A Modern Myth

by Clara Wake

  “You are all assigned to your role. Remember it, it will be everything you know from now on,” the Captain insists, as he looks over his squad.

  Nickolai remembers the man stating that there were six of them, but he’d only mentioned five.

  Looking around, he’s baffled as to why there are not six boys lined up. Only five. Why is the last member of the squad missing?

  CHAPTER 4

  Their day is spent entirely on discovering, bonding, and learning about their weapons. Each one of them is sent back to his room to research his armament. No books or guidance from the Captain; they have to learn for themselves. Left to their own thoughts and conclusions.

  Had they forgotten that Nickolai was only six years old? The others were around seven and or above.

  Nickolai paces and flexes his hands, running them over his freshly shaved scalp. His heart stammers in his chest with each thought of the situation at hand. His breathing becoming irregular from the flood of emotions that drown him. The nerves become unsettling in his stomach; his thoughts steer from the weapon and an on to fretting about stuffing something up and making himself look to be an idiot.

  They already think he is weird just by a single exchange in glances. He wants to show them, that he is more than his ears and his eyes.

  The crippling doubt is impressive, as it weighs down on his shoulders and sinks into his chest – the more he thinks about how badly he wants to fit in – the worse he starts to feel. Dropping down to the ground, he crawls into the darkest corner and lets the fear overtake him.

  He tries to trap and bury the lingering haunting thoughts and focus on his weapon, but it isn’t long before more questions began to collide with his mind.

  What is it? How does he use it? What does he need? There are so many questions drilling into his mind, and he is left with his own thoughts to process it all. There is no asking for help.

  Eventually, Nickolai gathers himself and sits on his bed. He rests the compact and classic compound bow on his lap. Looking down at it, his eyes give the bow a detailed look as his fingertips run across its black metallic side.

  He thinks it was a recurve bow at first. Judging by the many books he saw over the years, with drawings and paintings of bows, he notices the weight and design and realizes it is a compound bow – more advanced and compact.

  With no other knowledge of the weapon other than the fact that the Captain stated it was a Compound Bow, hesitation continues to linger on how to use the weapon. It’s not long before he places the heavy bow down on his bed and tucks the arrows beneath his pillow.

  Stepping out of his room, he peers around to see if anyone else is around; not even murmurs are heard behind closed doors. The coast is clear, as he grabs his bow in tow and one arrow and dashes outside silently. How could they expect them to learn without shooting it? Or shooting it indoors?

  It is evident that the others thought the same. Stepping outside, Nickolai finds each of the boys, checking out their weapons. His body tenses, realizing he has live ammunition – so do the others. He tenses even more before moving away from the group. Moving out and around the back of the shed; between the trees. Hiding.

  He enjoys being outside, fresh air and the scent of nature surrounding him. There is just something so soothing about it. He hopes that he’ll be outside a lot, a lot more than he was the first six years he’d spent with Dana.

  It doesn’t take him long at all to feel the pull of his heartstrings as he thought about Dana and how much he missed her. She was so kind, and her smile brightened his day. Now, he is being yelled at and forced to learn how to use a weapon all on his own. He was dependent on her, and now he is completely and utterly on his own without her to guide him. He misses her, but at least he has his blanket – as childish as that may seem., but he is a child.

  He stands there for a moment, watching the trees sway in the wind. A howl swirls through the atmosphere as clouds hover and attempt to hide the piercing sun, but it shines down brightly giving the day a more relaxed state.

  In a daze, he watches and admires the trees before realizing he wants to see more. Taking it upon himself, he climbs the large and tall trunk—swinging and crawling up like a monkey who knew exactly what to do. He moves quickly and finds the perfect perch to sit on and watch the rest of the boys laughing and playing around with their weapons. That’s right, playing with them. One of them, Syrus, is shoving his in the other’s faces.

  Nickolai can’t help but hold his breath. How stupid are these kids? Is he this stupid? It isn’t long before oodles of questions hammer in his mind. The unanswered ones that sit at the tip of his tongue, but most of all, just one question. Why?

