ceruleanrocket
Level 10
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Hello! Welcome to the official first chapter of 'Skylar' Tachibana Tsu! This has been a very very long process of starting, stopping, procrastinating, REDOING SO MANY TIMES.
But finally I have the first two chapters out that I'm very proud and excited to share. Please leave comments on what you thought about it! [If there is grammar errors pls lemme know] Enjoy <3 - Cerulean.
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[ '' ]
A shadow emerges from the depths.
Hello! Welcome to the official first chapter of 'Skylar' Tachibana Tsu! This has been a very very long process of starting, stopping, procrastinating, REDOING SO MANY TIMES.
But finally I have the first two chapters out that I'm very proud and excited to share. Please leave comments on what you thought about it! [If there is grammar errors pls lemme know] Enjoy <3 - Cerulean.
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[ '' ]
A shadow emerges from the depths.
- Patrick Rose pov
The adrenaline was sprinting through my veins as I heard the cries from my wife in the back. This was it. Our First child together. “C’mon Aoki, keep it together” I spat out, my right hand gripping onto the back seat tightly, inching forward in a rocking like motion, as if that would somehow push this god-forsaken car any faster. The radio was blaring the Weather forecast, the screen blinding my eyes with the time.
“10:42am. . .” I muttered silently to myself, as my wife grasped onto my forearm, still in pain. I turned my head around to her, biting the inside of my cheek. Her jacket had slightly shifted from her shoulder, the printed scar of a rose catching my eye. ‘She was mine’ I thought. Finally, the hospital was coming into view. I could feel the sweat dripping from my forehead, down across my eyebrow and swatting it away. The car drove into the entrance of the hospital, not even letting it finish parking as I quickly raised my left leg, booting the door down and swooping up Aoki into my arms.
The clock struck 11am. The church bells ringing through my ears as white noise filled my head. My men had begun to swarm around us, acting as a barrier of protection as we got guided to the main entrance doors. It was as though every ounce of my senses had amplified, echoing ruthlessly in my ears as the doors glided open, a rush of aircon washing through my jet black, greasy hair. You could tell by the panicked looks from the staff that they weren’t expecting us, And yet oddly enough that satisfied me. The worry in their eyes. “O'Connolly, Tiannly, get them to begin preparing a birthing room, We need it clear!” I could feel the inches of my tongue flip dry. Another male barked orders. I glared my glossed over dull-like eyes at the pretentious surgeon. ‘I suppose there was no time to deal with him, I still needed this damn fockin’ kid out’ I thought.
The clock struck 11:42am My right hand had grown reddened, Hills of veins popped up from underneath the skin. My wife, Aoki, screamed. Tight. Tighter. Too tight. Her grip on my hand got stronger by the second. Our first born out was a crying, oiled and mucus covered girl. I could see the wisps of black just barely creeping out from her softened skull. I grimaced. ‘Tsk, of course the first one out looks like her mother.’
‘A cheat. A liar. That is what you will be my child. Nothing but a pawn. I’ll make a weapon out of you’
By 12:02am, Another screaming wretched child came out. This, a boy. A balance of evil. Twins, matched. Though this boy was skinnier than the baby girl, underweight too. “Pathetic excuse of a creature. I was double that size at birth and then some!” I ripped my hand from Aoki’s grasp. No wife of mine would ever give me such a sorrowful excuse of heirs as this. Me, a mafia boss. I didn’t even want to think about what this will do to my reputation. The top of the fucking food chain now cursed for anothers genetics. These couldn’t possibly be my children. Finally, 12:27am, the final child arrived. Another girl. Her hair was odd, a tangled mess of black and ginger streaks, cold soulless eyes followed at such a young age. She wasn’t underweight, she wasn’t overweight. Now this, this would be my lineage. ‘Surely this one will give me pride..’
“10:42am. . .” I muttered silently to myself, as my wife grasped onto my forearm, still in pain. I turned my head around to her, biting the inside of my cheek. Her jacket had slightly shifted from her shoulder, the printed scar of a rose catching my eye. ‘She was mine’ I thought. Finally, the hospital was coming into view. I could feel the sweat dripping from my forehead, down across my eyebrow and swatting it away. The car drove into the entrance of the hospital, not even letting it finish parking as I quickly raised my left leg, booting the door down and swooping up Aoki into my arms.
