Thirteen Souls

Thirteen body. What could go wrong?

Chapter 1


"Tick, tick, tick."

The ticking of the clock could be heard, even this far from the Centerplace. I was somewhere in the dark, my back against a cold, hard floor, my heart beating to the beat of the clock, like every other being in this place. The cuts dotted across my body, the blood dried up. My shirt was tored across the stomach, where I barely missed the blade of the sword. My breaths came out in raspy gasped. Focusing on it, I calmed it down, as to not attract anyone to my whereabouts. I didn't know if my eyes were open or close.

"Number Eleven," said a cool voice. I guess my eyes were close because they fluttered open to the gray sky. Number Two was standing over me cautiously, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing what she usually wore, a long gray dress. She extended her arm. I grabbed it and pulled myself up. The sparks that emitted from our body mixed, gray and green. We were suppose to be opposites, left and right, yet she was probably the most kind to me of the Main Thirteen, even more than my brother. She couldn't show it though, not in public. Number One wouldn't approve of his "deputy" being friendly with his "dog".

"We have to go," continued Number Two. "Wait a little," I said, my voice taking on that elusive musical tone that Number One hated. Peering around in the dark, I located my fedora, made of dark green leather, and placed it on my head so that it masked my eyes. She pulled on my arm an we went, through the confusing corriders, and into a bright room. As we approached the room, Number Two seperated her hand from mine, fixing her face into one of nuetrally and distant from everything. I pulled my fedora lower.

Upon entering the room, I quietly muttered, "Why did you bring me?" She said without moving her gray eyes, " Look at the Clock."

Before I looked at the Clock though, I peered around at the rest of the people in the Centerplace, a large white room mounted with sculptures, a chandelier, and plush red carpet. Number One stared off to the distance, his eyes filled with anger and his arm still clutching Zapric, the white sword. Number Thirteen was scowling, black sparks flying off his frame. Number Twelve, my brother, was impassive as usual. All the others were standing around awkwardly in their place in the Centerpiece. Number Six was mildly flirting with Number Five, who kept on sending him dirty looks. Finally my eyes scanned the Clock.

The Clock was really like any other clock, except a lot bigger. It was positioned on the farthest wall from the entrance. The only major thing about it was that the "1" was missing, so instead it started at "2" all the way to "13" ( which was positioned where the "12" was suppose to be.) Every number was also colored, from the gray two to the black thirteen. The small hand no one payed attention to; it was the reason of the vibrating "tick's" around here. It was the big hand that was the centerplace of everyone's mind.

I tried to find the big hand, looking at the popular places: two, five, seven, ten, twelve. Finally I located it. On the bright green number eleven. "Congrats" said Number Three bitterly, angry red sparks simmering to the ground.

"It's your turn."

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