  “Hey!”

  The shout shakes him from his thoughts.; the tone rough and almost excited.

  Nickolai looks down to see the boys hovering and surrounding the tree’s stump. They’re looking up at him, squinting their eyes at the sun's glare.

  Nickolai looks down at them, wondering if they’ll try to get up themselves. He darts his eyes over each one of them. “Huh?” He finally speaks, biting the inside of his cheek.

  “You can talk!” The Myst mocks. “Who do you think you are? Climbing up trees and doing what you want? –Getting the first pick of our weapons!” He shakes his head before he leans down, and grabs hold of a nearby stone throwing it at Nickolai, narrowly missing the Elf.

  The others were like sheep. They saw their Soldier do something and they join in – they don’t care, they’d never been taught to.

  Unfortunately for Nickolai, the ground is littered with stones and rock—enough ammunition to cause harm and to force him out of his hiding spot. Even though they hold military A-grade weaponry in their grasp, it is obvious they don’t want to harm him too much.

  Stones fly from all directions. Nickolai flinches and shields himself with his free hand, holding his arm up over his face to create a safeguard.

  Burying his face from any harm, He holds on tightly to the body of the tree, leaning up and embracing it as closely as he possibly can and doesn’t let go. He wants to cry out, but he’s too scared, too frightened he’ll fall. Nickolai’s never thought of himself being afraid of heights, but right now as he peeks and sees how far he has to fall; his stomach turns and his blood thickens.

  Some of the stones make an impact, colliding with his skin and breaking it with a loud smack. The skin is scraped, scarred and broken. Blood surfaces, and whimpers start to escape his lips. He holds his breath long enough to hear the Captain call out to them, ordering them to step back inside.

  Everything is silent for a moment; he’s left up on the tree, hiding away and cowering, forgotten and cold as the wind becomes heavier above.

  He waits until the cracks and shuffles of the leaves beneath their feet are gone. Peering over his arm, he lets out a loud shaken huff before pouting and taking a second to climb down to safety.

  Gradually, he makes his way back inside. Scanning the hall, he realizes it’s dusk: dinner time.

  He doesn’t even know where to go. He’s lost. He stands there, trying to hear where they’d gone. Any glimmer of light to indicate where they could be. He takes a deep breath, before one of the members of his squad slips out of his room, ignoring him. Moving to his destination, Nickolai slowly shadows him; too scared to throw his bow back into his room, in case he gets lost again – he keeps it with him.

  Stepping to the left of the large weaponry table, he stands at the top of a large flight of stairs. Not wasting any time, he moves them and keeps the fellow member in his sights. Each step brings a terrible sense of the walls closing in on him; everything is too new, unfamiliar, and different.

  The stairs feel like an eternity; they go on forever, and his legs start to ache. That is the most exercise he's done in his entire life so far. He is shocked at how long it takes him to reach the bottom, which leads him down into what looks like a cafeteria. There is another set of stairs in almost every corner of the room. The room itself is large, vast enoug
h to fit this many children and men inside.

  At the very back is the kitchen and collection stand, where everyone is lined up to collect their trays of what looks like food. It looks gross, and he is already cringing at the sight of it, but he is far too hungry to judge the food by its cover. He only had a sandwich for breakfast and a large glass of orange juice. That was it. It doesn’t help that his stomach grumbles at the mere sight of the food.

  Cautiously, he makes his way to the counter and picks up a tray. Waiting in line, he feels the eyes watching him, staring at him, and judging him. His heart contracts in his chest; he does his best to ignore it, to ignore them.

  At that moment, he pulls his hoodie from his shoulders and attempts to hide his ears and face. He doesn’t want to be seen anymore. He is just waiting for the harsh words and fists to start.

  Reaching the front, he moves his tray, so the assistant can place food on his tray, but instead, they stare at him and then to his squad before staring at him again more intensely before moving to the person beside him, serving them instead.