The clock struck 11am. The church bells ringing through my ears as white noise filled my head. My men had begun to swarm around us, acting as a barrier of protection as we got guided to the main entrance doors. It was as though every ounce of my senses had amplified, echoing ruthlessly in my ears as the doors glided open, a rush of aircon washing through my jet black, greasy hair. You could tell by the panicked looks from the staff that they weren’t expecting us, And yet oddly enough that satisfied me. The worry in their eyes. “O'Connolly, Tiannly, get them to begin preparing a birthing room, We need it clear!” I could feel the inches of my tongue flip dry. Another male barked orders. I glared my glossed over dull-like eyes at the pretentious surgeon. ‘I suppose there was no time to deal with him, I still needed this damn fockin’ kid out’ I thought.
The clock struck 11:42am My right hand had grown reddened, Hills of veins popped up from underneath the skin. My wife, Aoki, screamed. Tight. Tighter. Too tight. Her grip on my hand got stronger by the second. Our first born out was a crying, oiled and mucus covered girl. I could see the wisps of black just barely creeping out from her softened skull. I grimaced. ‘Tsk, of course the first one out looks like her mother.’
‘A cheat. A liar. That is what you will be my child. Nothing but a pawn. I’ll make a weapon out of you’
By 12:02am, Another screaming wretched child came out. This, a boy. A balance of evil. Twins, matched. Though this boy was skinnier than the baby girl, underweight too. “Pathetic excuse of a creature. I was double that size at birth and then some!” I ripped my hand from Aoki’s grasp. No wife of mine would ever give me such a sorrowful excuse of heirs as this. Me, a mafia boss. I didn’t even want to think about what this will do to my reputation. The top of the fucking food chain now cursed for anothers genetics. These couldn’t possibly be my children. Finally, 12:27am, the final child arrived. Another girl. Her hair was odd, a tangled mess of black and ginger streaks, cold soulless eyes followed at such a young age. She wasn’t underweight, she wasn’t overweight. Now this, this would be my lineage. ‘Surely this one will give me pride..’
Unknown POV:
Hanabara, Hironori and Aoife had only just begun to understand the concept of being alive. Three toddlers, 4 years and already running chores. Their father, Patrick, refused to look at them but rather ordered the men around him to take up his fatherly duties, all of course except for Aoife. The other siblings never truly got to meet Aoife besides from washing up and bedtime, only ever speaking a few brief words at a time. Hanabara had already begun to outgrow her brother, though to such little minds they didn’t worry. She enjoyed the back gates to the brewery, the rich smell from the chimneys. The dusted burnt oak logs that made up the place she was forced to call ‘home’.
Hironori hated anything and everything. The light was avoided, the blankets his only shield- He was only ever caught seen shadowing behind his courageous sister. But He loved colours. He seemed intrigued by metal and the clashing sounds of machinery from outside.
Hironori would catch the dark red stained entryway every now and again. One morning the floors were new, clean. The next day, a gloop like substance coated them, the strong scent of metallic Iron filling his nostrils. He could never stay and watch for long before his sister, Hanabara, would be dragged out from her room by the arm with a cloth; forced to clean the goop that he was so curious about. To the Rose triplet’s, however sad they would feel about the brutality dished out to them, never knew any better. How sad, such small and inexperienced minds holding the view of family and loved ones as cruel, unforgiving and unloving.
Although so young, a strong difference between the two could be seen. Although resembling her mother in every way, Hanabara most acted like her father. She naturally bossed around Hironori, not to do things for her but as a mentor to their learner. A natural guidance. And of course, although resembling his father in deep dark rooted strands of messy hair, the blue eyes from his mother, Hironori still acted much like his mother Aoki. Aoki was a simple woman, never truely asking for much. She was kind, helpful. A head nurse in the hospital she worked at. Aoki was not someone the thugs would rile with. To the naked eye, the woman wore long, frilled up dresses to add to her light hearted smile but an eerie aura, a sense of danger always encased the woman as she walked.
'She knows the human body', one thug says to another. 'A single touch upon our skin, and we will be lying in a grave before the bell ringer calls out Christ.'
