13. Memories (1): The home he came from
The sounds of rain and thunder reached inside a small duplex house, along with the sounds of honking cars along the roads.
Seems like there was a serious traffic jam.
A small boy, not more than 12 years old, stared at the television, not even knowing what was going on outside.
"Yes! Go Mystic Knight!" he shouted, cheering for his hero who was being streamed live on television, fighting a giant sea beast.
Clack!
The sounds of the door opening reached his ears and he immediately ran over and turned it off from the switch, looking scared.
"Did I just hear the TV? Where's that brat? He'll tell me who it is paying the electricity bills." A scruffy man stormed into the living room, looking around.
His fat face wobbled as he turned around, looking for who was responsible for turning on the television without his permission.
"Where are you, brat? I know it's you. Come out here and explain yourself!" the man shouted, dropping the bag of groceries that was in his hand.
The little boy came out from behind a couch, looking at the man with sad, puppy eyes.
"I'm really sorry. There was no one in the house and there was nothing to do," the boy begged, looking at the man.
The man only seemingly staggered, looking tipsy.
He must have gotten a bit drunk.
The boy wanted to take advantage of this and run away, sprinting to run past the man's side.
The man turned, grabbing his collar.
Pa!
A slap landed on his face before a punch to his stomach followed.
The man rushed the little boy, punching him as he was curled on the ground. All the little boy did was curl up, trying to protect himself while still begging.
The man raised his hand again to slap him and the little boy bent down, dodging on instinct.
The man's hand hit a sharp edge of the wall and he got even angrier.
"You piece of shit! Now you've broken my hand!" He turned, grabbing a bottle before smashing it on the boy's head.
Taking the broken bottle by the neck, the man proceeded to stab the boy multiple times.
Screams and even more screams reverberated around the house, but no one was there to save him.
No one was coming to save him.
The floor was stained with blood, and it didn't seem like the man was getting tired either.
Suddenly, the door flew open and a beautiful woman with curly brown hair stormed into the house, rushing to where they were instantly.
"Santiaga! Patrick, stop this madness!" she screamed, pulling the man away from the boy.
That was but one of the bad times that he experienced.
...
A year had passed. The boy was now thirteen. He just got into high school with just enough grades, and his day was going well.
Look over there, it's that stupid kid who challenged Maxwell.
Ugh, he's looking at me. I better walk away.
Stupid motherfocker.
The boy clenched his fists, walking away from the spot that he was sitting down.
He didn't know what it was. Ever since a year ago, he began to hear people's thoughts. Not just ordinary ones, but the negative ones.
It's not fair, only hearing negative things about you. It discouraged him to go to school at all...
But he knew how hard his mother was working just so he could go to this school.
He walked down the hallways, not paying attention to the dozens of negative thoughts clashing with each other.
"Hey, Tiaga!"
A voice made him snap out from his focus. He turned around, looking at the boy who called his name.
It was a short boy with neatly cut black hair. He had a badge on his white shirt which spelled 'Disciplinarian' on it.
Santiaga clenched his fists as he saw the boy and two others behind him, and then he looked around to see that a crowd had turned to watch them.
"Come with me," Maxwell said, smiling and walking away.
Later that day, on the school's roof, Santiaga appeared through the doors to see Maxwell there, and two other students immediately blocked the exit to go back out.
And all for what? Because his class representative didn't want to go out with the Disciplinarian.
What did that have to do with him? He had no idea.
All he knew was that a while later he was laying on the floor, his cheek and eyes were swollen, having bruises all over his arm.
"Ugh, your face pisses me off. Your bitch of a mother could do a better job than you," Maxwell said, walking away and leaving him there.
He had just crossed a line by mentioning his mother.
After he was able to stand, Santiaga went into planning. He skipped school. He never showed his face around.
Until a week later. Maxwell and his friends were coming out of an ice cream shop and Santiaga, who was across the road on a bench, followed them silently.
He donned a hood, putting on a nose mask as well, hoping to be as discreet as possible.
The three young boys, who were years older than Santiaga, walked along a path, jubilating and laughing, while Santiaga was seething with rage.
He gritted his teeth, a growl escaping his lips. Even with the honking of cars passing the road beside him, he didn't pay attention to the noise.
All he could see was Maxwell.
And soon they went into a corner to ambush a young lady that was passing by.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"What? Who are you?" Maxwell struggled to talk.
There was a bullet hole in his shoulder and leg and he crawled away slowly.
One of the other boys was shot right in the head, while the last one fled.
Santiaga stepped on Maxwell, looking at the young man with hatred-filled eyes.
"Your bitch of a mother should have taught you better," Santiaga said, shooting Maxwell in the head.
His eyes were filled with madness, rage, craziness.
"ARGHHHHHHH...!!!"
BANG BANG BANG BANG!!
He shouted, loading more shots into the young man's body until the gun clicked, empty of bullets.
Santiaga then ran away into the bushes, leaving the area.
And this was only before he got home.
...
"What is this, why am I seeing all of this?" Santiaga mumbled, looking at a giant projection of his childhood.
He had only fallen asleep in a cave when he was pulled into this place and forced to watch his own memories.
"No. No, stop it!" He struggled, seeing the scene shift to when he got home the next day.
[Mental sync has been cancelled]
[Current status – 31% synced]