Another Day

Prologue

He was 8 years old at the time. A cheerful boy, living a picture-perfect suburban life. They had a nice house, with a beautiful garden his mother would tend to. His father was a successful businessman, the CEO of a factory that made car parts. Sure, they weren't millionaires, but they would be considered "well off." The boy was top of his class, having moved up a grade already because his teachers considered him too clever to need that education. His grade scores were excellent, he was the star player of the school's junior soccer team. He was, in short, the model student and child. Everything that pupils of the school wanted to be, that parents wanted their children to be. He was quite popular among his fellow peers and considered some of them to be his close friends. His family lived the ideal life. That was, until September 9th, 1903, only a few months after he had turned 8. His mother had been tending to the garden, humming along to a song that had recently played on the radio as she worked. After finishing, she turned around, intending to fetch a small shovel located in the garage, only to come face-to-face with a figure who had been standing behind her, how long was unknown. Her expression flickered with confusion, unsure of why the man may be there and nothing to clue her in until she felt it. The cool metal, pressed firmly against her forehead and the signature "click" of someone readying their gun. Fear engulfed her and she reacted quickly without thinking, simply in the heat of the moment. And in that moment, she thought of only one thing. Run. She turned and sprinted, faster than she'd ever managed before, for she knew that this was a matter of life or death. This obviously was a terrible idea, though it would be hard to fault her for making such rash decision, since her very life was being put on the line. Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the normally quiet and peaceful neighborhood. This was around midday on a Wednesday, so most men were at work and their wives at church or out doing a few errands. It was not until 7 PM that night that the boy's mother was found. Her blood pooled around her, forming a small, dark puddle. It could also be found on the usually pristine walls of the house behind her, spattered in such complex and abstract patterns that only a professional would have a hope of deciphering them. She was cleared out, taken to the morgue where she was poked and prodded, the detectives attempting to find out the circumstances of the shooting. While much work was done, their technology was rudimentary at best. His mother's killer was never found and the case went cold, simply deemed a robbery gone wrong. It was swept under the rug, and was taboo in the neighborhood, where people rarely spoke of it after that. But from that moment on, things were never that same for the family. It was like a puzzle that was missing a single piece. So close to the perfect family image that they had worked so hard to maintain, but the absence of the boy's mother prevented the puzzle from being completed, taking a toll on both his father and himself. He felt an unusual darkness, a feeling that was almost... empty, is how he'd describe it. His grades began to slip as thoughts of his mother would plague every waking moment of his life, making it difficult to concentrate on school work. This then led to him being taken off of the soccer team, as education was more important. His father's prideful and strong demeanor also began to crack as the loss of his wife truly settled into his mind. Over that year, he ended up losing money for the business, which got him a warning. The executives were lenient, as they knew how traumatic such an event could be and the effects it could have on someone. Over time, the boy's father started to heal, knowing that sulking and dwelling over the past would not help, and he needed to look towards the future. It's what his wife would've wanted after all. But the boy never let go. And as the next couple years went by, that sadness contorted into fiery rage. Why his mother? Why did she need to be killed? That anger grew stronger and stronger over every passing day. His teachers began to report his behaviour changes, stating he was becoming "moody and uncooperative." The darkness grew, the boy feeling it's power and the hold it had on him. In the beginning, he questioned what it was, why it was here. He never did that anymore. He understood that it was him and he was it. That was important. He watched as his father started to recover from the pain, climbing his way back up to the respectable man he was known as before his wife's death. He was admired, idolized even by his coworkers for his grit and determination, pushing past his own pain to provide for himself, his son, and the company. The only one who didn't feel this way about the boy's father was the boy himself. Everytime he looked at his father, that pot of fury that was brewing just sloshed in his stomach. He couldn't understand how his father could just... forget his mother and move on. How could anyone recover from losing her? It angered him, he didn't get it. The behavioral problems got worse and worse, his teachers continuing to report problems and express their concerns. Until eventually, the darkness took control. It was an odd feeling, like he was separated from all the rage and other emotions. He knew it was there, he could feel it in the back of his mind, although it was dull. He felt almost... peaceful. But that was what his own mind made him think, and it was true. At least, from his perspective. On the outside, unknown to the boy, it was like rage and violence personified. Some poor soul he came across in the hallway at school that day got to experience that first hand. The child had bumped into him, immediately apologizing and offering out a hand to help him up. For a moment, the boy stared at the other's outstretched hand, as though considering it. That was, until his face contorted with pure anger. He leaped onto the boy, pinning him against the hard floors of the school. His hands curled into fists, but everything was organized in his mind. It was like he wasn't aware of doing this at all. His fist retracted, connecting with every part of the boy he could reach, full of pent up rage, anger, hurt, and sadness. Some teachers rushed into the hall at the sound of the loud noises and the child's yells. Knowing it was likely too violent to break up by themselves, the local police department was called. They attempted to speak to the boy, but it seemed he either couldn't hear them or was deliberately ignoring them. With no other choice, one of the officers pulled out his taser, subduing the boy with a small zap. The other child was loaded onto a stretcher, though he wasn't severely injured. Broken ribs were the worst of his possible injuries. The boy was carried away along with his unfortunate victim, leaving everyone in the school gathered collectively in the hall, wondering what had just happened until an announcement from the principal said that school had been canceled that day and dismissal would begin in a few moments.