Set In Stone : Short Novellas

Novella n°2 : Origin Story

I was taken away, a long time ago, by some friends of my father's, they've taken me to a beautiful building in which I stayed for years. And they trained me, day after day, tried getting the best out of me. And they did it, they made me a murderer, sinking in all the blood I had spilled, choking under the number of corpses that kept haunting me. There were lots of us, children who were destined to become what people feared, but who couldn't support each other, because they weren't authorized to be friends, who could barely talk to each other, their personalities being neglected in favour of their training and talents. I am one of them, and they gave us a name. Mine was Icarus, the one that flew too close to the sun and ended up drowning. Ironic isn't it.

Years and years of training ended up making of me something great, something they think of as great, but as it is now, I've never felt so lonely, dreading the future, the present and the past, regretful about what I did and resentful about what I'll do. I'm tired of lying.

We were assigned missions, tasks, to solve problems that were beyond what diplomacy could arrange, but not worthy enough to start a war, and those tasks I've never failed.

I was, and still am, proud of the things I got to achieve. I always was considered weak, even as a child, I could not go out much because of my health, or Mother's. I never got to make many friends, or none at all because when she died, Father insisted on me being home-schooled. I used to be referred to as a fragile twig, way too tall for his age, sick-pale and with cold manners that got people to wonder if I could even like them. When events were attended at home, when people came over to dinner, I was required to remain as silent as possible, to be just an ornament that was not asked any questions in a way that got me wondering if my parents could ever be proud of their only son.

At some point, Mother died. It was a terrible event that occurred few weeks after I turned five, unfortunately, I'm afraid I cannot seem to remember it well. All I knew at the time was that Father was devastated, and he retired in his office, or his room for weeks before I saw him again, each time gloomier, weight loss gaining him over as if he weren't fed, eyebags as if he was fighting cancer.

The household, magnificent in my early years, always filled with servants running around and bright people fading in laughter remained wise, silent and closed. Servants referred to me as the runner of the house since my father kept ordering them to leave the poor man alone. The house kept mourning my late Mother for years, and the teacher insisted on accompanying me on a path Mother would be glad to see me walk. At this moment I thought I just needed to get Father "back on track" so we both could start anew; the house was way too grand anyways.

Unfortunately, he started sinking, drinking, heavily smoking, a bad habit which I inherited. He slowly faded into a coma of which, to this to this day, he never woke. Doctors kept looking for a reason they couldn't find and his instructions had been made clear. I had to be taken away, the day of my twelfth birthday, to someone he trusted, until he returned and we went off living a life we never had the chance to lead. Now here I am, at his bedside, desperately waiting for him to wake up as he sinks deeper and deeper.

They took me, as planned, but it wasn't the life I expected, I was taught how to shoot when it should've been algebra, how to steal instead of what could've been geography and how to poison as a substitute to English. By the end of it I was one of the best, I was praised and promoted, I could kill a man from a hundred foot, I could stab to death and strangle without trembling, they made a weapon out of the child I was.

However, some time ago, ages in my own perspective, I was paired with someone else. The name she was given was Até, goddess of ruin and mischief. Though her name wasn't positive, she was, and working with her seemed like running a coffee shop, we kept going on various missions, had to protect, steal, torture, kill. Ending lives was so easy when it was with her it frightened me. And she was so great, positive and utterly beautiful it started to mean everything.

We got closer, started talking about the things that went wrong, her guilt, the love she showed towards her wife, my loneliness, and it kept going, for months, maybe years. The affection I felt almost got me to forget the crumbling world around me, the loneliness I had felt day after day. She helped me cope with my father's coma, his vegetative state I couldn't bear watching as I invested every ounce of money and energy that I had in keeping him alive.

At one point, unfortunately, our superiors were alerted of the existence of this prohibited friendship, we still do not know whose fault it was, but we both think that we, as a duo, cared too much and slaughtered too little during what we now call the "Fifth Avenue Incident".

I recall looking at the asphalt, too scared to discover what had happened, I had decided to split us up to be more efficient since we had to flee, but when I was away, Até looked back and decided to fight. I only found her afterwards, covered in both the blood of the targets and her own, barely breathing, hardly living. I did everything I could to hide all the emotions I felt, aguish, panic, pain. I screamed for help and she was taken away. She was saved, because our employer could provide enough to cover the healing process but it remains entirely something I blame upon me. People were told what had happened, how I threw myself onto her and told her it was going to be okay, how I tried to keep her focused on me, how I was painfully containing tears that kept rolling down my cheeks.

I was required to an audience with my boss, he stated the facts and decided to bring sanctions against it. We were separated, paired to another duo, she stayed on her own, but that did not do anything, we would not listen. We kept maintaining contact, I went to the hospital, tried to help her as much as I could stay hidden, we met, at both our apartments, had dinners, and we kept healing. We kept being good to each other in a world that only wanted bad things from us.

Only, one day, not long after the incident, Eve, Até's wife, left. Até told me that it was because she could not bear constantly being lied to. She was right, of course, she had been kept in the dark for years, and their whole relationship was built on a mountain of fabrications that kept accumulating before finally making of Até a person that had a coherent name. It only happened because it was prohibited to reveal any information on our jobs. And even though we had fake lives made up for us to live a normal and decent life, Até could never have justified all the bruises and scars she had, the blood glued to her hair when she came home, the broken ribs, the torn fists that couldn't heal because they were so often used. So, at one point Eve asked her wife what to do, if she could start a family also based on lies, and Até couldn't answer, so she left, during a night, without warning.

Até was left alone, trapped in a torment that kept rotting her brain. I sometimes used to catch a glimpse of fear on her desperate face that kept blaming herself. And it pains me to say that as much as I tried to be with her, I could never replace her loved one. It lasted weeks without any news, and Até kept sinking, I tried everything I could, she stayed at my place for a bit because she could not even pass by her street without shattering into a million pieces that were so hard to put back together. And eventually they got a chance to talk, Eve contacted Até and they explained themselves, Até, despite all the pain she had felt, placed her last ace on the table: a gigantic white lie, that said so little and meant so much, justifying bit by bit everything that happened, and I was called to testify, me she referred to as her only friend from the outside world. And Eve forgave her, she moved back and Até was alive again. And even though everything started to feel as if it could get better, even at that time, I only could think about the bad thoughts. The things that could go wrong, the people I could lose, and the million and one reasons why I was not good enough.

Then, I remember walking towards my Boss' office, I remember the cardboard file he handed me and what was written on it. I remember the panic I entered after I knew what I was assigned to do. I remember bargaining with them as if I had the power to do something, I remember the threat about my weakened father, I remember the doubt, the thought of slicing my own throat, the empty bottles and full ashtrays.

And finally, I remember Até's wife in my crosshair.

I remember gently pulling the trigger, as if it were about to hurt less.

I remember Até's scream that scattered the stars

I remember closing my eyes and the tears out of them, my heart shattered and soul darkened.

I never miss, I never fail, and it's my burden.