Memoirs - Memory 2

Sparrows chirping, the peaceful sound of tree leaves rustling and the quiet ambience of the afternoon surrounding and engulfing me in calm silence… Seems like a position anyone would wish for, right?

Not me.

In Math lesson I was bored stiff as the teacher just droned theory after theory, equation after equation, while expecting the whole class who is scared stiff by her not to fall asleep. Heck, I would might as well tell her that I bought x kilograms of peanut butter for $y and make her so proud of me.

Do not get me wrong. My Math teacher is awesome. She explains theory in a detailed manner that would shame any college lecturer. However, if she would cut down on her harsh attitude and understand weaker students like my Second Language teacher, whom is one of the best teachers to me, my Math may have improved by leaps and bounds compared to now.

Great! Five minutes have passed; hence I am left with only about an hour or more left with dreaded arithmetic. Sarcasm is not my second language, but I was pretty sure I got the message across to myself.

Twirling a compact shrike throwing knife round my index finger, I behaved in class and kept quiet to at least do my best conduct wise in Math class. The knife was given to me by my father. I never seen him, but my guardian used this phrase a lot. Well… a lot as in, well, you get my point.

‘Oh, your parents? My, your mom is working abroad in some foreign country, while your father is… um, conducting some… business in Italy, Cagliari.’

Oh well, she did a good job of covering the fact that my mom was the victim of an unfortunate fate for quite a while. It was three days when I found out Mother was buried six-feet underground.

After one thousand, four hundred and ninety-three revolutions, Math lesson was over. At least I learnt how to count above a thousand by myself.

The jovial Science teacher then entered into the classroom. He is one of my favorite teachers, and I did not even notice it was his period then. I shone a smile and greeted him jovially. It was heartening to attend a lesson you could understand.

That hour was one of the best times I went through. I was doing a chemistry lesson with the girl I was fond of, while we went through the lesson happily with each other with a jovial Science teacher to aid us on our learning. That hour was a blur, my heart was cart wheeling around, I did not even know if I was blushing or not, but never mind that. I was quite sure I was radiating happiness and joy based on the fact that my partner always laughed with me. Oh well, this is part of youth.

A gunshot sounded. Total silence, followed by a clearly organized catastrophe, followed by total chaos. Our Science teacher told us to stay still, and relax. Apparently he was not relaxed himself, because he was clasping tightly on an emergency hammer, as if he could out maneuver a speeding bullet with a giga impact to the gunner’s head.

Two masked men appeared at the door. It did not seem fashionable for them to be wearing black holey scarves to cover their faces, leaving only their piercing eyes full of cruelty and hate, with their mouths also uncovered, accentuating their red feminine lips, but I decided not to point that out in fear that I may get shot by one of their .41Æ bullets put through my thick skull.

The class was ordered to kneel with our faces down, as they operated machinery that sounded like a… bomb. It was a pity; they chose our class out of all the rest to plant a bomb that could take out a full building. I could not deal with the situation, I could not do anything. With a desperate prayer, while the anarchists were frisking my friends for their phones, to cut off communications, I pressed the number five on my phone, hard. That was the speed dial button for my father or his butler, whom, in one chance in a million, may not be in Italy but come to our aid.

During the tense and threatening moment, I reflected on my life. I had learnt the true meaning of ‘emergency and danger’. I never knew my father’s name, or even his butler’s name. I had spent my youth creating applications that earn me thousands of dollars and I had the girl whom I liked holding my hand for assurance. I gave her my best reassuring smile and waited, for our fate.

It was our turn. An armed ruffian kicked me and stepped on me. He took away my wallet, which had no cash anyway, and frisked me for my phone. As he reached into my pocket, warm red liquid gushed out. My phone was not taken. The blood was not mine. A man in full Dragon Tang Chinese suit, Along with a black wide-brim Akubra and a transparent scarf, his artillery a .41Æ caliber UZI Carbine, he was the one who put a Mokbi bladed throwing disc into the neck of my potential robber and killer.

Black faces turned to the new-comer, with more eyes pointed at him. Those extra eyes could fire bullets that could very well kill the class’ savior. The person arming the bomb stopped work for a while and requested for backup. None of the terms ‘Dead’, ‘Eliminate’ or ‘Neutralize’ boded well for me. I took out the Shrike throwing knife my father gave me and sliced open the neck of one of the ruffians. My necklace was ruined. My Science teacher gasped in horror, some of my classmates cheered and told me to go for it, while the rest fainted or left their mouths wide open in terror and disbelief. I hoped my father was like that too, because if he was not, he would be real mad at me if he ever heard about what I did.

The next hour was a blur. The mystery savior threw knife after knife, taking terrorists out from far ranges. As he threw out wave after wave of chrome blades with extreme precision, I went berserk. My skill was not as high as his, but my mind was set on protecting my friends. With that one knife, I sliced through enemies, eighteen times my number, which was of a ratio 1:18. I might have laughed once or twice, a laugh of pure maniac that may have scared my friends and opponents, even me, if I had heard it. I protected my friends well.

The remaining five were well coordinated and possibly the best. I got two bullets into my shoulder, and believe me. That pain is one of a kind.

Imagine yourself getting hit by a cross-pein hammer, hard on the sharp side, twenty times. Then multiply that pain by twelve. That is the approximate level of pain felt when two bullets not longer than your index finger gets through into your shoulder.

I gritted my teeth and ignored the look of concern given to my by the savior. I jumped onto the railing, leapt and ran up the walls of the corridor, eventually landing behind the barrier the elite mobsters made. As soon as they turned back to face me, what was left were five headless opponents without the ability to ask where their head went.

Good blade, I thought.

The savior raised an eyebrow at me and went into my classroom, disarming the bomb planted. My class was safe.

I felt giddy with adrenaline and human fatigue. I felt giddy with the success of protecting my friends and people special to me. However, what scared me most was that I felt giddy with pleasure of shedding blood. The blood of others. Anyways, I began to cool down and feel relief with the emergency taken care off, with none of my friends harmed.

As I proceeded back into class, my classmates and teacher had gotten back to their feet, staring at me with multiple implications.

The girl I was fond of, ÆlÆNOR, rushed at me and gave me hug of gratitude and a feeling deeper. I was frozen in trance, and I could have continued to be that way until a voice sounded.

‘Well son, I’m happy for you to have found someone you care for, and someone who cares for you. Butler Pierro is tidying up the house now, when I received your distress call. You certainly take after me, your prowess in combat and thirst for bloodshed’ the class’ savior said with a wink. ‘Afternoon to you son, I am your father. My name is ÆGLÆCA.’