Ares Deimos
[Ares; God of War-- Deimos; A name to mean fear, terror]The saint Barnetts boy



Within a bed of thorns a child was born, small and blanched by the big world around him. Subtle squeals filled the air and as the forests, cricket sarounded, silence wandered in so did his silence.
Why was he here? Well, that was simple. His father was a tyrant, his mother- she wanted to... She hoped she could get away, for the sake of her baby. It would be wishful thinking to say that she died right then and there, peacefully. No, she was not so lucky the poor girl. Only wanting to do good for her young child, she kept on going.
But at 12 o'clock the bells tolled and footsteps stampeded in like horses. Within the dark thicket, encompassed by deep black thorns and genteel little daisies, the young girl, the poor girl, was taken away... And with her baby she traveled back to the distant lands she had hoped to lose far behind her.
It would also be wishful thinking to say that she had escaped, she did not. Unless death counts as escapement. He has only faint memories of her. She was a scrawny woman, youthful... Just a little too young, but he didn't know that. Her lovely innocence accompanying her beauty like the clouds to the sky. Although, he saw her as beautiful because she was 'mother', she always cared for him, no matter what her own risk.
She had been place in a small room, trapped within the gray castle of the, just as somber in colour, hidden kingdom. Between her and her baby lied bars, but those seemed almost invisible when he was there.
He would touch the bars from one side and she from the other, their fingers held together in a way that felt like forever encased in just momentous seconds, floating off in a bottle that could make you waver on hope and just hold your breath.
He barely saw her, but they held hands. No one holds his hands now, he won't let them... Every time that they saw each other they held onto each others hands and smiled, between the railing. "So, how are you my darling? Learning your A B C's like a big boy I presume?" She was street, yet she was intelligent enough to fit the concord houses. Though, she didn't need intelligence, as glorious as it was. She needed brute, harsh handed, strength. If she was ever to escape. Something which she could not get. Did not get.
"My love, if you frown I will have to frown too. Do you want momma to frown?" She knew how to entice him. Whenever something had to be heard, she, at the end of her bars, leaned over the cold metal like it wasn't there and stared at him, touched his face... Said something just right in her soft, soft, voice, and he complied fully.
When she died daisies were put upon her body, their people did this for everyone. After death, as you leave; the sprinkling of daisies, something so easy to find within their dark ground, was tradition. Something to not be broken. The room was tall, she died right there, barred windows and doorway, a large enough rosette bed with unlawfully put fabric roses as decourations, cement walls and flooring, and a little closet like thing. Oh so cold.
First there was blood, and coughing... A lot of coughing. She bent over, then she fell back. She held onto only one thing, one little teddy toy her son and her shared, switched off every day that they could see each other. A little brown thing, a great lack of fluff yet still soft, on his stomach a little heart, that when pressed just the right way opened up a teeny little pocket.
He had grabbed it from her hands, hugged it tight and fallen asleep with his head on her corpse, wishing her chest would rise. At least that had been merciful, a quick enough death and a smile on her face. She'd watch over him, they both knew.
Dasies patterned his flesh like markings. The people of the broken down kingdom did not care if it was alive or dead- the thing they threw their delicate flowers onto. That was the first time he had been marked by those flowers, but thoughtfully not the last. He had cried and cried, screamed and yelled... then finally smiled at her beautiful, innocent, youthful face, her darling face and kissed it. "It's good... You didn't frown, or I would have frowned too..." He gulped, in silence. And as if he was a mature adult he had stood, dancing lovely wight petals onto her body, his thin fingers moving overtop of the air like a beetle or a butterfly, sighed shakily and walked away.
It was miserable, pitiful, lovely.
"I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave -- thank God for the quiet grave -- O! I can feel the cold earth upon me -- the daisies growing over me -- O for this quiet -- it will be my first."Time the prey learns that we are the hunters"
Daisies die out, pearls do not."
He tugged his hair back, pulling the pearls around his neck over and up- loosely over his head. The blood was cleaned off, the teenage males pale creamy hands fixing at his clothes wile he was in thought. Striding towards the sink, he switched on the water once more, as swiftly as the bullet that slices through a mortals flesh, letting whatever red that stained the clear alibaster of the sink slowly dribble down. He was still in partial shock, of course, how could he not be? His mothers grave had been robbed. A spastically made grave, that hid in the forest, a granular tombstone with words etched in, accompanied by the knife he had stolen from his father- at only nine.
