He was, or at least, used to be, my friend.
That was what I had always strongly believed, until that very afternoon, when I saw and heard him chanting, "Coward! Coward!" at me, together with my taunters. "Coward!" they laughed; "Coward!" they jeered.
That Ashton I saw, standing amidst the smirks and sneers, seemed hardly the same person who stood up for me, who was always there for me, and who sat beside me during lunch and break. He was my only friend; and now he was gone.
"Keanu, you gotta stop being such a sissy wimp, or else I'm outta here." Those were the words that hurt me more than anyone else in my entire life.
Young and naive as I was, at the tender age of nine, I knew the heartbreaking pain of rejection and loneliness. It was a mental torture for me to go to school day after day, only to face verbal and physical abuse from my abusers, who were several years my seniors and at least double my puny frame.
Ashton was my only motivation; and now he was gone. I would show them, show them that I was not a coward, or a sissy wimp. It would take all my courage, but...
"Fine. I'll do it."
Witnessed by many onlookers, I slipped my skinny body between the barbed-wire fence and the parapet, only a few centimetres away from my doom. Knowing all too well that it was too late for regrets, I inched carefully toward the narrowest side of the aisle.
My heart was pounding away and I was virtually drenched in my own sweat, yet, still, I placed one foot after another, dragging myself toward the destination. Just think of how wonderful life will seem with no more torture and bullies, my heart sang, but deep down, I knew it could only get worse.
For a nine-year-old with a small frame, standing below the average height of his peers, climbing onto the ledge from a dizzying height of four storeys was the stuff of nightmares. I paused, overwhelmed by the temptation to stop dead in my tracks. Still, I heaved myself forward.
I glanced back. No cheers. No hurrahs. No "Go! You can do it!".
My sweaty palms never left the dusty surface of the parapet once. I swung my wiry frame onto the ledge and stood up, slowly, trying to balance myself.
In no time, I was once again overcome by my fear. Groggy and nauseous, I fumbled wildly, trying to regain my composure. Help, I tried to croak through parched lips. Before I could bring myself to the landing again, I was hurtling through the air towards a mish-mash of tree tops.
That was the day I broke an arm and a leg.
*****
"Now move your freaking arse and get up here! Do you hear me, Kirton?"
"Yes, S-Sir." After so many years, my bad stammer still had not completely eroded yet, and neither had my aloof personality, nor my unwillingness to trust anyone else again. I knew the other guys in the camp labelled me as a 'geek' and said that I was 'snobbish' and a 'snotty-nosed arrogant weirdo', but I never heard the insults anymore.
I had mastered the skill of ignoring my abusers. After all, my sole purpose at this TeenFight Mission Camp was to learn some survival skills and find out more about the very one thing that had fascinated me for years - The Power of the Human Mind.
And here was one person who could tell me everything I had wanted to know. He was the only one who could satisfy my thirst and desire for more knowledge.
After going through gruelling hours of selection procedures, I was finally shortlisted to join three others on a hundred and sixty days stay with the Sage, Sir Winslaught. There were many tales and rumours concerning this man - He was said to be one with complete control of his mind, so much so that his mind sometimes controlled him. He was a reclusive hermit who lived on the almost unheard of Galactica Islands in the Arctic Ocean.
The trip was like a dream come true in every way, except for one. Ashton was our team captain. Towering over me, he was six feet two inches, an impressive height for a sixteen, going on seventeen-year-old. And he had strictly refused to maintain any eye contact with me, ever since we boarded the plane for our eighteen hour direct flight.
Throughout the flight, I passed my time by staring wearily out of the window and eating very little during the meals. At our last light meal on board the private plane, Ashton turned and barked at me, "Kirton, for goodness' sake, get that food down your throat! You need the energy and I don't wanna lug your corpse back, you know!"
His curt words still stung like pelting stones. I shovelled the bland food into my mouth and held them there without chewing, hoping that the waves of nausea and reflex movements of my stomach would not bring them back up again. I clutched my abdomen tightly...
*****
Galactica Island was a cold, unwelcoming place with subzero temperatures all year round. As the bitter, icy winds whipped sleet into my face and the pale sun shone across the blazingly bright snow, a jumble of emotions pooled in my mind. I was nervous yet excited. I feared Sir Winslaught and yet anticipated. Each time I lay my sodden foot ahead of me, my heart raced to the rhythm: A few more steps...! A few more hours...!
*****
The strict, regimented routine as the understudies of Sir Winslaught was tough getting used to. He spoke with us personally for only about ten minutes a day, regarding our performance in the day. His well-learned disciples taught us how we could use psychological defence in mortal combat; there were many things to be committed to memory and the end of each day left all of us tired and worn out.