Hanabara and Hironori, on a dampened Sunday evening, had scampered down to their cupboard. That's right, cupboard. Rooted deep into the stainless and never-ending basement was a large tall standing cupboard. Shoved up against the walls was a leaning tall and brooding bookshelf. One of the shelves had been snapped in half, whilst the others barely clung on. Across the floor was the only sign of life. Two rustic, hand woven blankets barely thick enough to conceal heat and finally two pillows with oddly stained marks across the beige cover that had been bunched up with books. A wall would segregate them to the other side of the basement, where the young ones would always hear the clashing's of metal, the agonizing screams of pleading for a life before dead silence. It was their lullaby. Just like the prior nights, and the nights before that, Hanabara held her palms over Hiro’s ears , blocking out the blood curdling screams that echoed once more.
Only the faintest of drips were ever heard through the large, open rotting building. The cellar. Crates and crates of casks, dust layered floorings, puddles of god knows, all placed around. Cobwebs inhabited any nook and cranny. It was so silent, that if you stood still, you might just pick out the sounds of each bug and critter all desperately scurrying around for anything but a crumb of flavour.
But not tonight. As the clock struck 2 in the morning, the fog slowly began seeping in from the holes in the window, the screams and cries of a woman began to sing out through the room. Like a camera, we move in through the door, straightened squared pillars greeting us as we move further deep into the germ infested plains just until we reach a polished shoe. Then another. Then another. Then another. 4 sets of polished reflective leather boots clipped onto the bodies of musk infused, fresh out of the sewers looking rats of men. All hungrily lashing their worries of being next to the woman sat in the chair. A chair. A single, steel chair with chipped legs. A single chair with chipped legs and chains drowned around the arm, the leg, the neck, the waist. A harmless steel chair that would be the last thing this poor woman ever saw.
But what did she do? To deserve such a cold and inhumane way of leaving life. She stole. That was all. A packet of bread, too poor to buy her own and feed her 9 month old son back home- no she was a thief. No one cares why you stole, who from and what you did next. You commit a crime, you serve the time and her time is up. The last scream left her lips as the blade dug deeper to her stomach.
The two kids just mere meters away did their best to drown out the noise. They were just as clueless as the other nights they heard this. It had become routine to crawl against one another, Hanabara would do her best to cover Hiro’s ears. As for Aoki, She somehow managed to sleep through it without fail. Tonight was different. Aoki, for the first time, was awake. In all honesty, this unsettled Hanabara who was doing everything in her power to calm down the boy who shook in her arms until the faint chimes of the grandfather clock just a floor above them rang out. Every 6am. It was time for their chores, routines if you may.
Hanabara had begun muttering under her breath. Her expression is unlike another. It was wide-eye’d, and yet the rest of her face did not follow along, creating the demeanor of pure torment. “Fourteen steps. One thud. One bang. Three steps.” It had seemed as though Hanabara was calling out the sounds she heard every morning. There was the slowly dreading sluggish sounds of boots coming down the creaking stairwell, exactly 14 as the girl had mentioned. Followed by a thud. This could only be presumed to be that the person on the other side had a rather harsh impact as they connected with the concrete floor from the stairs. A bang, being the door kicked open…until finally three more steps.
Aoki seemed to have already stood up, her arms folded behind her back as her eye’s waited like a well trained dog for the door to open. Hanabara would usually watch from behind, creating a protective wall in front of the shivering and frail young Hironori.
The sound of scraping concrete together rang out the room as an older figure, far from an attractive man, brooded his way into the room. His physique was rather top heavy, but a beer belly noticeably tried oozing its way out of his shirt. It was half-assedly tucked into a pair of thick black trousers that were far too baggy. Without the use of a belt, there was no way they’d stay up on his waist.
“Al’roight shitheads, you know the drill. Aoki go see yer’ pa’ and make it snappy would’ya? He’s in shockin' form.” What an unpleasant voice. His melody was harsh and bitter, a foul use of Irish slang with an even more punctuated accent burst out of his lips.
‘Such Theatrics’ Was all Hanabara could think, her frail arm still tightly stiff in front of Hironori’s body. The male’s look of disgust slowly made its way over to her direction, sneering down his nose as if looking at pure vermin.
“What makes you so much more worthy than me?”
“Look at the floor. Did I give ya’ permission to look me in the eye’s?!” The man stomped down his well worn boot onto the cold concrete floor, dust flying up underneath him as his look only grew more in anguish. Hanabara's eye’s never faltered. Her own cold piercing glare boring back into the grown man. A chilling look of a child with a killer stare. A killer. At such a young age. A being designed not by nature, but by its cruellest element.
