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Story - Chapter 1, Redux.
The Story – Chapter 1, redone.
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One; A classic – The usual stories need a boy. A boy of strength and unusual character, a bright red amongst a sea of grey nameless formless people.
Strength comes when you forsake everything else, Adrian. Mom, what do you and dad do? Adrian...just go inside your room and study like a good boy. You don't want to get killed out there, do you? No, mom... Very good.
It was the same, every night. Remnants of his past, his happier childhood, something he had almost forgotten. While he would occasionally get punished for missing curfew, sneaking bits of food from the table into his room, and would be sent upstairs without dinner if he dared to miss an important target on purpose, it was an easy existence.
They had to keep on moving, he remembered. His father's line of work had him being kicked from Israel to Sudan, Ethiopia...he had learned to stop asking why they were leaving. Friendships suddenly became optional, although he always smiled whenever the other boys would play with him, and the girls would give him sweets. Then they came upon a small village near the Cape of Good Hope.
“We'll be living here from now on, Adrian,” Sierra, his mother had said cheerfully. “No more moving?” He had asked as a boy, his green eyes full of curious wonder, probing into his mother's. Back then, smiles flashed everyday, before his parents went to work, and just before he went to bed.
“No, no more, kiddo.” Benjamin, his father ruffled his son's hair affectionately. Sierra worked days and Benjamin worked nights; it was enough for Adrian because he saw his parents regularly.
It was an easy existence, an exciting existence. Every day Adrian tried to become better; he tried to play a little longer, a little harder.
One day, he had often thought excitedly just before sleep claimed him, I will be just like my father.
Mistakes were usually forgivable, though undulated little things. One day, Adrian made a mistake. He was playing with a red ball, one of his favorite toys.
It bounced out of his playpen, and he pushed the gate open, trying to get it. The ball rolled downstairs into the bathroom. He saw his mother washing up something that was soaked through in something.
“Mom? What's that? Is it Dad's?”
The something was quickly balled up and shoved deeper, where his little eyes couldn’t see.
“A-adrian! Yes, you know your father; he's very...accident prone. You aren't supposed to be in here.” Nervousness and worry lines sat down and carved the emotion upon his mother’s face, but Adrian knew that he shouldn’t ask questions, and so didn’t. He swallowed each question, each bubbling question down into the recesses of his heart, and instead spoke something else.
“Ball.” Sierra looked round and found the red ball, and gently let it roll out of the room.
Adrian's one-track mind told his body to go get it, and when he was completely outside in the hallway, she shut the door. Sierra sighed deeply. They couldn't live like this any longer. Benjamin was a grand assassin, but recently he had more blood on his clothes. She looked up towards the sky, wondering if this was punishment from Allah.
He needs his father...I'll have to tell Benji that he has to quit, for our son's sake... Her hands were cold as she continued washing his work clothes by hand, watching as the water turned deep pink before disappearing down the drain. One day, Benjamin wasn't around in the morning. Adrian pretended that his father had probably gotten sick or was sleeping in, even though he knew, in his young heart that something had probably gone wrong (although he hoped it wasn’t because of him.)
Adrian remembered seeing his mother look so lost, for the very first time. She forgot to kiss him goodbye when she went to Mossad, where she was an officer.
I know it's against protocol, but I need to find him...maybe, maybe he's... But most importantly, she forgot to punish him because he had broken one of their plates. That night, Sierra carefully tucked in her child.
“Mom?”
Adrian held onto his blanket; his father had never been gone this long. “Where’s Dad?” His mother never answered. Instead, she kissed his cheek. “Darling, he’s on—well, I’m sure he’s working hard, no matter where he is. I'll be sure to scold your dad for being late tomorrow. Now, don't forget that we love you very, very much. Your dad and I both. Now try to get some sleep, okay?”
