Orange Soda Acid Trip: Chapter one. The Boy murderer.
The lights from outside filled the small white box as they shined on in the cold autumn night. The boy sat there, covered in soot and ash, his face expressionless and lost. What had happened he would not remember for years, what he had done would affect him in ways no-one could foresee. Even as he sat in the metal confines with the doors shut to the outer world, he could hear the few neighbors he had whispering, speaking in hushed tones, spreading rumors of his deed. Giving him everything he deserved, their eyes filled with tears as they stared in wonder, at what he did not know. Calling him a word he had not yet learned in his three years of existence. Murderer...
The boy sat, confused and lost for what seemed days, he wanted to sleep, his nose was dry and he didn't like that man. That man with the round ears and shiny glasses, hiding his eyes with a white sheen. He didn't like how the man wrapped his arm in a strange cloth and squeezed a rubber ball to make it tight. He did not like how the man shined lights in his eyes or undressed him to look for god-knows what. He did not like when the man spoke.
"You are alright little one. How did this all happen?" That man asked, his voice in a pretend state of care, seeming to be of routine. He did not even ask again when the boy did not answer, he did not bother saying anything else as the boy redressed in the ambulance. His clothes as filthy as his fur. The man left him then, leaving him alone in that metal box. Letting the boy sit alone, left to think of what was missing, as if there was something he should be with.
As the man left with his paper and tools the boy looked out. The sight before him did not make anything better, nor did he understand, yet he was filled with an abundance of emotions overflowing within him. His eyes widened at the sight of rubble and cinders. His heart sank as he repressed memories further. A tear streamed down each cheek as he cried out as loud as he could, with the door locking shut in front of him. "MAMA!" His cry went unheard as the sirens sounded taking him away.
Two years passed and the boy had grown, and in his growth he had become sociable to some extent. He played with the other orphans, he ate and slept with them. He seemed happy in this home of unwanted and abandoned children in a town far off from his own. He even began to smile, though he did not know why it was so hard just yet.
Time passed and a man came to the orphanage, a man the young boy would remember from his old town. The man had only come to seek out a child of his own, when his eyes set upon the boy. Immediately he called over one of the nuns, informing her of the happenings of the child's past. They spoke for some time and the man had forgotten to take a child.
It wasn't long after that when the boy began to notice that the nuns were keeping the other children away from him. First by giving them a convenient bath whilst they were in the midst of playing, or setting one of them down for a nap. Eventually over a year's time they had just been keeping them away from the boy at all costs. It became hard for the boy to smile again. Making things worse, the number of children shrank, all but the boy being taken by a family, all but one nun staying to watch him. Not care for, but watch him. He was all alone again, something that had not happened for some time, it was at that moment of having lost everything that made him smile that he remembered what he had done, what he had lost, and what he could never go back to.
He remembered the ball of paper and his father's lighter, he remembered his baby sister and older brother playing in the den. His father up in the study and his mother in the kitchen. He remembered the flames lapping at his nose and singeing his fur as he ran from the shouting, the screams and the cries of his family. He remembered everything about that night, how he started a fire, how he caused al this pain on himself. He remembered how he had killed his entire family, burned down his home and sat there watching from the outside as it all came crumbling down. He remembered it all and it triggered changes, not in his body of course, but in his behavior and an even larger change in his psyche.
Without a word or even a thought the boy left that place, running, hoping to leave behind the pain. Though he never would and in fact it would follow him throughout his entire life to never let him live it down. He ran and ran over the harsh tundra of the motherland. He traveled as far as his young legs could take him, never looking back, never wanting to return. Westward he traveled, why he did not know, but he did not have time to change his course now.
So much time had passed to him, traveling always west, stealing when he was hungry, hiding when he was hunted, sleeping in sheds was a luxury. Most nights he was forced to sleep on a rock or tree, cave or in a bush. Nevertheless he always kept moving, dirty, hungry and lost. It was around the anniversary of his departure that he came to a place he was not familiar with, he was so tired he had not noticed the people around him speaking another language, he never cared. He had not known he was far-far from home. In his travels he had made his way from his motherland, Russia, to the shores of France.
He had come to some sort of celebration revolving around a luxury cruise ship, with many smiles and cheers. He was so lost and out of focus he had not seen the woman until his face was buried in her rear. Startled he stumbled back falling on his tail end, looking up as the woman turned to look down upon him. Her large floppy ears handing over him as she bent down to dust him off and pick the boy up. She spoke to him in a language he did not know, thus he did not reply. She repeated her self, "Ou vous parents sont le cheri?" He did not understand but looked to the boat. She looked with him and gasped.
"Oh vous pauvre malheureux. Ici je vous recevrai a bord de." She took the boy's hand and led him to the boat through the crown with a motherly smile upon her face. She spoke to a man at the bottom of the boarding platform and nodded explaining something about the child. The man looked down and nodded to her giving her a small kiss upon her fuzzy cheek. The woman bent down to the child once more, patted his head and scooted him on the platform. "Allez trouvent votre mere maintenant. D'accord?" With that the boy boarded the ship bound for a new land alone again, hiding in various areas, and making his living the only way he could, being only 7 he would struggle in the new land of America for two more years before finally finding his home.
But that is something you will have to piece together yourselves later on in the story, for now we will leave you with one last bit of information to tease you with........
One night as the boy wept silently on the ship deck, watching the open ocean, a voice called out to him. "Slayne..." it called. "Slayne..." he looked but there was no-one to be seen. "Slayne..." he crawled over to the side, looking down at the water far below, who he saw was his reflection, but it was of his brother not his own. "....Your tears will be my roses."