Minion the Folipup
The Darkmatter Montre
Age: 7 years, 6 months, 2 weeks
Born: February 6th, 2011
Adopted: 7 years, 6 months, 2 weeks ago
Adopted: February 6th, 2011
- Level: 6
- Strength: 16
- Defense: 20
- Speed: 10
- Health: 13
- HP: 13/13
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 2
- Job: Unemployed
1) Four year old Amadi Dumisani doesn't know why he was suddenly sent to live with his aunt and her daughters. He's not sure why his father is suddenly referring to him as "her" and "she", and he's uncertain about what he thinks of his father's talks about a 'future husband'. He does, however, know that he's a very pretty boy. And he's okay with that.
2) He doesn't remember what his mother looked like. He can remember her voice when she sung lullabies, he can remember her warmth when she'd hold him close, he can even remember what her lips felt like on his forehead. Her image, however, has joined so many other less-important memories lost to forgotten dreams.
3) Amadi may be being raised as a girl, but during times of war that's no excuse for him to not know how to fight. And with his family business if there's not a war than they're doing something wrong. He can already shoot better than his older brother, and soon he'll be able to beat him at hand to hand. Then, maybe, his father will let Ama live in the main house and Cashile can live with the women until he's married off to a man he doesn't know.
4) The first person to show him a picture of his mother was not his father but Abraham's second-in-command and Amadi's oldest brother, Isoba. The young man surprised the six year old by taking him by the hand one day and leading him to the men's quarters and into Isoba's personal room. The child had waited dutifully right inside the door as the man rummaged through his drawers, thinking up excuses for whatever mischief he may have caused and forgotten about. Finally Isoba found what he was looking for, a small wooden picture frame inside his middle drawer underneath his jeans and socks and whatever other clothes were shoved hastily in there. The picture inside was, for the most part, carefully preserved, though the faded colors made it clear it had been taken a few years before. In it, Isoba was standing next to some woman with his arm around her waist, both smiling brightly at the camera. The woman was nearly as tall as Isoba, but clearly a good few years older, her physique and scars testifying to one who was more concerned about her weapons than her makeup. Amadi thought it might have been one of their aunts who had passed away until Isoba explained that it was their mother. Another memory sparked in his mind, his father spitting the word "demon" at a woman who held a young Amadi in her arms. He stared at the picture for what felt like ages before coming to a decision and hurling it across the room so the glass could shatter against the opposite wall.
5) The war has started. Technically the war had started years ago, but Amadi had accepted this like he accepted that there was a place called Yugoslavia. It existed, it certainly was probably very important to the people in it, but it was far away and thus his concern for it was a little less than his concern for the beetles he crushed underneath his boots. But now, staring at the flames consuming the Dumisani households, his right hand being crushed by Isoba's strong grip and his left hand clenching at Cashile's fingers while Abraham and the rest of the family stood behind them, Amadi thinks he might prefer Yugoslavia.
6) The previously neutral Dumisani family now put all their weight and money behind the rebellion, turning the roaming, fractured and ill-trained gangs into a single disciplined army with Abraham at their head. And Amadi was sure he'd be at his father's side. Well, maybe not his right side, since Isoba would be there, and now that he thought about it Cashile would be on the man's left. His feet, then. Amadi would definitely be at his feet.
7) "Where is the base?" One teenager shouts, his breath smells like rancid goat milk. Amadi is sure that if they hadn't tied a blindfold over his face he'd be able to see every tooth the youth was missing.
Amadi shakes his head, struggling again against the ropes that bind his wrists and ankles against the table.
"Where is the base?" The teen yells again.
"You think I know? You think he tells me?" Amadi shouts back, fear strengthening his voice even as he wants to curl into a ball and cry until his brother wakes him up and he finds this was all a nightmare.
"Where is the base?" He slaps Amadi across the face.
Amadi glowers. He's 10 years old and his father was wary to trust him with this information, sending him and Cashile to live in one of the more secluded outposts. But ultimately he had trusted his child with the location and Amadi wasn't going to let him down.
"Where is the base?" The teen is determined, Amadi flinches as he hears the sound of scissors snipping the air right by his ear.
The child remembers something Cashile and the other younger soldiers would say when they felt like being fresh, "it's up your asshole, asshole."
The scissor blades force their way into his abdomen, not too deep but just piercing through the hypodermic layer. Amadi remembers before the house burned down, when he and Cashile would use bendy scissors to cut silly patterns out of sheets of paper for no reason other than they felt like it. Their father would bring them lemonade, and pretend to be mildly impressed with their creations that they eagerly shoved in Abraham's face. Amadi can't quite lose himself in the memory, though, his screams are too loud.
8) They don't want to hurt his pretty face. They'll cut his pretty body, they'll lash at his pretty arms and bruise his pretty thighs, but they don't want to hurt his pretty face. This should make him cry, and if he wasn't so angry than maybe he would. The joke has become a sort of mantra whenever they question him now, and every time one of them says it Amadi hates his pretty face a little bit more. He's not sure why they haven't killed him yet, he's already broken and told them the location, though when a search party went all they found was abandoned huts and what looked like the remains of a few campfires. Maybe they're just waiting for the infections to kill him. Maybe they're giving his father a few more days to respond to the message they broadcast on the radio. Pointless, really, Abraham would never compromise. Even though he knows he's going to die, Amadi wants to do something about his pretty face.
