A Modern Myth

by Clara Wake

  “I’ll take care of you, then when you’re six– you get to play with the big kids.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Morning, Governor,” The Guardian, who looks after Nickolai greets her, as she walks into the building, unannounced.

  She doesn’t visit or check up on Nickolai, at any time until now. When she needs him. When she wants something from him. What exactly could a six-year-old, give her?

  The governor ignores the greeting and jumps straight to why she is there – straight to the point.

  Looking around, she takes in everything before she strolls over towards the noise: the screaming, yelling, crying and shouting. Stepping through a small corridor, she stops and stares into a large playgroup setting. Toys, tables, and all sorts of miscellaneous things you’d find at your local daycare scattered around by the spoiled little brats.

  “Tell me, everything I need to know about Nickolai” The Governor carefully asks – her voice low and stern, never looking at the Guardian as she speaks. Hoping the woman won’t start blabbing on about him and just tell her what she needs to know.

  Some of the guardians grow attachments to the children; and rightfully so, they mother them for six years, and now it is time to let them go.

  The Guardian's eyes watch the young half-elf, as he perches high on one of the bookshelves – she’s had enough of arguing with him – She finds him up there all the time, hidden away from the others, isolated and off in his own world. Staring out the window, with his scruffy thick crimson hair, she finds him occasionally tugging his hair to cover his ears. There is also a thicker part at the back that consistently remains vertical and reaches for the sky. He hates it, but no matter what he tries he can’t flatten it. While his hair frustrates him, he’s grown fond of it too.

  Then there is his eyes – the most distinctive thing when you look at him – those odd eyes— vibrant, diverse shades, and so bright and enchanting.

  Anyone can get lost in his eyes, they are so stunning, but they’re what he is ashamed of almost as much as his ears. His elegant elven ears are longer than most elves in the past. He is unique in more ways than one.

  Whether it is the rare blood rushing through his veins or not, she doesn’t know, but he is a lovely boy nonetheless.

  The guardian softly sighs and turns to face The Governor’s motionless face—who constantly looks dull in the eyes, as if there is no soul inside, only madness. It frightens her a lot, and she isn’t alone on that emotion towards her – everyone is afraid of her. The Guardian's heart sank the moment the Governor entered the room. She knew this day would come, and she dreaded it. Each second that passes only moves her closer to the moment she has to let him go. Every second she thinks about it, her throat tightens, and tears threaten her. However, she manages to bite back the hoarse feeling in her throat and do as she is told.

  “He’s very smart, reliable, fast, and a sharp listener,” the Guardian starts. “He’s shy, and he’s constantly bullied by the others for being different,” she adds on, dropping her shoulders in a huff. A hint of sadness spreads across her face; she can’t stand seeing him or any of the others being treated so harshly for being who they are.

  It falls silent for a moment until a soft hum leaves the Governor’s closed lips as she watches him carefully.

  “He’s perfect,” she finally states with a malicious smile curving her lips. He is already wounded, in more ways than one. He is perfect, easy to manipulate and shape.

  “A-are you taking him now?” The Guardian breathes, hoping he isn’t leaving just yet – but by the look in the Governor's eyes, she is determined and ready to take the boy for her own biddings.

  The Governor doesn’t speak – she remains placid – until she turns her head slowly and stares at the Guardian with an obscene and indefinite expression. The Governor then drags her eyes up to meet the lost gaze of the Guardian. Undoubtedly, she is attached to the young elf, but she knows better. She knows better than to get attached, regardless of spending the first six years of the boy’s life caring for him. He no longer belongs to her.

  Nickolai’s eyes dart around, searching for something to hold on to as the dark-haired and formerly dressed lady takes hold of his hand. His odd-eyes watch her carefully, his hands shaking.

  “Come on, let’s take you to your new home,” she tells him, attempting to sound kind and gentle. However, she comes off as a nasty witch, like the ones he’d heard about in the fairy tales and stories that were read to him.