In truth, most of the members that worked for Patrick had witnessed or at least fallen to the tales of the girls training. The borderline torturous methods thrown her way were inhumane. They all held a small ounce of fear whenever they caught a glimpse of her moving to and from her chores and duties. Though these were grown criminals. Their pride was far more important to them.
“Oi! Feckin’ scum, who said you could look at me haah?! Shitty mutt.” he snarled, grunting out a huff through his crooked nose. One could begin to wonder just how many times it had been broken to form such a gruesome shape. Once more, the young girl did not falter, Training her eye’s into his. A small nudge would be felt against her back, subtly moving her hand further back to make sure Hironori was ok.
“Please... let it go.”
A small, petite voice barely whispered behind her. Hironori. Hanabara's fogged mind lessened, standing taller than before. The male in front was fed up of these theatrics, charging forward as he ripped her arm away from her family, being dragged out and up the stairs; Stumbling and yanking back to stop what was going to happen, the faint yells from her brother slowly drowning out behind the walls was the last thing the young child had heard.
Muttering, conversion solo. The man had driven his mind down a long hole of pure madness as he spat nonsense completely unknown to Hanabara. She had not the slightest clue what he was saying. More so, where he was taking her. They had already passed the training dojo; The men wiping clean the dirty grime and sweat off their faces as they all stared at their next meal. Frustrated, Hanabara began darting her eyes over everything that she could, making sure to map out her surroundings with every detail.
Something to take note of once your sick mind decides to form a creation. You teach them everything you know, against enemies that are no less. To be stronger, be able to do things you couldn’t complete. What you create becomes your downfall if you treat it poorly.
Hanabara, was the very definition.
Dusted, creaking, sealed shut. That's what was presented in front of her. A door hidden in the far depths of the factory they were forced to call a ‘home’. The man-child throwing his tantrum tightly gripped the door, yanking it open before launching the poor girl inside.
Scared, unknowing; Hanabara quickly scrambled to her feet, letting her eyes try to adjust to the dark and dim light of the room.
A low cackle could be heard from behind her. A slither of a glance over her shoulder to the male oozing with could only be perceived as terror.
“Yer so full of it aintchya’...” Huff, Huff. His breathing was the only thing filling her ears. Why was he breathing so hard..
“Bara this Bara that…Bara is so talented…Bara is so ..so STRONG.” Bright, lost eyes flashed up, slow stomps making their way in like a predator with its prey. Hanabara's instincts swivelled her footing into a stance of fight.
“Such a prodigy child. ARE YOU PROUD HANABARA. WHA- AHAHAHA!” Doubled over, holding his stomach with a gut wrenching, crooked laugh of pure bewilderment. Hanabara on the other hand, saw no humour in this moment. Instead, anger had slowly built through her veins. A forbidden name locked away from these putrid thugs. Only her mother dared call her that name. Her name in writing.
The air was iced cold for the winter time. December in Ireland was practically a land of pure frost, white and blues cascaded on land far beyond imaginable. A low, slow binding breath left her lips.
“My name is Skylar.”
O
O
O
When a corridor whispers the uprising of a powerful child, how do you respond? Does the fear sink into the veins in your heart? Or do you let ego ride it's way to your own grave. Many came to this landing after the screams from the former thug who’d led the young rose to a forbidden area had been released. Only one person walked out of that door that day. Such a ferocious glare, almost steaming out from the corners of her tear ducts. That long tattered hair flowing behind like a cape. It was a heroic walk for a woman destined to be a villain.
Not much time passed before Skylar had been removed from the poor conditions of the bedroom to honestly something not much better. The training room. It had come ‘apparent’ to her father that she lacked self control. An anger brewed within her gut and it had spilled out. His idea of collecting it back was day in and night out, forcing the young child to adhere to torturous training. The witnesses to this couldn’t help but wonder why Skylar endured each day. Not once did she back chat, disallow or even snap back to the threats and yells. Instead, like a perfectly wired student, performed to the utmost best of her abilities. No matter the insult, Skylar used it to improve on herself.
Physical training never stopped. Her other siblings weren’t given their fathers attention, but instead given harsher treatment from the other workers. Hironori was constantly sneaking into his mothers study, where the two would sit late at night together to study and learn more about how the body works. Hironori grew to adore the science behind healing, Looking forward to the day he can finally leave and become a doctor. Aoife was using every second of the day to learn a new language. Occasionally, Patrick would drag the young girl into business meetings, translating and decoding messages in other languages. Out of the three, it was Aoife who had the most capabilities to become Patricks successor. The one supposedly to take over when his time is up. Supposedly.
