𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐭, ₜₑₑₙ wₒₗf

𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢

𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃, why they were no other children like him training by his side. He once voice that thought out loud, and the only response he was given was; he was unique. That made him frown, there wasn't anything special about him, he considered himself a normal kid. One who longed for freedom, but shall never received it. The loneliness crawled up the boy's body, merging itself onto him, becoming his only companion, his only friend. The darkness embraced his soul, leaving a shell of a human being.

Training with his grandfather was nothing if not exhausting. Think of your body as an instrument, and without a instrument a musician can't preform their art just like you can't preform yours. Andrew didn't consider his body, a instrument but rather a weapon, for he was a soldier and soldiers had weapons not instruments. The boy spend many hours wrapping his body with athletic tape, cleaning all the cuts by himself, he prefect the act of stitching himself back again, tethering himself whole once again, leaving scars as a reminder of who he was, a weapon and nothing more.

Andrew shivered at the bitter taste as he remembered those cruel sessions. His grandfather had been dwindling with a bow and arrow on his hands, examining at an extent, before looking straight at him with those mincing soulless eyes, as he felt his stomach drop. You have to prevent this arrow from hitting your body. The old man said to him, and Andrew didn't event try to stop him.

He told him to stand 25 feet away from him, a distance that could surely guarantee that Andrew had the right amount of time to prevent it from stabbing him. His body shook in fear but he dared not show his mentor that, because weapons don't have feelings. This body stood straight, feeling his fearing heart thumb against his chest, cancelling all the noise from the room, hearing the silent release of the arrow. Apart of him wished the arrow could strike him in the heart and kill him instantly, but he knew his grandfather would never allow freedom and peace, he would somehow bring him back to the land of the living and make him complete this assignment.

The old man gave no warning when he shot the first arrow. The sharp pointy metal came soaring though the air, faster than the boy could've predicted, as it curving in a downward spiral to his fleshy thigh. His hands reached out to stop the arrow, but his hands were in no resistance compared to the kinetic energy the arrow had, engraving itself onto his left thigh. Andrew looked up at his mentor as a pained cry escaped his dry lips, watching in horror as his grandfather made no move to aid him, rather just watching him with no expression on his aging face. Andrew knew not to take out the arrow, knowing he was going to bleed out quicker, gathering the end of his wits, once he heard his mentor readying the bow for another strike. A second arrow sailed into the air, only this time it was aimed straight towards his neck, knowing the neck was the quickest and weakest spot to kill someone. The blood was warm as it dwindled down his leg, the crimson red liquid staining his skin, leaving a trail of red onto his foot.

Andrew could feel the arrow cut through the air, aiming straight at his neck, twisting his body towards the sides, before putting his hand in the perfect position to grab the arrow at its velocity. He caught it. He looked at the arrow in wonder, barely wrapping his head around the fact he actually caught it.

"Step five feet closer," the old man ordered, making the boy gulp down his protest. "Now try again."

It is in this session that Andrew showed his cocky side, a side who was unknown until that very moment. When his grandfather said he was going to shoot him two times continuously, Andrew just smirked. Watching in slow motion as his grandfather released the string, making the arrow soar through the air. In a small moment, maybe just a millisecond, Andrew doubted himself, but that small point of doubt caused one of the bullets to engrave itself onto his right shoulder, his eyes trailed in horror as he watched the metal arrow tear straight through his flesh and bone. His attention went directly to his right shoulder, forgetting entirely about the second arrow. The second bullet embedded itself on his hand, as the body part began vomiting spurts of blood, as the boy cried in pain. The three arrows all sticking out of his body, as the body wobbled to stand straight, a small cry of help escaped the boy but his grandfather just shook his head in disappointment before leaving the room. Leaving Andrew to fend for himself.

That day forward, Andrew never once cried for help. He didn't feel cocky or arrogant. In fact he didn't feel anything thing at all. For the boy, who felt emotions succumbed to his wounds on that day, and what was left was a shell of a boy. A perfect soldier. A perfect weapon.

.