began. The weak were the first to go - wraiths, pixies, werewolf cubs. Most of us simply assumed they'd wandered off, but we were loath to admit that none ever returned. As the population of Genocide steadily declined, tension spread like a plague among the remaining inhabitants. We were dangerously close to boiling point, until one day, slayers were spotted patrolling the outskirts of the city. It was the single spark that ignited the flames of chaos.

There were five thousand to two hundred, and we were losing desperately. Slayers lurked everywhere. They infested the streets, ravaged the city, and captured its people with repugnant ease. As long as they remained in groups, we were incapable of success. After a month of hopeless fighting, our battle was lost when the watchtower, the heart of Genocide, finally fell. The few survivors fled in terror, and Genocide became a wasteland of ruin and ashes.

And in the resultant wake of this massacre, I confronted the unrivaled instigator - Necros. There were no misunderstandings betweens us, just unanswered questions. As I peered into those unfathomable crimson eyes, full of turmoil and untold grief, it was all I could do to resist that enticing gaze. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, except "why?" The solitary word echoed in the vast silence.

"The Mortals offered me salvation, more than this city could ever give," his cold response was accompanied by a rueful smile.

"You know there were just using you," I said, my voice sounding unfamiliar. "They will kill you when it's all over, just like the rest of us."

"Maybe, maybe not, " he said nonchalantly. "I won't know until every last creature in this accursed place is dead. And you're the only one left."

As I stood there, watching numbly as he unsheathed his sword, I knew that I had already died. After all, an Angel, even a Fallen, cannot survive without a heart. Time seemed to slow as Necros charged, step by agonizing step. The last thing I saw was the scarlet moon reflected in the gilded blade, before time resumed its proper pace with the final plunge. I barely registered the pain, because a scream tore through the air at that moment, a howl of sorrow and remorse strong enough to pierce Heaven itself. It could have come from either one of us, the sound that was so poignant in all its terrible beauty.

And while I listened, the tears I had held back for so long finally broke free. Death shows no mercy for a fallen angel, yet it has removed the burden of my sins as the final atonement. Denied my rightful place among the stars, I remain lost in limbo, and forever lamenting. Trapped beneath the crumbling sky, my spirit is bound to linger for eternity on this planet Earth. Although I am no free to go where the wind takes me, I never returned to Genocide, for fear of reviving memories better left forgotten. And I constantly ask myself: Is it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved before?