Of course, for him 'father' only meant a connection of blood, not anything more. That man was the unwelcomed antagonist in his life, he knew how to foist himself
It was the morning after when he was putting on his pearls again.
"You-you-you monster! You murderer!" A man in a black suit scuffled across the floor, seeing a need to point at him, even though Ares was the only other one there. Who else would he be speaking to? A smug, if not on excess of elegance, expression pulled onto the blond haired boy, brow raised and lips put just so, fixing at the bottom of his nape with the pearls. "Excuse me, don't call me a murderer." His eyes were glazed over with some sort of character unfathomably put. "He had it coming. No place on this earth for him." Twriling at his hair with such innocence Ares stared, paused and sighed, before pulling up his jacket swiftly. It had been his time to go, but not this mans.
The teen slid a hand and a lock of hair far over his ear striding out of the apartment complex without closing the door, the clack clack clack of his shoes filling the hallway until he reached the elevator. It welcomed him in, with one ding, and soon it's doors had closed.
There was more than one reason that these pearls were good. Yes, of course they were beautiful, but they also fit around a person neck so well.
As the elevator lowered he felt himself shaking.
He became a small earthquake for his skin and bones. Eyes dilating wildly as he took a breath, leaning back against the metal as if it was all just coming to him... Coming backwards slowly.
The writhing movement of the man as he clasped his hands tightly against Ares, arms becoming misshapen masses of movement and messier quickness as they bent back and up to catch him and save themselves, asphyxiation was not his savior.
--
More personal--
There is something odd, almost cruel about Ares, an ironic connection to both his first and last name, just because he has a lovely little appearance on him it does not mean he is an angel. More like a pawn of nature itself.
He may have a sweet smile but so does the devil if it's painted on the right way. Ares follows his own beat like a crow calling to all the people below, in scattered voices, hard to pin point... Easy to notice in all their dark feathered, special voiced perfection. His appearance is perfection itself, it is that of his mothers. Though, it is a freighting halt there on afterwards.
His outwardly appearance is only contrary to what is within. It is completely and utterly the opposition, his appearance is the enemy at the other line, firing canons at his personality, shooting blind insults; Let them mistake me for you... Me, an angel and you, a deamon.
Outside a beautiful daisy sits, covered in an allure they'd call royal. He let's them beleive what their own minds may manifest, from the early hours of dawn to the sun setting moonlit nights [Though he never knew when those where, just that they happened]. If they wish to see someone so enamoring, with a touch similar to soft sunrays and a voice that floated on divine, let it be so.
When the time is right they will see what is true, when it's the most advantageous. Like a little daisy sits and bends by the winds control he let's them bend who he is. Their visions of him as he's sits, just like the people's as they watch little daisies wave in the forces of the wind.
It is not faking, it is just letting them assume him to be whatever they see as they may, envisioning, off first sight, who he may be... That is their own fault.
Ares' one true fear, the reason why he avoids all clocks and never knows the time- never speaks the word.
There are things you never understand about life. Everywhere someone is to look there is bustling and hustling and... Do they ever stop? 
Time is a creation of imagination, and unrealistic. It counts down everything we do, similar to the drawback of a ticking bomb, and that is why Ares fears it so. Though only in secret.
Just thinking about how it counts down everything that is being done--- Faster, faster, you won't make it...--- Creates the feeling that he'll not reach the end of the racetrack in time.---
If you don't make it, then, what are you?--- Never reach the end of the racetrack in time.---
Time is ticking away and you haven't done anything worth of value.--- It creates a solid depression within in, the feeling of dry concrete formed into a perfect circle within his throat, rippling up and down as he loses breath.---
You'll die without accomplishing anything. How could you when time is passing by so fast, and you are going so slow?--- His anxiety rises at the single thought of it, every grasp of air like ventilation systems.---
Every /tick/ moment /tock/ you /.../ run /tick./[/center]
Some additional tidbits of history, linking to his tyrannical father-- You do not have to read this, and can only skim if preferred, if you'd rather not read it.--

A picture of Ares and his mother when he was just a babe