Struggle for Acceptance

Prologue
Fallen snow whipped upward at the man's weary feet. His frostbitten toes guarded by thin scraps of worn leather, pieced together in the shape of a shoe; it was not much to banish the January eve. A brisk walk caused his tattered trench coat to slap against his shivering calves, pants clipped at the hem. Thick, overcast clouds blocked whatever minuscule reflection from the crescent moon would shine on the empty streets. A single, flickering lantern provided a small amount of light in the thick fog, yet not enough for the man to see the ground before him. He accidently kicked a wad of ice and trash; his eyes followed its misty path until it halted in front of several new pairs, glimmering hungrily in the dimly lit alley. The eyes followed his path along the seemingly vacant street; he paused. The man hastened his pace, attempting to block out the many eyes most likely following him. All he saw was darkness and all he heard was the distant flickering of the lamp along with his tattered boots scraping against a filthy pavement, but the man knew that many people were shivering in this dark alley.

A light turned on. The man's scruffy face tilted up at the sound of a baby's cry. He ran to the window and peered in, seeing several people crowded, yet not one of them even glanced at the woman holding the weeping child. The man watched her long, golden hair sway as she rocked her baby. The pair seemed to glow, even in the dim light. The baby opened it's eyes and for just an instant, it stopped it's wailing to look at the man; their eyes locked. Muffled tears came again from the child.

The man looked away and began to feel a pain in his chest. He leaned against the building's wall, trying to breathe. He grasped his chest in agony; his icy hand came away warm with blood. Salty tears dripped from his chin, mixing with the pool in his hand. His back slid against the wall until his body collapsed on the street. The man stared at his hand. Feeling another rush of pain, he grabbed at his chest. The point of steel pricked against his hand. A knife. The man looked up into the last, cruel pair of eyes he would ever see.

Veryy god i love it its very desriptivee write more

1
Sunshine glimmered on the tow-headed boy as he stared out at the cityscape with awe. He leaned egarly against the wall-sized window of his father's office, trying to drink in every detail. It didn't take long for the seven-year-old to realize how remarkably similar the tops of these skyscrapers were to the ones ce could see from other parts of the apartment, yet, for some reason, they were so enthralling to look at from this larger window. He stepped away from the window and began to look for something else of interest in the room. The boy opened a drawer and pulled a piece of paper out and stared at the text. The list of apparent names didn't appeal to him so he replaced the sheet in its original file. The young boy clambered up onto the large leather chair and found delight in spinning around on it a few times before he was discovered.

"Rafael Erikson," the boy's mother scorned. "Get out of your father's workspace now."

The miscevious boy's face sagged with guilt and disappointment. He hopped glumly off the chair and sulked out of the study with his head low. The door slammed shut.

Rafael's mother's voice muddled around his own thoughts. He gazed out the smaller, 40th floor window of his bedroom, not at all listening to hism mother's scoldings. His mind wandered, like it often did, and his curiosity about his father's occupation as a businessman, which kept him away from home. Young Rafael was curious to learn more about what made their family rich, but it didn't, at the time, bother him too much.

As a younger boy, Rafael didn't think much of what he found that day in his father's office. As he grew up, however, his curiosity for the man's true occupation grew. This nagged at Rafael, as the job description was never described as more than a businessman. He made several attempts in his early teens to discover more for himself, but came out empty-handed.

One warm evening, Rafael actually made it through the double-bolted door into his fathers quiet room. Rafael moved quickly, holding a flashlight between his teeth as he shifted frantically through the files.

"You'll never find what you are looking for," a deep voice boomed from the black corner of the room. Rafael nearly jumped several feet in the air, having thought the room would be completely empty all night. A lamp turned on, dimly shining on the mand sitting in a chair.

He was a sturdy, middle-aged man who obviously was very good at what he did. Black stubble dotted his square jaw; a receding line of black hair contrasted his light, slightly aged skin. He held his lips tight and furrowed his brow. The man sad in the Lazy Boy comfortably, as if he had been waiting there for a while. He was dressed in a business suit which was tailored to his wide berth. He looked at Rafael with deliberation.

"F-father?" Rafael stammered, standing up on his wobbling legs. He was taller than the other man, but younger, and much thinner. He had already been granted the body of a young man, but puberty had not yet banished his boyish face, dotted with acne. He stared at the man in shock. "Father, I thought you were supposed to be-"

"I know what I told you and your mother," Rafael's father interjected. "I've been watching you, Rafael. I understand that you want to know more about what I do on all my business trips, correct?"

Rafael nodded dumbly in disbelief.

"Fifteen is old enough for me to stop lying to you." He stood up out of the chair. "Let me show you now."

Really good:) write more please

Hey sis, are you still working on this? ^^?
(Hey, that rhymed. lol)