by Armeen Quazi

Mayhem sits on the roof, dark chestnut hair flowing as the wind howled against his ears. Pandemonium surrounds him; shouts, screaming. But he isn’t paying attention. Not that he ever was. His bottle green eyes glow against the midnight sky, like stars blazing to life in the dark. And they were mischievous, they were looking for trouble. He scans the tall city buildings and blinking lights, the safe streets and mysterious alleyways. Looking for danger, looking for fun.

He hears a scuffle. Silent lurks behind him. Her name is all he needs to understand her; she is Silent. Like cats creeping in the night, their padded paws against the concrete. Like rebelling teenagers climbing out of cold windows, a fire in their hearts. Like an assassin hiding knives in her boots and poison in her sleeves. With luscious hair stained a blue so bright it seemed to glow. With sharp indigo eyes, and movements so fluid it was as though she was liquid. She didn’t trip. She wanted her presence to be known. It was a warning. A warning for him. Not that he would pay attention.

He stands on the edge, toes slightly over it. Exhilarating. Silent stands behind, almost afraid of the edge. His target was found, marked with a red cross that no one else but Silent could see. She stands beside him, not bothering with her cover anymore. It isn’t necessary, and she doesn’t distress over the unnecessary. Moonlight shines on them both. He turns around to face her; considers asking her a question. Maybe to ask her about the sword always attached to her hip; silver and darkened with an ominous aura. But what did it matter? She would never answer anyway. Instead he leans back, and lets himself feel the rush of adrenaline pump through his bloodstream as he falls twenty-five stories towards the cold, hard ground.


Silent is already there, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed as Mayhem stops himself mere centimeters above the ground. He rolls his eyes. “Nothing happened.” Her answer was in her tapping fingers; something could have.

He scoffed, "Come on. I have a job to do." This time Silent walks behind him, making sure he isn't up to any tricks again. Together, they walk the flooded streets, surrounded by red crosses and screams; of joy or horror, it wasn't clear.

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Armeen Quazi, age 16.
My dream is to be a writer because I love writing and it's something that I like to think that I'm good at.
I hope that whoever reads about Silent and Mayhem will fall for their quirks as much as I have.