Not a day passed where their torture ended. When failure was their result, the extremities of the following day just doubled.
Worn, torn and beaten. The face of a hundred stories told in the sunken deep purple eyebags, fragged untamed hair and that crooked half lidded lifeless stare was all that was left of the young Skylar. Her shredded clothes completely incapacitated by the dirt and blood stains accumulated from training worsened as days went on. As for how she felt, emotions slowly numbed out of her. A painted face frozen in time of just one singular emotion; Exhaustion. Physically sure, but the mental kind. Being taught a new technique and manner every hour was hard enough, but being forced to master it within a day was insane even for most adults. It was clear to all that despite the strength she had been selected to work on, her intellect was higher than her own parents.
Skylar’s POV.
Each day fell the same. Wake up. Train. Force-fed. Sleep. My appetite wasn’t great. Odd foods and foul smells are always pushing in my direction.
One click. Two clicks.
Tsk…Here it goes again. Clicking leather on the concrete floor, right at the training dojo doors. Sliding open with as much effort in jump scaring me awake.
I was already awake.
“TO ATTENTION.”
Robotic. That's all I really was in the end. Just machinery to be tested. I shot to my feet, saluting a man not worthy of any salute I felt. That distaste that lingers around your gums always grew when I met his eyes. I faded out to the wall behind him. Your eyes disgust me.
“Show me you remember yesterday's training, then today it is onto knife throwing.”
Impatiently folded arms across a beer bellied gut, glaring me down until I danced. I quickly lowered my arm, walking to a safe distance before squinting at the tattered dummy. I was told to view it as my enemy. Everyday I picture my fathers face every time. The scruff to his chin, never-fading crease lines from frowning so much by his eyebrows. How sunken his cheekbones were. I despise this face.
Now was no time to get riled up. Sliding my footing to a boxing stance, I leaned back, swinging my body 90 degrees clockwise till my heel was just close enough to hit the chin of the dummies face, only to flick my lower leg around as if to draw a question mark in the air. The final connection of the side of my foot to its face. I had succeeded.
No applause or appreciation for hard work always made me question if it was worth it. Just one more day… A bit more and soon I’ll over power you.
“FUCK SAKE!” The man before me roared as I missed the target. My hands had started to tremble. Could it be fatigue? Malnourishment? Or had the fear and adrenaline rolled into one. It was difficult to tell, but as I watched my father slam foot after foot on the tatami mats to make his way over to me, My body instantly froze up.
SLAM.
The weight of a fist four times that of my own came crashing down to my cheek. I felt myself connecting with the floor, blinking as I tried correcting my vision. All I could do was tense up and pray that the next hit would be more manageable.
“ARE YOUR EYES FUCKING WORKING?” Another slam. The sole of his shoe now printed on my shriveled skinned arm. Of course my eyes are working, fuckin’ degen. I did my best to stand up to my feet, but the harsh hands of my fathers grabbed onto my torn shirt, tossing me once again down to the floor. My vision blurred again, frowning as the droplets in my eyes began to cascade down my cheek.
“All these years of practice. All the TIME-” As his ass monologues around, I felt the top of his foot smash into my stomach. I rolled over, gasping out in a fright as the dim room met my gaze. Hurry up and end this already…don’t just lay there, STAND UP BARA.
Nothing.
My body lays there, counting the seconds till his rampage is over.
“ -I spent TRAINING you. And yet you can’t do a simple fucking task as hit a target- Ha- HA HA! You are such a waste! Do you need motivation? Do I gotta play the bad guy AGAIN so it gets through your fuckin thick skull? Lets get yer’ ma’ huh? Lets bring her in and I’ll fuckin’ tear her-”
At this moment, My legs moved without thinking. I stood to my feet, glaring at the man I am supposed to call father down. “Don’t.” It was a pitiful attempt even though I knew that. But it was all I could muster.
I could see the anger rising to his cheeks, storming over to get right in my face. “Then fucking give me results, before I slice her throat in front of you.”
My body felt cold despite having worked up a sweat. The room chilled and yet it was thoroughly heated. My mind went blank. Curse you. I thought. I hope your demise is as painful as the days you gave me.
