Memory 1

It is uncommon for one to recall the memories of their own birth, though I have heard that the Psyren Frog is one such creature that can, at least the sounds of it. As an assassin, I of course had two births, but my memory only goes so far.

My oldest memory was of me as a boy of around four years of age.

There is no killer or predator with a larger track record than time itself. And no slower form of death than aging. There was a time when I aged. I forgot what that was like. Change itself is something I witness but never feel.

The memory playing right now was one I couldn’t even recall. I suppose that Flash Powder knows more about me than I do.

Mother and Father are hiding behind couches. Only the tops of their heads are visible. I asses the situation and toss my weapon their way.

Wait. It’s not a weapon. It’s soft. A pillow? Can one even kill with a pillow?

Father uses the weapon he’s holding to protect mother and then races after me.

Fear pumps blood in my heart but it’s a sort of warm fear, or perhaps that’s just the dose of nostalgia giving it that feeling.

I slide into my bedroom, tossing my weapon, and only means of defense, to block father’s attack.

“Hiding only limits your escape options,” said Father with a smile on his face.

I close my door to dodge mother’s pillow and find myself momentarily calmed by the sanctuary of my room.

This is my land now. I have the upper-hand.

I grab the pillows from my bed and then open my closet. I climb into a basket of plushies that my parent’s gift me weekly.

Using their own gifts to protect myself. He was indeed a clever boy.

I open my door just enough. My closet door has a mirror attached to it, which allows me to watch the entrance to my room.

He was a rather short fellow. Soft pale skin, white hair like a creature at the end of its life…it’s a surprise I ever became so skilled at killing. Or perhaps his weak frame was my motivation to perfect our craft.

My indigo eyes shine in the mirror like blades as I watch the door.

I waited inside the basket till nighttime.

They were patient but patience dulls vigilance. Then again so does hunger and I can feel the rumbling of his stomach. Such an odd sensation.

Unable to silence my hunger, I slowly open the door and head to the kitchen.

I’m suddenly lifted up from behind.

Amateur! He should have sensed her presence. I apologize you have to see me in such a pitiful stage in my life.

Mother tickles me, and I drop my pillows in reaction.

Father then walks up, taking his time while spinning the pillow around.

Arrogance has no place on a mission.

I catch the pillow as it comes down and twist it out of his grip. A sense of pride wells up inside me.

Foolish boy. He allowed you to rend it from his grip. But for what purpose?

Mother drops me, yanks the pillow from my head and drops it on me.

I giggle and roll around with joy.

How failure brought about such joy in me is something I cannot fathom.

“I win so I decide your fate.” Mom leans down and grins at me but without a threatening aura somehow. “You’re going to help me make cookies in the kitchen.”

This warmth. It must have kept this memory alive. The fire of love kept it kicking deep in my subconscious. My parents were so loving and yet I nearly forgot them.

I sped through the other memories. My father teaching me to swim, my mother taking me to her bed whenever I had a bad dream, the two of them reading me stories of brave prophets and soldiers. The list goes on and on. When one of us did argue, the other two would just tickle them until they were smiling again. My family spoiled me with gifts and affection. Oh, and they also showered with me. It was just me and my parents, every day all day. We never left home. In fact, the home I lived in had no windows nor a front of back door. It was a box where I had no choice but to be spoiled and adored.

Oh, my eighth birthday is here. Let’s see that memory. I have a feeling something interesting will happen.

A spoiled stupid child, by which I mean me, is wearing a sweater with the words “you are my world” sewn into it. It’s a sweater the boy made with his mother after losing another game of Death Pillow. I eat the celebration pie at a gradual pace, likely trying to stretch my moment of joy out like some addict.

Mother and Father mutter to themselves as I’m licking my plate clean. Father looks distressed and she looks excited.

I open my gift which is a small pink Weech. I cautiously poke the slimy creature, which would have been something I would have regretted had it been alive.

I look up at them. “I don’t understand. What is it?”

Mother smiles. “It’s your new name, sweetie” pie.”

I look at the animal’s corpse curiously. “My name?”

She suddenly zooms behind me and lifts me into a hug. “You’re going to be Weech from now on.”

Even the dull boy I was back then could sense something was amiss.

“I love it.” I embrace her back.

