01: Innocence Lost

One day old Boy

It was the year 1990, in a dark corner of a town with a population slightly higher than the hairs on a bald man. In a country that just gave birth to its fifth war in the past twenty years.

Drops of heavy rain crashed down on a face that was still pale from its arrival, a baby that whoever delivered it did not bother even biting off the blue umbilical cord.

The torn carton of a royal crib did not emit a sound as if its king was dead inside.

A nut-sized palm twitched, a golden gleam reflecting the dancing lighting shone momentarily, as a pair of hands plucked out the king away from his damp throne.

“Merciful God, how could anyone have the heart to throw away a newborn like that?” the old hands held the dripping cloth and held it to her heart, sharing some of its owner's caring warmth.

On a squat ancient building, a rusty bell rang loudly and a worn-out door opened with a creak louder than the thundering skies.

The old hands handed out the cloth as the wrinkled lips spoke and the gray eyes shed tears.

Two days old Boy

“Is it alive?” asked a malnourished man with glasses thicker than his skinny face, sitting behind a decayed iron desk.

“Barely! Fever, jaundice, body full of bruises, I give it a week at most” replied a man in filthy white coat one could mistake him for a butcher.

“And this?” the man behind the desk held an object of pure gold in his hand, a coin far from a being a mere coin, like it was minted in heavens, with an opened eye on one side and a sealed one for tails.

“No idea, Martha found it in its hand, it took some time to free it from the surprisingly tight grip”

“I see, you may go” grumbled the thin man, rolling the coin between his bony fingers.

“Yes Director, have a good day”

Four years old Boy

“Hey Roach, catch!” yelled a double-chinned youngster as the yolk of an egg bathed in tufts of a smaller boy dark hair.

The boy did not even turn to see who wasted the minutes he spent washing up this morning, all he cared about is the handful of books he was carrying.

He ignored… No, he even forgot the bully’s actions, it was a common practice in this shithole anyway, all he wanted is to fly to his flea-ridden mattress and open the gates to magical worlds.

It was fortunate that the director of this sorry excuse of an orphanage was an ex-librarian who barely benn able to save a few dozens of books after the public library was bombed years ago.

The boy found his only joy in books, after finding out that whoever was young teased or ignored him, and whoever was old feared his terrifying intelligence.

He finally went back to his inner sanctum, not even resting from his pilgrimage to the rat-infested shelf that they called a library. With a piece of cloth, he wiped the yolk and with alacrity opened the half-eaten leather cover.

His eyes devoured the fantasy, the fantasy of a Hero in shining armor, saving a doomed world from an endless darkness, he rode the light, stroke with justice, and fell in love with the goddess.

His blue eyes shone, his lips parted apart, sometimes his skin shuddered, he was in his own perfect world.

Then suddenly, the books were no more.

Five years old Boy

The Boy strolled outside the building, away from whoever compared him to an insect, behind a destroyed building not far from the orphanage, he found a dead mother.

His eyes caught movement under the maggots next meal, he extended his small hand and picked a pup of pitch black fur, snatching him away from the dead bitch.

The pup lost its energy to even squeak, its belly fat replaced with patterned lines of bones, two tiny white dots indicated that the pup lost the light of his eyes.

He raised the sickly pup to his eye level and tilted his head as if he was studying it, awarding himself a lick from a tongue that didn’t taste milk for days.

For the first time in his life, the boy fell in love.

He turned away to leave with his new pup, only to find two emerald green eyes peering at what was in his hand.

“Can I hold him?” A girl with two brown braids swaying around a freckled face beamed with a wide grin, minus a tooth.

The boy innocently handed the flea nest to her, spreading her curled lips even wider.

“Let’s go find him some milk” she cheered energetically, pointing back at their unwelcoming home.

Under a faint ray of the setting sun, two small silhouettes crawled under the windows, on their way to a fridge conquered by brown six footed invaders.

The two sat down, leaning on the cracked wall, watching as the blind creature use the last of its power to keep clinging to this world.

Six years old Boy

The boy woke up in a good mood, it was the day he turned six. He strode to get his dose of morning licks of affection from the next building.

He was stopped by his only friend in this wretched dwelling, asking him to follow her into her room.

Her small freckled arms barely held his present, and with considerable effort, she handed him what was left of the family she never knew.

The boy’s eyes widened as they froze at what the girl just passed to him.

“Martha said that it was found inside my crib when they picked me up from the rubble” her beaming smile filled the boy’s view as he kept switching his eyeballs between her and the book in his hand.

And the boy fell in love for the second time

They walked back holding hands, and the boy never wanted the moment to end, but winds do not always blow as the ship's wish.

“Hoo?! If it isn’t the cockroach and his girl, come here roach!” a voice the boy hoped he’d never hear echoed across the dusty hall.

Double the boy’s age, double his size. The leader of the tiny gangsters of the orphanage called out to the boy, and as always, the boy ignored, waiting for the egg to find its target and get on with it.

