A Boy Now a Monster (Private/Famine)

Lately, Ahote had built up more courage to explore beyond Mt. Hakobe for missions and jobs fitting for him. Unfortunately, each time he would have to either pass through the settlement at the foot of the mountain and get those jobs from the settlers, who didn't treat him very well. They gave him what Ahote would consider the worst possible treatment a human being could give another without engaging in a fight. They would spit at him, toss rocks, call him every dirty and vulgar word Ahote had in his vocabulary and would even go as far as belittling and disrespecting his parents. The boy eventually realized that their hatred was for Famine and Sol, the people who allegedly owned this mountain, but instead channeled and vented their resentment to their son, who apparently had been spoiled silly since his arrival, while they, the settlers, froze at the foot of the territory. At first, Ahote had offered his sympathies and spent more time with the settlers with labor and engaging in conversation, but most remained hostile.

As much as Ahote told himself to remain strong and to not let their words and actions get to him, the paranoia he felt grew, and the hatred they held for him slowly became mutual. How far would they go today? Would it just be rocks? Would they go as far as killing him? Each time he passed through the settlement, these questions came afloat upon a sea of doubt and worry he had been swimming in for so long.

However, on a specific day of the week was the arrival date of a product he had requested, and had to go in to get it. Ahote made it a goal to make his trip quick and quiet, not wanting to interact with anyone while he made his way to and back. However, maybe on Ahote's part, that was wishful thinking. The first face he would see was the face he always saw when he entered the settlement. A man named Angus Gweller, an alcoholic who apparently was unemployed and could always be found sitting on a pile of barrels and crates behind a motel. Angus, being the first face Ahote always saw, was always the one to spit fire at him first.

Ahote kept his head down and hastened his walk, attempting to avoid any contact with him. Just get my stuff and go, Ahote. C'mon. . . he thought to himself, feeling his breathing becoming quick and his eyes becoming wide with a mixture of emotion.

"Ey, boy-o. That ain't how you greet 'yer elders, is it? Why don't 'cha say hello?" Angus sneered with his set of yellow, missing teeth. Ahote continued to walk by him, anxious by his rough, guttural voice. Angus sniffled and frowned before speaking louder, "Hey, I'm 'talkin to you, waste of space!" He took his rough, cracked fingers and lunged a cold, hard stone at the raven haired boy, striking him on his jaw.

Ahote flinched and quickly raised a hand to hold his jaw, stopping in his tracks and only peering over to look at the grinning man. His eyes became those of a hateful boy, no longer those of an anxious and afraid one. He leaned down to pick up the stone, carefully observing the tip which struck him. Carefully looking at the blood it drew from his white, untouched skin. A flame of fury began to light within his chest. "I. . . I have a name, you know. You need to call me by my name." Ahote stressed, beginning to tremble upon his fingertips delicately groping the cut on his jaw.

"Name, huh? The little bastard who eats well and sleeps even better at nights while us hard-working fellas have to freeze our asses off for you? Sure, I'll call you by your name, lil brat!" Angus threw another stone at him, this time hitting his concealed shoulder. The raven haired boy pressed his lips tightly together and balled up his fists, turning his entire body to face him.

"Stop that! I was just passing through!" He demanded, rubbing his shoulder. Despite his pleas, the rocks continued to fly, and groups of people peeked out of their windows to witness the scene. Ahote felt the bruises begin to cover his upper body, his patience crawling away with each stone hitting his skin.

I can't do this anymore. . . I'm tired of these people and letting them run me over with a problem I didn't create. . . I didn't choose to be here, and it's not my fault that whatever Mother and Father did to them was so terrible. Why take it out on me? Is it because they know I won't do anything? I'm weak, I'm very weak. . . I'm a coward. I let them run all over me and won't tell anyone a damn thing about it. . . I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it.
. . I'm sick of it. . .! I hate it! My skin, my heart, my feelings. . . all being stomped on and treated like cow shit! I'll show him. . . I'll show him. . .! Ahote chanted to himself while leaning down to pick up the biggest stone he could fit in his hands.

"Eh? Whatcha gonna do, little guy? Tell me to stop or you'll tell on me? Bwahaha! What a joke! Bwahaha. . .!" Angus slapped his knee and burst into a laughter.

I'll crush him. . . I'll smash all of his remaining teeth out and have him apologize with his bloody gums. . . I'll crush him. . . he has no right to. . . to stop me. . . I'll. . . Ahote raised his arm and glared at the man, distracted in his own laughter. Ahote's chest felt like it was filled with liquid, a hatred that made his cheeks burn.

"Bwahahaha! Little boy! Little boy!" Angus nearly choked on his own laughter, not realizing what was to soon become of him.

I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it. . . I'm sick of it. . . Ahote's head became nothing but his convincing himself that he deserved this. That what was coming to Angus was set out for him when he first picked up the rock. But before Ahote could regain patience, before he could tell himself that it wasn't worth it, the rock had left his hands and zoomed through the air to strike the man in his left temple.

". . .!!!" Angus said nothing, but simply grunted, falling off the crate and into the snow, where he would twitch and squirm around in pain. Ahote took no time before walking over to him, straddling the man, and grabbing the bloody rock and smash it into his head again, and again, and again. . .

"Hyah! Gyah!" Ahote glared down at the man in a blind rage, smashing his forehead and temples and nose and everything else included on his face while Angus could only scream, and eventually stopped moving.

I'm sick of it! How does it feel?! This pain?! You had it coming! Are you
sick of it? Do you feel like dying?! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of it all! I hope he suffers, I hope he feels all the pain! I'm SICK of it! Ahote continued to think to himself as he resumed bashing the man's skull in with his crimson red rock, his white skin now stained with blood, as well with his hoodie that he normally wore. The fight continued, before Ahote realized Angus had died the moment he threw the rock, and had only been beating and tearing apart a corpse for the past few minutes until his anger and anxiety had been pacified, and he had finally be relieved of his malice towards him.

Ahote froze, panting with the rock in hand, staring blindly at the lifeless corpse he had been straddling. "I. . . I. . ." Ahote stuttered before a rush of vomit projected through his mouth and into the red snow, quickly followed by a single stream of tears. The raven haired boy grabbed his locks with his vomit and blood covered fingers, realizing that families and children had been staring at him wit prying eyes when witnessing the murder. His mind became blank, getting up from the body and running back to the fortress, into his room, and locked himself away from everyone for a week.

Days had passed with Ahote sitting on his bed, staring at the stone walls. All of his candles were never lit, and the most he ate were apple slices. A picture reminiscence of the familiar scene in the infirmary upon his first arrival. He said nothing, did nothing, felt nothing at times. But sometimes, when succumbing to his own thoughts, deeper thoughts, the boy would mutter:

"I. . . I killed him. . ."