  Without even the opportunity to say goodbye, the Guardian is left to watch the Governor walk out with the young elf, and she knows she’ll never see him again. It breaks her heart while tears jerk the side of her eyes.

  She wants so much to have met him and some of the other children she raised in a different place – but she is thankful to have met them at all –all she can do is stare at the door as it closes and swallow the lump that lodges in her throat. There is nothing the Guardian can do, even if she had the chance. She must forget.

  The Governor takes Nickolai to one of the buildings that is hidden behind a line of large and tall trees that camouflage the row of buildings in a structured line.

  Opening the door, she leads him through another set of locked doors, only this time they’re barred. Stepping into the hallway that’s wider than he’s ever seen, she stands at the entrance and places her hands on the boy’s shoulders.

  At the end of the hall, there’s two sofas, a table, and a small kitchen stocked with food, accessories, and appliances.

  On the wall with the sofas leaning against it is a symbol that looks like the tree of life with small leaves falling from it. There is a circle around the tree and the word “Earth” below it.

  The floors are a cream ceramic and the walls that hover over and around is a forest green colour.

  At each side of the hall is three doors. Six all up. Three on each side. Everything is shut and closed, not even a window to look out and see beyond.

  Nickolai’s body shakes, his muscles flexing, as he stands there with hands holding him in place; he’s frozen and holding his breath. He doesn’t know what is going on, or why he must leave the lovely lady he called, “Dana.”

  Mute and alert, he watches and waits. The silence is fueling the horror erupting and burning through his stomach. His heart hammers faster, and his hands continue to shake. He flinches the second the Governor steps away and moves into his line of sight.

  Standing before him, the Governor is still silent, staring at the entrance. Waiting.

  Nickolai waits; he doesn’t know what is going on or why she has held him there. All the new sounds, scents and atmosphere terrify him. Unaware of what is behind him – in the dark – he can feel and hear his own heartbeat trapped in his throat. He is only six years old, on the brink of turning seven. He’s self-aware, but there are things he still isn’t aware of.

  His right ear twitches at the shuffling sounds heading towards the entrance; it sounds like several footsteps. He hunches and a shiver crawls down his back. Voices ring through the hall. They’re coming for him.

  They – the remaining four members of the group - stop in their tracks as the Governor stares them down, holding the tense little elf before her.

  Following the boys is their captain—the one who teaches them everything and instructs them on what is right and wrong in this world. This is his house, and they are to obey him or suffer the consequences.

  “Quiet down!” He shouts, standing behind the row of curious and eager boys.

  It’s not until the kids are completely silent that the Governor speaks. “Morning, Earth,” She starts, her tone for once somewhat cheerful. “You have the final member of your squad,” she informs them, as her eyes dance from one to the other, watching them carefully. Their eyes fixate on Nickolai’s ears.

  With that, she pinches Nickolai’s shoulders and turns him around to face them all.

  His head is lowered, and his shoulders raised. He’s nervous, shy, and restless. Most
of all, he fears what the strangers will say – not that he hasn’t heard it already. He soon lifts his head slightly to look at the boys. Four of them stand in a row staring at him.

  “You're weird,” one of them says, laughing.

  “Yeah, your ears are funny,” another voices.

  “Your eyes are freaky! You’re a freak!”

  The others, of course, join in; all but one.

  Just because he is different in appearance, they are quick to judge, and torment. Their sneers carve at Nickolai’s self-hatred and fuel his desire to be normal. Why can’t he just be like the rest? Why does he have to be so different, so alien?

  What make everything worse is that the adults don’t stop the bullying or teasing. They stand there, tall and in charge. They do not care – they want this to happen – they let it happen, and they have not a single speck of remorse.

  Eagerness pinches at Nickolai’s skin, but instead he pulls the loose strands of his thick hair over his shoulders.

  At that moment, the Governor notices and scoffs, pulling his hands from his hair and smacking his wrist. “Enough of that,” she barks at him, before pulling Nickolai into his room at the back-right side.