Defeated once again, Reluctantly walking back to my spot. Head hung low again huh…pathetic. My own mind cursed me out more often than my fathers. The bundle pack of voices that had gradually enlarged over the years was now reaching a breaking point for me. All I could do was stare at a polished daggered throwing knife in my hand. I could see the engraved emblem of my family. The rose. Oh how bittersweet it had grown to me. How pungent and futile. For something that meant the world to my father, This flower was in every nightmare I’ve ever conceived without failure.
Ironic that? I never fail to torture my mind and yet I am constantly the result of my failures elsewhere.
Once more I formed the perfect stance. Eyes lined up to where I wish to hit. Till I hear him. His voice again. “Don’t miss this time.” Taunting me. Spiralling in my mind as his worlds overlapped one another. Dont miss…Don’t miss…This time? This time. Will I have a next time? What If I miss, what will you do that you haven’t already done to me. What have I yet to endure from you?
…
…
Mam.
Her perfect portrait image is clear as day in my mind before me. She was on the target, replacing the mental image of my father. What? Why is-
The tremble in my hands was back. The fear of knowing that he would go to such a length just to get me in line. I couldn’t see her in pain- hell I refuse to hear it. She was a carer, a giver. A person who saved lifes without wanting anything in return but a good night's rest. She sacrificed herself over and over.
Don’t miss this time.
A deep breath wrapped its way around each lung till my eyes closed.
Patrick’s POV:
I could tell by the daunting stare on the brats face, she had lost focus. I grit my teeth, trying to hold back. At Least let her fail first before punishing.
I could see the way she tried to console herself to calm the shaking that had grown across her whole body. Knowing I could get to her this much lit a spark in my stomach. One I was proud of. Nothing in this world can be run without fear. It’s the only way to be loyal.
In slow motion, Her arm drew back behind her ear, dagger pointed back. Her eyes opened, as if perfectly calmed to release. But her back foot pivoted, rotating her to now face me. I had not a second to think before her dagger sliced a thin nick to my left cheek, making its way to the wall behind me.
T-this- THIS-
I stormed forward. “YOU ARE FUCKING DONE FOR.”
Skylar’s POV:
I watched as my dagger flew past his cheek, stabbing the wall interior behind him. I had missed purposefully, hoping to strike in just a bit of fear. Just a tiny drop of the medicine he made me feel day in and day out. I kept my composed glare as he stormed towards me, fists balled. “YOU ARE FUCKING DONE FOR” He screeched. And yet I could tell by the way he grabbed me, dragging me out of the room that he was in fact, scared. The thing he was creating had now shown its first sign of rebellion.
I tried to struggle out of his grip, but it only got tighter. It wasn’t until we had reached his slightly open office door when all the fear and life in my body drained from my blood.
A sight that will haunt me for years.
I never knew how truly cruel one person could ever be. But on this day, I learned that possibilities never ended for a determined man.
Hironori was tied down to a chair. An odd clamp-like device forcefully holding open his eyelids. His gorgeous blue iced eyes were bloodshot red now. Tears ran down his face. I was next. The same conditions. The clamp was horrific, so I thought. The pain of not being able to blink, and anytime I tried to instinctively it felt like my eye would be clawed out.
My mother was then dragged in by my fathers right hand man. She had blood on her forehead, trickling down her cheek. She was thrown on the floor in front of me.
I desperately tried fighting the rope that held me down, But as I turned to look at Hironori, I saw the guilt completely encompassing his entire face. Everything about him wore guilt. What have you done?
My father had walked towards his desk, grabbing a drink of scotch whiskey for himself as his back faced us. One of his men dabbed his cheek with a cotton cloth. I felt satisfied.
“I gave you two a chance. A chance to prove to me that you could be honorable children.” He slowly turned to face the two of us. I couldn’t help but scoff outwardly now. Honorable…as if any action you have ever done has been honorable.
His drink slammed, crashing into small bits of glass. I watched as a piece hit my mam in the arm, sticking in like an unwanted leech. She didn’t even flinch, nor make a sound. That nearly made me cry, knowing how used to pain she was.
Venomous anger brewed in my chest. “You’re both spoiled, that’s what! Thinking you can play doctor when I'm not looking ay Nori?!?” I saw his hand reach for the family emblem. The fire axe. The anger in my chest sunk to my stomach, anxiety taking over every bit of primal response I had in me as I watched my very own father walk towards my triplet brother. The fireaxe raised up to his cheek. “YOU WILL DO AS YOU ARE TOLD.”