  He blinks slowly at the person, before being roughly pushed aside by the man behind him. He’s left to stare at his empty tray and plate – his jaw clenching and stomach roaring. His eyes slowly draw up to catch a glimpse of his squad, laughing. What a bunch of assholes! And this is his squad? The people he is meant to risk his own life for? It is beyond insulting and childish. Hell, Nickolai is a child, and he is more mature than them. Nickolai can’t wrap his mind around it.

  Holding himself together, he moves slowly and sits alone at one of the closest tables to the stairs. His hands flex into tight fists and he tries to control the itching rage beneath his skin— like an itch, he can’t scratch. He’s ready to smash their faces into the steel tables and watch them bleed out. He is sick and tired of being treated like an alien, but he is too frail to stand up to them. He feels like he can’t do it, that he is the failure they all claim he is. He’s too afraid of this raw and new emotion that throttles his mind; he’s never wanted to harm anyone until now and it’s leaving his eyes wide and splitting with tears. He doesn’t know what to do with all of the hate he suddenly feels.

  Soon after the incident, his squad is leaving; they’ve eaten and satisfied their hunger right before him. They make their way past him with a shove and cackle as they move and disappear from his sight.

  Nickolai lowers his head and takes a deep breath before someone places a sandwich down on his table, and sits across from him, his deep brown doe eyes watched him. “Here,” he softly nods to the elf. “Don’t tell them,” he whispers, before giving him a small smile and moving off, making his way upstairs.

  Them. The kind boy doesn’t want the others to know. Nickolai understands why because he would become the weakling, the one they tease for sticking up for the little freak. He understands more than the kind boy realized. He isn’t going to say anything, he isn’t even going to speak to him, even look at him. Although, he wants to. He felt such a spark when he helped him. For once, someone showed they care – regardless of who and what he is. It is an act of kindness that lifts his heart and gives him some grasp of hope that he isn’t doomed to complete and utter failure. Maybe for once, he has a friend? He’s thinking too far into it, but he only wishes that was the case. He wouldn’t be so alone.

  It isn’t long before it’s lights out and he doesn’t even know where the bathrooms are. He has to take it upon himself again to go looking. He investigates and searches the shed, which is clearly much larger than it looks on the outside. Below, there is much more. The cafeteria leads them to the bathrooms, and access to other squads, of course. They are locked like the tunnels running beneath the ground. It would be stunning if it wasn’t so damn creepy.

  What exactly is this place? To have children, with weapons. What seems like no authorities or rules to follow? For someone as young as him to roam around and do as he please – what more does he know? Nothing.

  He knows of nothing else but books and computers and everything his tutor who comes in every day to teach him: English, math, history, and science. Although, now he has learned something new: his weapon.

  This place is an enigma wrapped in pure mayhem and no way out by the looks of it.

  Eventually, he finds the bathroom and makes a mental note of where it is—just around the corner from the cafeteria. Easy really, but he feels it’s a little far for someone to run from their room, in a rush without wetting themselves jumping down those stairs. What did he know? He’s just a six-year-old, hoping he doesn’t piss his pants on the long way to the bathroom.

  After he’s taken note of where everything is, he makes his way back to his room to find the others hovering around the door. His stomach folds into a tight knot and his heart beats erratically.

  Slowly, he moves towards his room. Vibrant odd-eyes watch, as he steps past them and starts for his door. He’s caught in his actions when Aiden yanks his hoodie and pulls him back causing him to stumble.

  “What are you?” He asks, but his tone is laced with disgust and curiosity; he truly has no idea what he is. He winces at him, cringing as his eyes narrow on Nickolai’s ears before he leans in and flicks his left ear.

  Nickolai cringes and hisses, that ping of pain shaking through his ear, He furrows his eyebrows at him and growls. “I’m an elf, you idiot,” He spits, his anger rising. He’s had enough, but little does he recall, this is his first day.