He gets his chance when one tries to drag him to the corner where he can relieve himself in a bucket. He waits patiently for the teen to untie his ankles and then his wrists before yanking off the blindfold and groping wildly around his captor's waist. The teen is too surprised at the outburst to react quick enough before Amadi finds the knife he was hoping would be sheathed there. He brandishes it at the teen, who's just recovering from his surprise. Amadi knows that he has no hope of overtaking his enemy, already he can feel his wounds protest at the movement, but before he can allow his knees to collapse he digs the knife into his cheek and slashes it from cheek to cheek. He knows he's delirious when the gash feels like laughter and smells like dreaming before he falls to the ground.
9) He was dead. Finally. He knew he must be dead because in the real world Isoba is doing much more important things than untying him from the table and because in the real world Isoba never, never, cries. He still hurts, which he didn't think was supposed to happen once you were dead and separated from that pesky nervous system and all that, but it makes sense now because no matter what God or gods are real he knows he's been sent to hell. He doesn't remember dying, but he can remember hearing gunshots earlier, and while he thought they had come from outside he's willing to accept that instead the bullets had been aimed at him and he was just too far gone at that point to realize it. Isoba picks him up bridal-style all too gently for an angel of hell and Amadi is in the middle of slurring admonishment before he passes out.
10) "She's going to take you both back to the states, Amadi." Isoba speaks calmly, firmly holding his snarling brother's hands well away from his face.
"She can go back to hell." The small boy writhed wildly despite his wounds, forcing Isoba to release his hold on his hands in favor of holding Amadi still lest the child make his wounds worse.
"You and Cashile will go with her. End of discussion." Isoba uses his leader voice, the one that says that no more arguments will be heard and any attempts at making them will be punished. "Once you are both declared to be in good health you will come back."
12) She'll come in any moment, and Amadi can't wait. He can't wait to yell at her, can't wait to demand an explanation, can't wait to laugh at her attempts to repair what he has no intention of fixing and spitting in her face.
The door opens, and a woman with scars along her face and a slight limp in her walk enters the room. The words are choking up his throat when she throws her arms around him and begins to cry. Finally, face buried into her shoulder, Amadi manages a word through his tears, "umama." Mom.
1) Amadi isn't surprised when, once his wounds have healed and the infections killed off, his mother confesses that neither she nor Isoba ever intended to let him or Cashile return. What does surprise him is that Cashile somehow never figured out. He protests, of course, because it's a matter of pride. But he thinks that secretly he might just enjoy sleeping in a real bed again.
2) “How did you get that scar?”
“I took a knife and cut my face.”
“Oh, so you're emo, then?”
It takes Amadi a moment to remember what 'emo' meant, and then a few more to understand that this boy was serious. He pushes past him, ignoring the teacher's shouting as he heads off the school grounds and towards home.
3) Amadi knows he'll never be beautiful. Even if not for the scars that start on his face and trail down over his body, there's a hardness to his eyes and a cruelness to his movements that he can never get rid of. His hands are too big and his body is too thin and he walks like a predator three times his size. Still, there's no reason that, in the dead of night when everyone else is asleep, he can't pretend.
4) Amadi is fine, he's absolutely fine. He doesn't have flashbacks when his history teacher plays footage from World War II, he doesn't start screaming when the other boys think it's funny to sneak up on him with their iPods and play the sound of gunfire right in his ear, and he knows better than to ever cry when he thinks of the brother left to fight the war alone. So when the teacher announces they're doing arts and crafts and starts handing out scissors, Amadi pays no mind to the dread trickling down his back because no eleven year old is afraid of something as stupid as scissors.
His mother is at the school twenty minutes later, coaxing the confused and frightened boy out from the supply closet while trying to pry the scissors from his hand.
5) “So what, you're an American now?” Cashile isn't yelling, which is rare for when the boy gets angry. Instead he's trying to imitate the way Isoba scoffs in disgust when their eldest brother is disappointed, trying to say that Amadi isn't even worth being annoyed at. He's failing, though, because his voice is cracking and Amadi can see the anger and hurt in his eyes.
“Well I'm sure as hell not a soldier anymore. And neither are you.” Amadi knows he should be sympathetic, he knows that even though it's been a year Cashile is still having difficulty adapting to the new environment. But it's been a year and Cashile still acts like if he shouts loud enough his mother will decide she made a grievous mistake and send him back to the war zone and Amadi can't abide that kind of stupidity. Still, he supposes he should have expected the fist that catches his stomach and leaves him curled in a ball on the floor, staring at the Vogue magazine that instigated everything.
7)Sticks and stones may break his bones, but these children throw words to hurt him. He shrugs off 'ugly', he laughs at 'loser', and he proves 'savage' with his fists against their faces. As he grows up, the insults grow with him. Not just ugly, now, but 'stuck-up'. Not just a loser now, but 'weakling' as well. Savage no longer gets the rise out of him that it used to, and after some consideration the fourteen year old has to agree with the label of 'slut'. But when some seniors think that 'slut' means he'll spread for anyone, the 'weakling' thinks that by the time the ambulance sirens fade, 'psycho' might be added to the list.
8) His name is Nuada, and he's beautiful. His hair is not spoiled by pigmentation, his fur is a blank canvas that will never be marred with the imperfection of an artist's touch. He carries with him the burden of a hundred first world problems and an expression of absolute disinterest in every one of them. Amadi recognizes him from the fashion magazine he hides under the stack of porn rags kept under his bed. The model is the new boy in class and he won't have to worry about making friends, just like he's never had to worry about his next meal, just like he's never had to worry about where he'll sleep at night, just like he's never had to worry about surviving long enough to worry about finding a place to sleep. His name is Nuada, and Amadi wants to bite and claw until he paints the blank canvas red.
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