Father approaches slowly and pats my head.

I release mom and hop into an embrace with dad.

He beams at me. “If hugs could kill, you’d be a little ninja.” He ruffles my hair playfully.

Stop!

I freeze the moment and wrap my tendrils around them but they slip through the figments of my past.

They aren’t there anymore. I know this for certain.

My parents set me on the couch and then hand me another present.

I open it excitedly, tearing the wrapping off like a predator hungry for the flesh within. I remove the lid to see a silver knife with a scythe emblem on its grip. I pick it up and swing it around.

“Careful, pumpkin. That’s a real knife.” Mother ruffles my already messy hair.

Father stays her hand. “Yes, Weech. That isn’t a toy.”

I look up at father. “Am I going away somewhere?”

He holds my hand steady and tightens my grip on the knife. “We can no longer keep you safe.”

I drop the knife and hug him. “Please don’t leave me.”

Mother combs my hair. “We aren’t leaving. Weech, you’re special. Your father and I know it and one day everyone will know it too.”

Father picks up the knife and dusts it off. “Your mother and I are assassins.”

Wow! My parents are heroes!

Of course that would be my thinking. His little head was filled with heroic stories of assassins ending oppressive regimes. The truth is not so simple but it’s not something a child would understand.

Mother sets me on her lap. “You’re going to come home every night but in the day time, you’ll be at school. You’re going to be a great assassin just like us. No. You’ll surpass us.” She grabs my hands and looks to my father.

He looks down nervously and then nods. “It won’t be easy.” He pauses. “It will be terrifying at times. The whole world will be coated in despair, but as an assassin you will learn to concentrate that despair into a silent blade of truth.” He grabs my shoulders. “You will be the unspoken hero in children’s stories, known by his actions not his name.”

Mother kisses my forehead. “You’ll be a shadow of truth in a world blinded by lies and deception.” She lifts me up. “Get some rest. Your teacher will be here to fetch you first thing in the morning.”

My parents carry me into bed.

I’m unable to sleep that night. My child mind is filled with rainbows of fanciful heroic exploits.

There’s a knock at my door.

I cover my head with my Sleepy Sheepy plushy. “Let me sleep a bit more.”

My body suddenly starts shaking.

A shadow crawls under my door and then spreads along the floor of my room.

I pull out my knife from the top of my dresser and hold it out.

Only an amateur reveals their weapon before striking. Hmmm. I’ve come a long way, haven’t I?

The shadow crawls up my bed post and I try to scream but the terror clogs my throat.

Blades come out from the shadow as it wraps around me.

I stab my knife through it but my weapon is pulled in. It flows through the living shadow, as if traveling down a river, before being pressed against my throat.

“One must go today. Is it mother, father…” The shadow binds my arms and legs and its body becomes as sharp as a sword. “Or child?” asks the distorted wispy voice.

I soiled myself and cried.

“Answer or I will take all.” Its cloak extends out of my room, likely searching for my parents.

I gulp and feel the fear surround me.

My vision blurs and I grab the knife. I swing it around in a frenzy, cutting the creature as fast as I can.

It collapses to a puddle and then reforms at my doorway. It takes a more human shape. “Interesting.” A scroll comes out from its sleeve. “I’m actually not here to kill you. Aren’t you a lucky little bean? No. No. No. You’re a student. I’m here to take you to class.”

“If my parents knew you threatened me, they would end you.” I glare at the creature.

“Your parents are no match for me. They are quitters. Got lucky is all. Let’s see if you picked up more than luck from them.” He tosses a knife at me and I freeze up.

It cuts into my leg.

This feeling. It’s horrible!

Ah, it’s so refreshing to feel fresh pain.

A tendril comes from the creature’s sleeves and grabs onto the knife.

Its arm distorts to a blade and shakes before cleaving through the air.

Is this really real or some crazy dream?

The cut is pulled open by two blades, creating a rift.

The monster enters and drags me by its tendril.

I grab onto my blade and start cutting at the tendril with my knife.

Just before I’m pulled in the knife cuts through the tentacle.

I have to hide.

The creature comes back through the portal. “This stubbornness will keep you alive on the field, but the disobedience will end you before you graduate.” Tendrils pour out from beneath him and lift up the bed. They wrap around my entire body until all I see is black.