Child of War; Revolutionary OC

Chapter 1. Fueling Ember

MAJOR TW: THERE'S A LOT OF ABUSE AND MURDER IN THIS CHAPTER

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It was a relatively ordinary evening when I was born.

A hot Autumn day, as my mother described.

I was born into an everyday family, my loving mother and my father. Life was peaceful for those first few precious years.

Near four years later, my little brother was born. I remember the day quite vividly. The doctors rummaged around, invading my parent's room. I hadn't understood the situation, but I knew something had happened. They stood around for hours, talking about things I didn't understand, but finally, I heard my mother's voice call for me. I hobbled past the medics, tip-toeing to see over the bed. 

Mom looked almost ill the way she lay there, sweaty and pale.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes, sweetheart," her accent laid heavy on each word, and her breath was erratic. I didn't know why. 

But, what caught my sight next was a bundle of blankets laid across her blouseless chest. "What's that?"

She laughed weakly, signaling me forward, so I did my best to climb onto the bed. When I had finally knelt next to her, I realized it was a 'who,' not a 'what.' I had stared for so long, trying to comprehend the little thing. 

Head full of hair, crying out. 

I remember staring at my mother, smiling. "Is this the baby you'd been talking about?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Your little brother." She smiled so lovingly; I believe I've never seen anything so kind sense.

I knew from that day forward that I wanted to protect him- I wanted to watch my little brother grow.

Oh, I nearly forgot to mention. My father hadn't shown up to help my mother.

He was off drinking.

That became a reoccurrence that possessed him. 

Even now that I'm eight, the amount he drinks becomes frightening.

I withdrew as I heard the living room door glide open and slam against the wall. Most certainly, my father had returned home drunker than a dog. I hopped off my chair, padded down the hall, and peeked over the railings.

He shouted at her, calling her names. 

I hated when they fought like this;  my poor mother couldn't defend herself.

I moved slowly down the stairs, looking for my brother. He often remained downstairs with mom when dad wasn't home- but it was time he came upstairs. I peeked around the corner, catching sight of the boy crying in the corner. 

I hated to see him cry.

I tip-toed over, reaching my hand down to him, smiling. "Come on," I whisper, pulling him to his feet.

He was hesitant to stand, but I finally got him to stand and get to his room. I patted him on the head, hugging him tightly. "I'm here for you," the words whistled between a couple of missing teeth. I hid my mouth, embarrassed.

My brother sniffled, burying his face into the pillows. I felt hopeless staring at him in such a condition. I couldn't help him- that would be impossible.

Besides, my father has done enough to scare us both- including shattering my teeth with a bottle of alcohol. 

I ran my finger over the scar, brows knit. Mom has been through so much similar- and so has James, but I can't do anything to protect them.

I stood, hearing a loud thud. I stumbled down the hall and the stairs, freezing as I saw my father. He hovered over my mother, fists clenched tightly. I could see the blood that stained his knuckles. 

Covering my mouth, I backed away, horrified. Mama lay on the ground half-dead, muttering softly in a language I didn't understand. I dropped to my knees, feeling tears fighting their way into my eyes.

Then dad moved.

He pulled a pistol from his waist, aiming for mama. I realized only a second before he pulled the trigger.

"MAMA- NO-!" 

I fell backward, staring at the bloody scene before me. Mama was gone- hell- her brains scattered on the wall and floor.

I felt myself gag as I curled up on the floor. My breath started shaking as I ran my fingers through my hair, tears falling from my face. Father had killed her right in front of me. And he acted as if he didn't regret it.

"Johnson," he hissed.

I shook my head, sobbing loudly. I felt thoroughly helpless and beyond scared. I felt like I couldn't breathe- my chest hurt so badly.

I was tugged from the ground and forced to stand at attention. "Johnson Morgan."

Lip quivering, I met my father's evil eyes. They were so overwhelmed by the hatred that I could hardly see the hazel-nut irises we once shared.

"W-what?"

"You are not to tell a soul. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good,"

I hit the floor, sliding for a moment. I quickly pushed myself from the floor, rushing to my mother's side. I traced a small hand over her face. 

God, it felt so hard to breathe. Why did it feel so hard to breathe? 

It is never like this. When we sit together, it's always so happy- and in this condition, I feel almost too frightened to stay near.

"Mama," I whispered, placing my hand on hers. I felt tears stream warmly down my face, and a hiccup soon found its way past my lips. I laid my head on her chest, clutching the light dress she always wore. 

I cried.

I pleaded, sobbed, and screamed for her to come back. 

I know she can't, but I needed her to so bad. 

The night grew dark, and I couldn't find the strength to cry much longer, so I pulled back, staring at her pale face. Even with the blood, you could still see her deathly blue eyes. 

In hesitance, I reach forward, close her eyes, and place a kiss on her chin. "Goodnight, mama... Sweet dreams." My voice rasped and broke from the hours I spent crying. My throat was so raw it burned when I tried to do much else.

I moved upstairs, grabbing a blanket. I dragged it back down, covering mama up. I stared for another long second, blowing out the lantern. "Love you, mama, goodnight."

In the back of my mind, I could almost hear her whisper a soft goodnight in return. Lip quivering, I ran back upstairs, falling through the door of my room.

My body didn't feel like moving anymore.

So, I just slept on the floor.

But my dreams were haunted by the sight of mama. I could see her, half-beaten. Though, the worst was seeing dad shoot her- over and over.

I see the bullet enter and the blood splattered against the walls. Mama would slump and hit the floor. The scene played on a loop in my mind.

I shot up, breathing heavily, staring at the carpeted floor below me.

I couldn't describe the feeling that built- but I felt devastated- angry. It was like I had a new purpose.

I have to protect my brother now. I'm the only one who can.