“O-okay...” Adrian closed his eyes, hearing the click of the light switching off. As he slept, Sierra stayed up all night, searching for her husband. Dawn came and she had fallen asleep to no avail--she couldn't find him. That was her second mistake. Not looking hard enough, because she was afraid that whoever had the strength to take Benjamin would take her only son.
The very next day, after giving Adrian Nagant his morning milk, she left and never came back. For a four year-old child, Adrian wouldn't cry. Instead, he just stared at the door, hoping that they would come back. Eating and sleeping wasn't as important as waiting for his parents come back.
Four days passed without incident. Adrian continued to wait, when suddenly the door was thrust open and soldiers burst into the room, all holding guns and all looking the same--blank and menacing. Quickly he hid himself in the closet, unnoticed and observing through the tiny crack in the door. Who were they? “Ugh!” He heard his father's voice, sounding broken and torn. He thought he saw his mother's back, their clothes ripped and holes and red liquid everywhere. He felt sorry for his parents. He thought they had done something very, very bad.
“Get it. You know what we came here for. You get it or else we'll look for your little boy.” He saw his parents struggling to go near the closet; rummage through things until they procured something small, and he had only seen once. His mother had called it a ‘USB.’
After handing it over, the gunshots started, and his parents were dead even before they hit the floor. The blood splattered, hitting his toys, hitting the cupboard door. He tasted it on his lips, warm and salty, metallic on his tongue. The tears came, and it was the only thing he could do as he saw the bullet holes plugged into his parents' heads. The soldiers laughed and kicked at the corpses before leaving the room, where they were slumped against the red ball.
He always woke up screaming.
Always to the same voices, that he didn’t deserve to die because he hadn’t made a mistake and that death was too good for him.
The voices all chorused, laughing and mocking, until Adrian Nagant, 18, had been reduced to a wailing child, once again inside that boxy closet, powerless and helpless to stop the men that killed his parents.
He dully remembers a pair of fingers pushing a pill down his mouth, down, down down to his throat. He swallows, and everything is finally quiet. The easy existence is gone.
Time for work.
Word Count; 1, 207 <3
________________________
One; A classic – The usual stories need a boy. A boy of strength and unusual character, a bright red amongst a sea of grey nameless formless people.
Strength comes when you forsake everything else, Adrian. Mom, what do you and dad do? Adrian...just go inside your room and study like a good boy. You don't want to get killed out there, do you? No, mom... Very good.
It was the same, every night. Remnants of his past, his happier childhood, something he had almost forgotten. While he would occasionally get punished for missing curfew, sneaking bits of food from the table into his room, and would be sent upstairs without dinner if he dared to miss an important target on purpose, it was an easy existence.
They had to keep on moving, he remembered. His father's line of work had him being kicked from Israel to Sudan, Ethiopia...he had learned to stop asking why they were leaving. Friendships suddenly became optional, although he always smiled whenever the other boys would play with him, and the girls would give him sweets. Then they came upon a small village near the Cape of Good Hope.
“We'll be living here from now on, Adrian,” Sierra, his mother had said cheerfully. “No more moving?” He had asked as a boy, his green eyes full of curious wonder, probing into his mother's. Back then, smiles flashed everyday, before his parents went to work, and just before he went to bed.
“No, no more, kiddo.” Benjamin, his father ruffled his son's hair affectionately. Sierra worked days and Benjamin worked nights; it was enough for Adrian because he saw his parents regularly.
It was an easy existence, an exciting existence. Every day Adrian tried to become better; he tried to play a little longer, a little harder.
One day, he had often thought excitedly just before sleep claimed him, I will be just like my father.
Mistakes were usually forgivable, though undulated little things. One day, Adrian made a mistake. He was playing with a red ball, one of his favorite toys.
It bounced out of his playpen, and he pushed the gate open, trying to get it. The ball rolled downstairs into the bathroom. He saw his mother washing up something that was soaked through in something.
“Mom? What's that? Is it Dad's?”
The something was quickly balled up and shoved deeper, where his little eyes couldn’t see.