  A roar escapes Aiden’s lips as he lunges forward and grasps the collar of Nickolai’s shirt, pushing him up against the nearest wall. His back smacks against it letting a thud shake the wall. The impact is greater than he expects, but Nickolai snarls at him until the others move in and clench their fists. Smacking and clouting Nickolai in the face and sides, bruising his ribs and splitting his bottom lip.

  “Don’t you call me an idiot again!” Aiden barks, as the others lay into him. doing his dirty work while he holds the helpless elf in place., the perfect punching bag.

  “Just because you’re in my squad, doesn’t mean we should like you,” he adds before letting go of him and moving off, quickly removing himself from the situation. Aiden knows all too well that he won’t be punished. He’s done this before with others from opposing squads and never suffered the consequences.

  Weight drowns Nickolai’s shoulders, causing him to slide down the wall and drop to the floor. Bringing his knees up to meet his chest, he leans against the wall and winces. His side burns and his lip stings with the everlasting taste of iron from his own blood spreading and flooding his mouth.

  Taking a moment, he buries his face in his trembling hands, holding in the burst of tears that threaten his eyes; he can’t show them how weak he truly is. He is better than that. Instead, he picks himself up from the floor and makes his way to his room, shutting the door behind him. Leaving him, to be alone and to breathe.

  He can’t sleep. Tossing and turning, his mind is wild, and anxiety runs high. What is keeping the boys from coming in here and killing him in his sleep? Nothing. There are no guards, no locks. The only sign of guards is outside doing their routes. Checking the perimeters and changing shifts.

  Nickolai knows their shifts already, as he lay awake.

  He repetitively sucks at his bottom lip, without failing to wince at the throbbing pain each time he does so. It hurts, and the taste of blood that taints his tongue is almost sickening.

  Sitting up, he leans against the wall and wraps his arms around his legs, pulling them in firmly to his chest. He doesn’t want to be there, but where else could he go? Nowhere. He is nobody. He knows his parents don’t want him – and that itself just proves how useless he is. How unwanted and unloved he is. Not even his own parents wanted him. They’d rather he suffers in a place like this.

  He can feel the tickle in his nose, as tears erupt from his eyes and sobs escape his chest. He tries to hold them all in, but these thoughts carve through him and burn straight down deep. He has nothing else to believe. This is his life, th
is is it.

  His eyes soon narrow on the small piece of cotton with the crimson shade and the initials, N.S. wondering why he has it. Sitting there, at the end of his bed. It's been something he’s held onto since he arrived, like a security blanket or something. Who knows.

  He doesn’t want to be there, he wants to run away and the more he thinks about it, the more he’s drowning in sorrow. He’s too scared, too unaware of the outside world. Too little and uneducated. It dawns on him once again how useless he feels.

  Unfortunately for him, in the Compound, anyone and everyone is capable. Evil derives in all forms, waiting to be released by the devil.

  Deep in his infested thoughts, he’s soon pulled out of them as his door opens. The same doe-eyed boy steps in and carefully closes the door behind him.

  He gives Nickolai a small smile, a polite and gentle one, letting him know he is there to help and nothing else.

  Nickolai attempts to sink into the wall behind him, wishing he could dissolve into it and disappear forever, but he’s no Mutant.

  “What do you want?” Nickolai asks in a whisper, with his eyebrows furrowed watching him carefully. He’s on edge and rightfully so.

  “I’m your medic, and I want to make sure you’re okay,” he carefully states.

  “I’m fine,” Nickolai breathes, with a heavy heart as he watches him. He isn’t fine – at all – but he does his best to hide, to shield the truth.

  “It looks like your lip is still bleeding,” he points out, pointing at the elf’s now swollen lip. He gives him a concerned look, his expression rather genuine. He isn’t like the others, and that itself frightens Nickolai.

  “So, you’re not here to make it worse?” Nickolai scoffs, pouting at him. Expecting this to be a trap, to lure him in and finish the job.

  “No, I’m not.” He’s quick to answer the question, his tone saturated with a caring manner. “I’m not like them,” he adds, sighing deeply and dropping his shoulders. He takes a seat at the end of Nickolai’s bed.