SLASH!
“GET AWAY FROM HIM!!”
The blade had sliced across his cheekbone, his nose bridge and to the other side of his cheek. I screamed out, causing my hoarse throat to crack. My fathers head whipped towards my direction, setting the top of the blade to my throat. With gritted teeth I tensed, sending a death glare his way. Patrick’s face went pale at the sight. The view of pure primal rage.
Another slash. Just deep enough to scar, but not deep enough to kill me. I couldn’t scream. The throbbing pain that pulsates from the fresh wound was too much to bear.
“You two aren’t the only ones who have forgotten the rules around here. Right, Dear.”
Fear. True fear. My mothers head hung low to the ground not daring to say a word and yet the fear in my throat wanted me to scream out. To tell her to run. But I had no voice now. I had been silenced. Please…Please fight back Mama…
“ANSWER ME YOU FUCKING WASTE OF SKIN!” The handle end of the fire axe was plunged at her back, causing her body to jolt forward and hit the floor in a groan. I wanted to look away, close my eyes. But I was forced to watch.
“Y-You…You will never achieve...your goal.”
My mother had a voice.
She stood up. Looked him in the eyes. Not a single tear insight. Not a shred of pain or dread that I had been putting out on full display, she concealed it all. And then she smiled at my fathers fuming glare. “My children will run you to the ground- '' Before her words could be released, Patrick brought the fire axe’s blade whipping through the air, cutting deeply a horizontal wound across my mothers chest. I heard the scream she made, I watched her fall to the ground, cuddling her own blood to her body.
We both screamed. Hiranori and I. A battle we wanted her to win. A battle we wanted to help her win but couldn’t. I started looking for an escape. Desperately scouring the room like a hawk to find any way of getting out of the chair.
“Leave her alone- p-please!” Hiranori’s voice croaked and cried, trembling so much as he fought back even more tears. “Your mother…” Patrick made his way back to Hiranori, axe loosely in hand. “Is a liaarrr..”
“NO STOP IT! S-SHE ISN’T-'' My brother tried to shake his head, backing away from his fathers wrath but to no avail.
“DON’T FUCKING BACK CHAT ME.”
Another fresh wound, to his torso now. I couldn’t see his face but I heard the scream right next to my ear. I swallowed the lump in my throat, wondering if today would be the day I no longer see tomorrow. I didn’t understand the whole “kill” or “die” thing. I knew my father took out people. I’ve seen it, But then what? Where do they go? Do they just sleep for a long time…
I don’t want to go to sleep. Not yet.
But as I watched him reach for the gasoline, I knew one of us wasn’t making it out of this room alive.
The gasoline was used to drown my mother’s head.
“Father please, please think this through.”
“Fuck off.”
“NO, IF YOU MAKE HER SLEEP I’LL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER WAKE UP.”
It was all I could cry out. I didn’t want my Mam to die in such a way right in front of me. The match box was next in his hold, digging out a small thin stick before scratching it against the edge of the box. All my eyes could make out through the stinging pain was the orange and red flame that emitted. I heard footsteps of his men walking closer and closer, soon surrounding me and my brother. I felt cold metal on my skin but I didn’t care. I felt blades all over my body slice into my skin but I didn’t care.
I didn’t care because my father, Patrick rose; Just dropped the flaming stick onto my mothers head, setting her alight.
The following screams from my brother and I weren’t human. The terrorizing screams of agony from my mother was something burned into my skull. I wanted to thrash and kick about, but the countless blades cutting away into my skin stopped me from doing so. My eyes that so desperately wanted to shut couldn’t do so.
Cut my ears off so I can stop hearing her hurt.
Please?
The door behind me I think burst open. It was hard to tell. But a familiar voice screamed out that tried to run towards my mothers burning corpse. The smell in the room was torturous enough- oh. It was Aoife. She was running straight at my father with a knife. My whole world slowed down. Beforehand everything seemed to go too quickly for my brain to truly comprehend, but as my father struck out the family emblem’s fireaxe, I watched as the blade engraved with a rose slit through her neck, following the sound of her head hitting the cold tiled flooring.
The world had stopped for me.
The men had paused their actions, frightened by the sudden event that had taken place.
My fathers face showed no remorse.
“What a waste.”
Those were the only words that left his lips. And the last words I ever heard him say.
