F.L.Y.N.N [ Book no.1 of "The Fouling Damned duo"]

01: 01 | many years ago, a pitiful child

~ many years ago~

SIMILAR TO HOW A BOMB sets off, his brain is filled with darkness that seems to warp its way up to his nervous system, which tells him it's time to WAKE UP. Wrapped in like a burrito with his brown fleece blanket, the puny kid who's called Axel slowly unravels his small, petite body from the cozy goodness, as he squints at his father. The light is excruciatingly shocking, as he pauses for a second to let out a moan.

" Get up," Raymond says, in a stern, but angry manner. To the little nine-year-old boy, this meant he has dug a deep hole, meaning he's aggravated his father for much longer than he has the patience to handle. With his slicked-back grey, pepper-salt-colored hair Raymond looked more like he was advertising for a Dove shampoo commercial rather than hosting a speech for the mafia members.

Finally, he wakes up.

The moment he wakes up, Raymond walks out of the bedroom door, and he is alone at last, freeing the child from his misery. A pitiful child is he, with his dark, shaggy hair up to his shoulders, his dark azure eyes wide with innocence. He's quite a plain child, one of those kids you see who is always sitting at the front in picture days. On top of that, he's significantly smaller than all of the girls in his third-grade class, while bearing the body of a meek, frail, and insignificant little boy.

If there was one thing he did best, it was defying others' expectations that they induce upon him. As a child, he's been known as a weakling, but described as a loner. Even though Axel was not involved with his father's mafia, he endured devil-like glares at school that told him he was, even causing himself to fall prey to the terrible kids he calls the hawks of his elementary school. He calls them the 'hawks' because these boys and girls that treat him like shit would stare at him like he's a piece of meat for the taking. Glowering above, from the metaphorical sky, they'd spat ruthless remarks about him being socially inept and unwilling to fight for himself.

He understands, however, that they are just children, and it all shall pass soon.

A mature child he is.

At least, emotionally mature, for the most part.

" Can I sit here?" He asked his fellow third-grade classmates during lunch break. The rows of trashed long tables lay in rows of four by ten, being the cafeteria to be a small one. Because of the lack of funds for the elementary school, the sickly ash paint remains chipped and faded, mold growing through the cracks, due to water damage. The whole place reeks of a mixture between grilled cheese sandwiches and salty sweat, from the bodies of all of the children, all gathered in a small area.

The moment that he asks, the trio of boys sitting at the table scurry two tables away from where they were sitting, clearly frightened of him. And really, why would they be?

He sighed.

He does quite a lot of sighing if you ask him. He wipes off the crumbs on the table with a wet paper towel; and double-checks that the trio didn't leave anything behind. He wasn't a bully, after all, he was a nice kid.

A sweet kid, actually.

A kid that was ignored at lunch kind of kid. A kid who- no matter how many times he asked to join- was never invited during games of freeze tag and even regular tag. All the boys in his class despised him, all the little girls ran away from fear.

Fear of what?

In fact, it wasn't his fault that he was quiet. His father always told him that the best of all men remained silent.