knives out || why don't we

"The old soul"

2

HE COULD NOT

understand. He could not understand, nor accept, how everyone had left him in the cold, dark and old house. His parents, his siblings and his best friend had left him all alone. You could still see the splattered blood on the walls, on the ground, on the furniture; all of that because of a stupid knife an old man had gotten access to.

Seven years. Seven years he had to come up with a way to eat and get new clothes; which he all had stolen, before somebody had found him. At that time, he had completely lost his want to speak, his want to converse with somebody and the loss of wanting to hear a voice.

"Hello, sweetheart," Was the first real sentence he had heard, an officer was standing before him, as he quickly shot his head up at the sound. His eyes were wide, he himself had gotten used to the smell of rotten bodies and mold, but the officers and paramedics, that had entered the house, quickly put their shirts, or a cloth, over their noses and lips.

To say they were shocked would be an understatement, the house was so close to crumbling into pieces; the corners were full of mold and ants, the floor was cracked, the stairs had completely given out and there was a young boy on the floor, next to a skeleton; which he held the hand- bones -of.

"Hi, there," She smiled once more, moving closer to the boy, whose head was moving all around him, fairly quickly; at everyone who had entered his home, the place where no-one had entered, except for him, in over seven years. He didn't need someone to enter now, he was happy.

The boy had gotten used to stealing everything he needed to live on, he had gotten used to being lonely and never once hearing a sound; except for his own footsteps, and sometimes the rain, the wind, or thunder and lighting, plus the screams. He had learned to be happy with what he had, which was definitely not much.

Her fingers went softly through his messy, long, brown hair, which made him flinch, stand from sitting and run to the corner, shielding himself as much as he could with his arms. When nothing happened, the boy looked up with his big, blue eyes, towards the officer who was standing where she had before.

"It's alright, sweetheart," She spoke softly, kneeling down. "We won't do you anything," The woman held her arms out, wanting the boy to slowly come towards her.

As he now saw no danger, he stood to his legs, walking slowly towards her, with everyone looking at the two. "Hello," She smiled brightly, while he was in her arms, she took a hold of him and placed him on her hip. He leaned his head on her shoulder, finding the warmth of her body radiating towards his comfortable.

Seeing as he had gotten no sleep the few nights before, his eyes quickly closed, his breathing evening out and his mind taking him to dreamland. This was the most comfortable he had gotten in a while, which wasn't too abnormal; he slept on the ground, making a blanket out of a few big sweaters he had stolen in a clothing store, that wasn't guarded very well and most of the time laid in 'bed' with an empty stomach, which made it hard to actually fall asleep.

The woman brushed her fingers through his hair a few more times, walking out of the house and letting her colleagues do their work; taking pictures and removing the skeletons from the, once, very lovable home.

The home which once held the most lovable family of town; a mother, a father, three girls, and two boys; which one of them had been adopted. Then there was the now eleven year old, who hadn't gotten the right education, nor the love that he longed for, and needed. It was obvious to everyone, who had entered the house, that the boy was not in the right state of mind; his eyes always had that bit of an off light in them, he looked to not understand the words that were said to him and he obviously was not, yet, speaking.

It worried the paramedics who were at the scene, they thought that maybe he just wasn't picking stuff up quickly, but that soon was proven wrong. He was acting differently than other children his age, he was acting grown up; it was like he was an older man in a children's body.

Later that night, not only was there another murder, the officers had finally discovered who had killed the lovable human beings that lived in Minnesota, on a house number of thirty-three. As we had stated earlier, an old man who had access to a knife had killed the young child's family, he had murdered his own blood, or was he the one adopted?

After years of not finding the child, that they had nicknamed 'the old soul', they had stopped the search. They had buried the kind female officer; who was too kind, for her own good, to let the boy stay at her home; in which the same night, her husband, her two year old daughter and she had gotten murdered at.

Now still, there were stories going around of the old soul, which they had later found the name of, Jonah Marais.

Wc: 914