Beginnings: Heart or Head
Jun. 25th, 2012 04:11 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
haraphen.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
writing_shadows“Are you listening to me boy?” a rough firm hand clips my head and breaks my reverie. I was thinking about ice cream. We saw a boy the other day with a cone filled with it and it looked nice. I’ve never tried any before, never had the time. I wonder what it’s like. Sweet? Cold? would it hurt my teeth? I don’t know.
“Yes Papa.” I reply. and with that he knows I’m lying. Tony Adams is my foster father but he would never let me call him that. It was always just Tony, or Mr Adams. So he smacks me again.
“Focus boy!” He passes me the weapon his hand easily hold it still but it takes two of mine to hold the point steady. He pushes me towards the kitchen table his warm hand on my shoulder steadying me. “What are the first two rules?”
I stand up on a stool and look down at the figure on the table. His limbs are tied to the legs of the table and a balled up rag stopped him from screaming out. His breathing was erratic and his pupils dilated with fear. My voice responds to Tony’s question but the words echo hollow in my ears. “The second rule is ‘The heart or the head. Destroy one quickly then the second to be sure.’” The wood in my hands began to feel damp with sweat.
“And the first rule?” His voice grew agitated and impatience.
And the lessons sink in. The captured man's breathing is too shallow to be of use. His skin too pale and the look of fear wasn't rational. It was primal. It wasn't human. My hands now feel dry and steady. I reverse my grip and hold the point over the man's heart, I utter the first rule like a religious mantra. “‘Never falter.’” Tony slams a hammer down on the base of the stake and the sound of ribs break as i'm sprayed with blood. The man falls still and we get to work.
The next part was just routine. Grab the gas can soak the body and the room. Let the gas oven fill the kitchen with a cigarette left burning in an ashtray of the next room.
Latter in the murky street illuminated by the burning building. Tony smiles at me happy with the work we've done and I decide to take a risk. “Tony?”
He grunt recognition as he secures the bag of tools on his shoulder. “Good work tonight kid. Real good work.”
I swallow involuntarily and my throat is dry, probably from the smoke. “Can we get some ice cream?”
He stops and stares at me. He’s backlit by the fire so i can't read his face. for a second i think he’s going to hit me for being stupid or selfish. But his eyes start to glint. To shine a wet fiery orange. I convince myself they can't be tears but i think he sees me now. Not as his pupil. Not as someone he has to protect. Not as someone he’s teaching to kill. But as the 10 year old boy i am.
We stay staring at eachother for a while until he finally clears his throat. “Sure Son. You earned it.” And I’m not sure what makes me happier. Him saying ‘Sure’. Or him saying ‘Son’.
“Yes Papa.” I reply. and with that he knows I’m lying. Tony Adams is my foster father but he would never let me call him that. It was always just Tony, or Mr Adams. So he smacks me again.
“Focus boy!” He passes me the weapon his hand easily hold it still but it takes two of mine to hold the point steady. He pushes me towards the kitchen table his warm hand on my shoulder steadying me. “What are the first two rules?”
I stand up on a stool and look down at the figure on the table. His limbs are tied to the legs of the table and a balled up rag stopped him from screaming out. His breathing was erratic and his pupils dilated with fear. My voice responds to Tony’s question but the words echo hollow in my ears. “The second rule is ‘The heart or the head. Destroy one quickly then the second to be sure.’” The wood in my hands began to feel damp with sweat.
“And the first rule?” His voice grew agitated and impatience.
And the lessons sink in. The captured man's breathing is too shallow to be of use. His skin too pale and the look of fear wasn't rational. It was primal. It wasn't human. My hands now feel dry and steady. I reverse my grip and hold the point over the man's heart, I utter the first rule like a religious mantra. “‘Never falter.’” Tony slams a hammer down on the base of the stake and the sound of ribs break as i'm sprayed with blood. The man falls still and we get to work.
The next part was just routine. Grab the gas can soak the body and the room. Let the gas oven fill the kitchen with a cigarette left burning in an ashtray of the next room.
Latter in the murky street illuminated by the burning building. Tony smiles at me happy with the work we've done and I decide to take a risk. “Tony?”
He grunt recognition as he secures the bag of tools on his shoulder. “Good work tonight kid. Real good work.”
I swallow involuntarily and my throat is dry, probably from the smoke. “Can we get some ice cream?”
He stops and stares at me. He’s backlit by the fire so i can't read his face. for a second i think he’s going to hit me for being stupid or selfish. But his eyes start to glint. To shine a wet fiery orange. I convince myself they can't be tears but i think he sees me now. Not as his pupil. Not as someone he has to protect. Not as someone he’s teaching to kill. But as the 10 year old boy i am.
We stay staring at eachother for a while until he finally clears his throat. “Sure Son. You earned it.” And I’m not sure what makes me happier. Him saying ‘Sure’. Or him saying ‘Son’.
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