  “Sit down!” She demands, her voice harsh, watching him as he slowly takes a seat on the edge of his single bed.

  His odd-eyes took a quick look at the small room. A sink, mirror, and toilet. A short bench and shelf to put belongings in and his bed with a very small window that faced the massive wooden walls barricading The Compound.

  The Governor turns her back to Nickolai and moves down to the cabinet below the sink. Retrieving what she wanted, she turns around and grabs Nickolai’s head, clawing at the side of his temple. She then switches on the device in her hand. It buzzes horribly, causing him to flinch.

  “Stay still!” She demands with a frustrated growl, carving through the long crimson strands, shaving them off.

  Seeing his hair fall to his lap and to the floor, Nickolai’s chest squeezes tighter and fear riddles his bones. She is getting rid of his hair, and he can’t do anything about it. Even if he decides to squirm or fight against her actions, he knows he’d suffer far worse consequences than getting his hair cut and shaved off.

  He and the others are constantly reminded never to fight back against the authority. No matter what.

  Loud gasps escape Nickolai’s lips, each breath he holds as she presses down on his scalp escaping the second his hair falls. What will hide my ears with now? He thinks to himself with a whimper. He has nothing. His hair was a small sense of tranquillity when it came to his ears. Now, he can’t even pluck at his hair. His ears will standout even more now and be even more sensitive than they already were. The realization has tears shielding his eyes.

  Squeezing his eyes shut to seal them, he grits his teeth and holds in each sob that attempts to shake his lips. He wants to scream, yell and hit the Governor. He wants to hurt her – she is taking something from him that is rightfully his. It isn’t fair, it isn’t right. The witch needs to be taught a lesson herself, and he swears that one day she’ll learn. That one day he would teach her the lesson she plainly needed. However, right now? He is only six years old, scared, and an outcast.

  The buzz and zap radiating and spreading through the small room hurts his ears. The long, sensitive ears that involuntarily move as if he was a cat. His ears have a mind of their own – or at least, share his thoughts – If he were upset like he is right now, they lower and drop. If he hears things, they lightly twitch. He can’t control them.

  Sparks of pain spread through his ears, more intensely as the razor carves through his hair, and grazes around his ears. As if a bomb had just exploded nearby, the sounds echo and burst his eardrums for a second. He feels and hears each clip and snippet the blade makes through his hair.

  “Please, don’t,” he shakes, the words shrouded in sorrow, but he’s quickly met with the smack at the back of his head.

  “Don’t beg, You’re pathetic. It shows your weakness, and it gets you nowhere,” the Governor states in an aggravated tone. What a child.

  “Don’t be a baby,” she adds on, scoffing loudly once again over the electric razor before she finally finishes and smacks him over the back of his head once more. The sound is different and flat. He shakes as her hand collides with the back of his head, the sensation oddly smooth. Although the lack of hair has left his head raw and naked.

  He sits there frozen –He doesn’t move, and he certainly doesn’t look in the mirror. He knows how horrible, strange and alien he’ll look. He doesn’t want to see; he doesn’t want the picture in his head to become a reality.

  “Look,” she tells him. She gestures towards the mirror mounted on the wall opposite him, but he doesn’t move. He sits and swallows the sorrow lodged in his throat.

  Her hand moves to his shoulder. Curling her fingers, she pulls at the fabric of his baggy shirt and pulls him over towards the mirror forcing him to stare at himself. He is tall enough. Standing there with glazed eyes of pain, he looks at how disgusting and estranged he is.

  His hair has been completely shaved off. He is bald - His ears stand upwards and poke out so much more than they did with his once radiant crimson hair. He didn’t realize just how long they truly were until now.

  Staring at himself, he blinks as the harsh realization that everyone else would see him comes crashing down. He can’t hide, he can’t run. He has to face his nightmares alone.

  Stepping outside of his room – at least, that’s what he assumed was his room – He stalls for a moment before The Governor pushes him in the back to insist he move faster.