Do you know what burning flesh smells like? I found out at the age of eight. My mothers perfume filled the air mixed with her molten flesh. As her blood boiled, so did my own in rage. As the men around me once more took stance to continue their attack, I sat still, mouth gaped. Waiting.
Something to take note of once your sick mind decides to form a creation. You teach them everything you know, against enemies that are no less. To be stronger, be able to do things you couldn’t complete. What you create becomes your downfall if you treat it poorly.
The opening was right in front of me. I couldn’t sit still any longer. Tipping the chair back, I watched as both men’s blades missed my arms during their slash, slicing through my ropes that bound me to the arm of the chair. I was free. I only had a small 2 second window to counter before any one of them could shoot their blade in my direction. First protocol was taking the damn clamp off my eyes, finally blinking. I'm sure the whites of my eyes were now a horrible red bloodshot.
Was this perhaps the day I had been training for? Was every moment just for this? It was hard to bring to words a concept so vulgarly detailed as this but as I reached to defend myself from the men around me, I felt a burning sensation run down my face.
Little did I know then, this feeling would linger till the day I died.
I wanted to scream but from the pain it created I sealed my lips and eyes shut. It stung. Like it was eating away at my flesh. At one point I was sure my face would melt right off, But the feeling of soft hands gripping my shirt back, swiping off as much of the liquid as possible, the feeling became somewhat more bearable. Because it was Hiranori. I had to make it bearable for him. I’ve lost two people already, I refuse to be the only one to walk out here.
With that being said, I looked with my left good eye now to my father. His hands gripping white knuckled to a bucket. So it was the acid he threw. The one he used to remove blood stains. Was I such a stain in his life for that action to feel just?
I watched as my father went to speak out to me. His words never left his lips. Despite his rampage and years of expertise, my father made a grave mistake today. A mistake leading him to his fall. Because of how angry he had been, his action of destroying my appearance meant he had dropped his weapon. His men at this point were too ashamed and stunned by his actions they had moved to the back of the room, shot with terror incase they would be next to face him.
They never were.
For the second I caught its shined glimpse, I moved my frail limbs to the fastest they’ve ever moved. My father recoiled back. I dipped low, striking my foot out in a swipe to try to knock his balanced footing off its path. My success led to the now tight grip I had on a handle that engraved itself on my soul. I swore never to touch a rose and yet its symbol was now planted on the palm of my hand; Forever reminding me to any hand that shakes my own the damages it has caused. My whole body is nothing but a thorn.
I felt everything. From the blade connecting to his skin, the push of force through to his bone, and then finally the ease as it made it to the other end. His head fell next to where my sister’s lifeless eyes stared out too. My body was frozen. Every part of me was physically bleeding out to the floor. The flames to my mothers body slowly lowered down. Was today ever real? Or just the worst nightmare I could have ever had? I knew the answer. I just wish I didn’t.
The awkward shuffle of the men brought me back to the room. I slipped in front to stand protectively in front of Hironori, Bloodied axe in hand.
“L-Listen…go- JUST GO GET OUT OF HERE!” One man cried. A sight he would be scarred with till death too. “H-his safe..the safe is under the carpet and grab the money in there ok? It's gonna- holy fuck.” His hands ran through the thin strands of jet black hair. “God- christ. Take the fuckin’ money, use it to get out- hell take it as far as you can fucking go. Food, water, shelter. Someone will pick ya up-..Jesus Johnnie we gotta clean up this mess, the garda are on their way now.” Another man had chimed in, patting the so-called johnnie in reconciliation. My hands were fully shaking in adrenaline and pain, blood finally coming to my senses as I saw just how many wounds were now on my body. There was no time to patch up now, It was life or death.
I watched as Hironori grabbed the carpet up, taking out the cash stored away before shoving it in his pockets. I sighed, ripping part of my shirt to use as a makeshift bag to hold more money in. How do you begin to understand the situation? How do you get your mind straight enough to even walk out the door?
Simple really, you don’t. You limb, crawl, run for your life out of a building that had slowly begun spreading the fire like wild. I clutched my brother’s hand, and ran till I could no longer run. When my knees buckled to the cold, snow layered ground, I stood back up. The worry mixed in with blood that Hironori's expression wore was in short, devastating. The headlights of the bus lit his eyes up. Sparkling soaked in tears that had shed not just for his own suffering, but for the family that suffered and lost, and for the freedom we were granted as a second chance.
This was only the beginning of my story.
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