The egg didn’t come, but the leader himself, his stinking breath could be heard as he dragged his lumps of fat across the hall.

He towered three heads above the boy, staring him down and ready to strike him at moment’s notice.

“You’re deaf Roach? Here, let me fix your ears” the boy lifted his arm to smack the boy, but the boy wasn’t alone anymore.

“Hey fatty, take your bunch of losers and go elsewhere, it’s his birthday, and you’re ruining it” the girl bellowed, her thick brown brows furrowing.

“This doesn’t concern you, I think your ears needs fixing as well” The fat arm jiggled as it flew towards the girl, only to find itself held back by a smaller hand gripping its wrist with strange force.

“Why you, let me g- ARGH!” the grip tightened like a vice, and the sound of a bone cracking was getting louder, even the boy itself found the strange, his strength wasn’t one of a child’s.

The boy let go of the fatty, snatched the girl and fled, he ran away from six pairs of legs trailing them with anger across the empty halls.

The pair found a proper hideout, a den with its bear absent, the director’s office, they stayed for hours waiting for the youth storm to calm, until they got bored.

A pair of what used to be leather chairs, a desk that used to be green, but now it looked like world map from the rust, and a big framed picture on the wall, of the tyrant ruling this dying country.

Curiosity led the boy by the hand to the back of the desk, guiding his blue eyes to a glint coming out of a hole in one of the rust-eaten drawers.

He extended his fingers and picked up a golden coin, pocketed it for a reason he could not explain, the boy was not a thief, but he felt like the coin itself refusing to leave his hand.

Six years, one day old Boy

The boy woke up late after he spent the night submerged in his precious present from a precious person.

He quickly washed and opened the door, ready to fight the day, but.

The world stopped

The heart froze

The eyes bulged

The knees gave up

The blood rushed up

The skin went on fire

The bowels went out of control

Someone left another present on his doorsteps, but this time it was from someone at the end of the long hallway, licking his lips and clapping on his hand with a cleaver, surrounded by eyes glowing in the dark, eyes of devils, devils who didn’t even experience puberty.

The boy picked up his present, turned around and closed the door, every cell of his body shaking, his eyes nailed to the head of a friend who wasn’t even a year old.

Then the boy was not the boy anymore.

Six years, one day, eleven hours old Boy

A silhouette one easily could mistake for a ghost. Dead eyes flaring a blue glimmer danced in the darkness. The moon did not even dare to shine that night, tucking itself under the clouds, hiding from the monster in the hallway.

The monster entered a room and came out with a canister half its size, it dragged it like predator hiding a prey’s carcass for later use.

In a larger room, a fat ridden chest barely moved up and down with a wheeze found itself drenched under a shower of a smelly liquid, it started moving rapidly in a panic, trying its best to wake its owner up, and it surprisingly succeeded.

The fat boy rose up like a professional athlete, only to find the monster standing there, motionless, waiting for him to throw the rest of sand away. The monster wanted him fully awake.

He wanted to scream but couldn’t. He was choking. He was suffocating.

Then a match lit.

Then the fat boy finally saw it. He was the true form of the monster.

He looked up to see a giant with blue glowing eyes, sharp teeth, claws larger than the cleaver he was holding this morning.

The monster’s left hand breathed fire, the right one held the head of a growling beast of nightmares.

Fatty didn’t have a chance. Fatty knew, that he will be eaten. He knew he will die.

The monster suddenly tilted his head, and with a swipe, the room was lit in a fiery hell, the smell of grilled meat entered the monster’s nostrils, lifting the corners of its mouth up in a twisted smile of satisfaction.

Six years, one day, eleven hours, forty-three minutes old Boy

The boy walked the burning hallways, paying no mind to the echoing screams or the crumbling building. He simply did not care anymore.

The building decided that its time has finally come and started dancing, the choking smoke erupted from the rooms and the flames ran like hungry hounds, biting off whatever survived its brethren.

A scream the boy recognized found its way to his ears, he raised his head to see his second love trapped behind a piece of the building.

Without giving it much thought, he sprinted, still holding onto the head. He saw the window behind her, he knew that there is a slim chance she’ll survive the fall, but a chance nonetheless.

The flames clung to him, he was its creator after all, but he gave it the same treatment as the yolk.

He ignored the pain, he ignored his wailing lungs, he only wanted to push his love away from the hell he forged.

The building shook more as if it wasn't entertaining the audience enough with its dance, and a pillar came off the ceiling doing its best to stand between the hero and the goddess, but like the darkness, it failed.

The boy put everything he has in his short legs, bringing his burning arm in front of him and jumped forward, he rode the light, he struck with justice, he loved the Goddess who was looking at the incoming ball of fire with eyes of disbelief.

With the sound of glass shattering followed by the childish screech, the boy was in peace, he knew his mission was accomplished, for a price.

The boy hugged the head, refusing to let go of it as his small body turned into charcoal, smiling as if he was finally… Free.

A Dead Boy