Shards

Chapter 2 - To Kill

Me and Jurian did not like each other since the very start. At the beginning the only reason we hanged out was out of necessity; nothing more, nothing less. I was eight and he was ten, the kind of ages when girls only talked to girls and boys only talked to boys and to have a group mixed with each other would have been a taboo. I did not really suit either of the groups. I liked company but somehow as an eight year old I found it hard to communicate. Most of my childhood was spent in the company of adults. I found it hard to fit into any of the subjects my peers fancied.

  So I walked home on my own.

  My mom and Jurian’s mom were friends. Jurian ended up being forced to walk me home every day with which neither of us was so happy about. We walked home silently. But company was company; silence was enough for me and gradually one word became two and then three and finally we got to the point where both of us cared for each other. I was no longer alone. We didn’t go to the same classes but we still often talked in school (although there came the time when he graduated from the Primary school and I had to endure without him – so that time I was the one to pick him up from his school). I wanted to be like Jurian. I looked up to him. It was easy to obtain the things he owned – anyone could have gotten anything easily – but I wanted something more. I wanted to know what he was thinking.  It was a child’s curiosity that carried on to my older years.

 ¶

I am in my room. My tall white bedside lamp is switched on with its orange light mixing together with the yellow of my walls and the yellow of a page I am reading through; the sheet fell out of one of the books I ‘borrowed’ from my grandfather. The writing is in thick Times New Roman font, shouting into my eyes.

 Yesterday night the president signed a petition regarding the consequences of the outburst of wars across the globe. From next year on, the ownership of any historical elements and documents, photos, or any kind of data will be deemed illegal. Discussing such matters shall also be punished by law. Any person not able to comply with this law will have to face death penalty. Speaking of the recent events as well as the preceding events will also be a punishable offence. From now on every individual shall begin getting rid of any data regarding any historical events as well as any objects and such that might hint at its existence. Failure to comply will also be punishable and any punishment deemed right by law shall be implemented for the safety of the globe and our state.

   I hum in thought. Death penalty? I’m not sure what that is. The writing is on a simple piece of paper and it is the only thing on the page without any date or hint of when it was written. The sentences are short, hasty, and despite seeming formal they look more like a note rather than a document. A warning? It’s so old. It wouldn’t be a warning by this time; more like a leftover record, something left for others in the future to see without really knowing whether any soul would find it or not. I set the note beside me. It keeps me company while I scan through the contents of the old book that I don’t even have the brain to understand anyway.

 ¶

Three knocks on the door are what it takes to wake me up. I fling my lazy body up, moving my stray hair out of my eyes. My mother is standing at the door.

  “Somebody’s here to see you.”

  And she leaves.

  It’s early morning. The purple curtains of my room are still closed and I am still in my fluffy white-and-purple striped pyjamas. I lag out of my bed, lumbering toward my door and then down the stairs. Jurian is standing in my hallway. He’s leaning against the wall, his green eyes scanning me and my attire. He grins at me and moves away from the wall.

  “Just woke up?”

  It takes me some time to reply. “Yeah.”

  He snorts and moves forward further to stand beside me. I glare at him and proceed to run up the stairs back into my room, Jurian following behind. It takes me some time to notice a purple plastic bag in his hand. His eyes follow my gaze and he lifts the bag up, weighing the objects inside it.