There were hidden rooms and secret passageways that were 'out-of-bounds' to us, and that was inclusive of Sir Winslaught's private study and bedroom. The adventurous spirit within me ached for more than mere memorizing each day - I knew it was a matter of time before I would sneak out, in search of sources that would fill my insatiable desire for more knowledge.
And it happened.
It happened that fateful night when I was lying awake on the cold hard bed, exploring the twists and turns and deep dungeons and labyrinths of the house with my fertile imagination... I had to try it out for myself...
Putting my jacket on and hooding my face carefully, I had barely tiptoed out of the room, when Ashton, who slept by the door, awoke and was grabbing my collar in an instant.
"Where do you think you are going?" Ashton demanded in a hoarse whisper. I could smell garlic and vodka in his breath.
"I'll go where I bloody well please, thank you!" I returned his steely stare and yanked his hairy fist off my collar.
"Don't talk to me like that, Keanu Kirton."
"I'll talk to you how I like, Sir," I shoved past him and headed for the door.
Once outside, the cold and crisp air of Galactica filled my lungs. With the chilly temperatures, it was painful for me to draw each breath. Undaunted, I jogged down the eerie corridors that were only dimly lit by fluorescent lightings arranged at irregular intervals.
I went down the winding staircase and headed straight for Sir Winslaught's private study, which was connected to his bedroom. The sound of padded socks on the ground was hardly audible. Good. It was easy finding the door that led to his study.
I tried the handle. It was locked.
Willpower. I grasped the handle and focused, as hard as I could, on an image of being able to unlock the door, in my mind's eye. The door creaked slightly, but otherwise, remained tightly shut.
Once more, I told myself. This time, I focused even harder, and feeling this sudden surge of strength, I opened the door relatively easily and quietly. Wonderful.
I trod slowly into Sir Winslaught's bedroom, where he was sound asleep. He was only a silhouette in the darkness. He's just a man, I told myself as I explored the bedroom and glimpsed something glittering on the wall.
It was a sword. Curious, I reached over and stroked the shimmering handle slowly. Perhaps, if I worked hard enough, someday it would be mine... I would love the sensation of wielding a sword in my hand...
"Don't touch my sword."
I whirled around to face Sir Winslaught. Clad only in his pyjamas, he still had a commanding presence. His eyes blazed with the willpower of one who could kill with a glance. I found myself shrinking away as he interrogated me with his questioning stare...
One thing, however, was evident: I was in for it.
"Never have I come across such an audacious attempt in my entire life!" Sir Winslaught bellowed, as I backed away slowly from both the sword and him.
"You little twit! Have I not given you warnings and repeated instructions not to enter my private rooms? Do not, I repeat, do NOT intrude into my study without my permission!" He was advancing towards me quickly and I was retreating from his bedroom, and finally the study.
Sir Winslaught gesticulated toward a table draped with a white tablecloth. "Take your shirt off, Kirton."
His voice was calm and lilting; it betrayed no emotion, yet I did as I was told in the shortest time possible. Leaning against the table with my bare back facing Sir Winslaught, I secretly wondered what punishment he was going to mete out.
He took a whip from one of the many shelves. I heard it crack through the air, before he brought it down on my back. The pain was... Excruciating. I felt my body go numb for a second, before hot, stinging, pain radiated from the wound to my shoulders and hip.
My knees buckled and I sank to the floor weakly. He pulled me up and had me lean against the table once more. Squeezing my eyes shut, I mentally prepared myself for the next flogging. The second blow came down harder than the first.
Bright red blood was spattered across the table cloth as he dragged the whip across my forearm and lower back. Blood, not Tears, I reminded myself as he dealt a third and fourth blow, numbing my entire body with the intense pain.
"Why not, Sir... W-Why not? Why c-cant we enter your room?" I gasped in an asphyxiated voice, as blood trickled off my shoulder blade onto the tablecloth.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip.
Sir Winslaught was caught by surprise. For an instant, I thought I was going to receive yet another round of flogging, but he dropped the whip and walked towards me. I was seized by terror and fear.
"This... is the true spirit I have been looking for... the courage to ask 'why'. And you have greater willpower than most people, for I have locked my door with the most secure of locks," Sir Winslaught nodded at me. "War is coming; and you possess great potential. Someday, Kirton, someday, that sword will belong to you."
He slid his palm over my wounded back and instructed me to get dressed, before leaving the room.
I turned. My wound had miraculously disappeared but he had carved his mark beneath my skin. A 'W' and an 'S' with a sword slashed through its centre sprung out at me from my upper right arm.
I told no one about it.
