Speak No Evil

Fifth Kill Lucky.

“What kind of name is that?” another voice taunted as the sixteen year old boy looked at the floor timidly, silently.

“I bet no one even cared whether he was a girl or a boy.” said the first voice. It was the worst voice, the voice known by all other student in the whole of Camden high. It was Bobby Michael, the meanest bully in the whole school. Even some teachers are afraid to tell him off. But those are the old teachers that don’t have that long to live, and are cherishing every second they have.

“Hey, Christine” he snorted, Christine Frost made the terrible mistake of looking up. What he saw was definitely not pretty. It was an exact total of four boys, 15, 16, 16 and 18 years of age. Christine groaned lightly and decided he wasn’t going to say anything, not that he could. They weren’t worth his time; he had better things to do instead of dealing with people having problems with his name.

He was a lot better than them. He knew a place where people accepted him. Granted, it was because he was the best one there, and the only assassin they have, but they still never had a problem with his name. They actually liked him, even the ones bigger than him took their hats off to him, so to speak.

He was an agent working in the name of justice. No one knows who the real rapists and robbers are. No one knows the real sinners, except God. And He has given JUSTICE; the whole agency the power to single out true evil. He has given Christine the power to effectively and silently… dispose of evil in this world.

Now, there were many questions asked as a child to and coming from the little boy, Christine. He would have liked to know the story of his name. Maybe his father was not there for the birth. Or the midwife made a terrible mistake in naming the gender of the child before he was covered in the thick white blanket and given to his mother warm embrace.

Unfortunately, he never knew his mother, and his father disappeared before he was born. Whether he ran away in fear of fatherhood, or he died, no one ever knew. And no one will ever know, because apart from his half completed birth certificate, his whole childhood was a complete mystery to every student, teacher and staff member in Camden High, any other school he went to, and even him.

It was never spoken, or even thought about. His past was silent, something that would be there but people would see through. A servant that would be cast a simple curious sideways glance, but then never again thought of for the rest of the meeting.

The tiny fractions of his childhood that Christine may remember, the tiny eccentric visions he gets, fuzzy and cloudy from years of information piled over it, always foreshortened by the meddling of another source. A sound here, a question there, never left alone to his wondering mind and reoccurring but disturbed thoughts.

The first ever memory he could muster willingly was his benevolent years of 12, when he was halfway through year seven. His emaciated body the centre of all attention, the whole school interested in where this tiny person came from. He was naïve. He thought that, maybe if they knew he had no clue where he came from or what had happened to him, they would lose interest and stop talking to him. Stop asking questions and pointing fingers.

But that obviously was incorrect, curiosity developed into disbelief and soon everyone wanted to see and now the boy that has no past. How he got into the school, how he became a student. How he got a hold of the uniform. Even the teachers were starting to question the headmistress as to what such a… unnatural boy was doing in their presence.

He remembered seeing the fine young lady that lived in the big, humongous yellow box he camped out next to. How she seemed so nice to him, and how she took him under her wing when he found no place to sleep, or eat, or find shelter. She lived inside the yellow box, which he later on found out was called a house, and people lived in it.