  “This is Nickolai, boys. He’s the last member of your squad,” she says, introducing him to the others. The boys stared at him, scrutinizing every piece of him. "Man, he is tall," he heard one of them mutter under their breath to the next. And that was just the beginning of what they would tear him apart on.

  “That is your room, Nickolai,” she tells him, pointing towards the room he just exited, before moving away and exiting the base, leaving him with the others and their Captain.

  “All of you, follow me,” the Captain orders, as he turns and moves out of the hallway. He leads the boys down another section of the shed where a table with various weapons and accessories sits in the middle of the room.

  Whispers and murmurs are heard among the boys huddled up. They’ve been looking forward to this since they arrived. Nickolai continues to raise his eyebrows and dart his eyes around the unfamiliar place. It looks as if some of these boys are maybe one to three years older than him. He isn’t sure. He’s still trying to figure everything and everyone out; he has no idea what is going on or how to even gather himself at that point.

  “Since you’re new, you get the first pick, Nickolai,” the captain starts, staring at the young elf. The Captain’s eyes narrow on him before he steps forward. “Take the first pick; choose a weapon, and it’s yours.” He tells him, stepping aside and waiting for the young boy to step forwards.

  Nickolai hesitates and once again stalls. Questions hammer and scream in his mind. Why did he have to choose a weapon? His eyes are drawn to the table, filled with dangerous tools; however, he does what he is told.

  Stepping forward, he scans the large table. Axes, swords, firearms, and other weapons spread across the table, cluttered on top of each other. The variety is rather large for such a small group of kids. None of this makes any sense.

  His eyes narrow on the same weapon every time he scans through them all: the small metallic black compound bow and arrows stashed in the quiver beside it.

  His palm gently taps the compound bow. He doesn’t speak, he just curls his hand over the bridge of the bow and turns to the Captain.

  “Good choice,” he tells the young elf, before moving to the others, ushering them to choose their weapon of choice.

  After Nickolai grabs his quiver and bow, he stares down at it. He doesn’t know anything about it or even why he chose it, but he bites down on the q
uestions that flood his mind and takes a closer look at the stylish metallic bow.

  Larger than him, he holds it up and studies it. It’s heavy, but comfortable—even in his small hands. A glimmer of a smile perches on his lips.

  After the boys collect their weapons of choice, the Captain orders them to stand in a line.

  Standing before them, he watches them all carefully before nodding and smiling to himself, pride sitting on the edge of his lips.

  “Earth Squad,” he starts, in a loud and clear tone. He then stands before the first boy with dark doe eyes and brown curls.

  “Jake,” he announces, “you’re a Mystweaver; you chose to assist your squad with medical services: to help them in need, to mend their wounds, and to keep them on their toes.” He nods with a smile as his eyes lock on the medical kit in Jake’s hands, along with a combat knife. He then, presses his palm on Jake’s shoulder before moving on to the next boy.

  “Aiden, you are a Myst. A soldier ready for action and to protect your squad,” he nods to the blonde and blue-eyed boy, who is the eldest, noting the boy has chosen the heaviest and largest auto machine gun in a pile.

  Next in line. “Tyler, you’re an Eagle, a sniper. You’re the one who’s unseen, ready to take the nearest headshot to aid your squad and cover them in times of need,” he tells Tyler with a nod, watching as his bright green eyes stare lovingly at his new toy, a high-powered sniper rifle, with an advanced scope. He is ready to start calculating headshots.

  The Captain looks at the next boy in line who is playing with two daggers. “Syrus,” he calls to him, the dark blue-eyed boy with no hair. “The shadow among the squad, striking foes and vanishing without a trace. You’re an assassin,” he smiles briefly before looking to Nickolai.

  “Nickolai,” he starts. “Our elf has chosen the Marksman. Assaulting foes from afar with the silent and deadly compound bow, a sharp eye to look over the squad,” he nods, and steps pass the last member of Earth.