“A-adrian! Yes, you know your father; he's very...accident prone. You aren't supposed to be in here.” Nervousness and worry lines sat down and carved the emotion upon his mother’s face, but Adrian knew that he shouldn’t ask questions, and so didn’t. He swallowed each question, each bubbling question down into the recesses of his heart, and instead spoke something else.
“Ball.” Sierra looked round and found the red ball, and gently let it roll out of the room.
Adrian's one-track mind told his body to go get it, and when he was completely outside in the hallway, she shut the door. Sierra sighed deeply. They couldn't live like this any longer. Benjamin was a grand assassin, but recently he had more blood on his clothes. She looked up towards the sky, wondering if this was punishment from Allah.
He needs his father...I'll have to tell Benji that he has to quit, for our son's sake... Her hands were cold as she continued washing his work clothes by hand, watching as the water turned deep pink before disappearing down the drain. One day, Benjamin wasn't around in the morning. Adrian pretended that his father had probably gotten sick or was sleeping in, even though he knew, in his young heart that something had probably gone wrong (although he hoped it wasn’t because of him.)
Adrian remembered seeing his mother look so lost, for the very first time. She forgot to kiss him goodbye when she went to Mossad, where she was an officer.
I know it's against protocol, but I need to find him...maybe, maybe he's... But most importantly, she forgot to punish him because he had broken one of their plates. That night, Sierra carefully tucked in her child.
“Mom?”
Adrian held onto his blanket; his father had never been gone this long. “Where’s Dad?” His mother never answered. Instead, she kissed his cheek. “Darling, he’s on—well, I’m sure he’s working hard, no matter where he is. I'll be sure to scold your dad for being late tomorrow. Now, don't forget that we love you very, very much. Your dad and I both. Now try to get some sleep, okay?”
“O-okay...” Adrian closed his eyes, hearing the click of the light switching off. As he slept, Sierra stayed up all night, searching for her husband. Dawn came and she had fallen asleep to no avail--she couldn't find him. That was her second mistake. Not looking hard enough, because she was afraid that whoever had the strength to take Benjamin would take her only son.
The very next day, after giving Adrian Nagant his morning milk, she left and never came back. For a four year-old child, Adrian wouldn't cry. Instead, he just stared at the door, hoping that they would come back. Eating and sleeping wasn't as important as waiting for his parents come back.
Four days passed without incident. Adrian continued to wait, when suddenly the door was thrust open and soldiers burst into the room, all holding guns and all looking the same--blank and menacing. Quickly he hid himself in the closet, unnoticed and observing through the tiny crack in the door. Who were they? “Ugh!” He heard his father's voice, sounding broken and torn. He thought he saw his mother's back, their clothes ripped and holes and red liquid everywhere. He felt sorry for his parents. He thought they had done something very, very bad.
“Get it. You know what we came here for. You get it or else we'll look for your little boy.” He saw his parents struggling to go near the closet; rummage through things until they procured something small, and he had only seen once. His mother had called it a ‘USB.’
After handing it over, the gunshots started, and his parents were dead even before they hit the floor. The blood splattered, hitting his toys, hitting the cupboard door. He tasted it on his lips, warm and salty, metallic on his tongue. The tears came, and it was the only thing he could do as he saw the bullet holes plugged into his parents' heads. The soldiers laughed and kicked at the corpses before leaving the room, where they were slumped against the red ball.
He always woke up screaming.
Always to the same voices, that he didn’t deserve to die because he hadn’t made a mistake and that death was too good for him.
The voices all chorused, laughing and mocking, until Adrian Nagant, 18, had been reduced to a wailing child, once again inside that boxy closet, powerless and helpless to stop the men that killed his parents.
He dully remembers a pair of fingers pushing a pill down his mouth, down, down down to his throat. He swallows, and everything is finally quiet. The easy existence is gone.
Time for work.
Word Count; 1, 207 <3