Samuel Ash

Chapter 01

Dad Was a Hero!

CHAPTER 01

"Don't forget your lunchbox, sweetie!" Mom's voice echoed from the shower as I scrambled around my room. School loomed ahead, a dark cloud on my otherwise sunny morning. The reason? The relentless taunts from my classmates about the "giant monster" that supposedly devoured my dad. It was a lie, a cruel invention fueled by whispers and half-truths. The only truth I knew was that Dad was gone, a hero according to Mom, but a gaping absence in my life nonetheless.

"Sam?" Mom's concerned voice pulled me back from the family photo clutched in my hand, the only tangible memory I had of him. "Honey, you need to get going. You're going to be late."

"But Mom, they'll just make fun of me again," I mumbled, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.

Mom's voice faltered. "Are you not proud of him, Sam? He died a hero, saving countless lives."

The question hung heavy, filled with the weight of expectation and her unspoken pain. A lump formed in my throat, choking back the words I didn't dare utter. I saw the glistening tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill. Shame twisted in my gut.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," I blurted, my voice thick with remorse. The words felt hollow, failing to bridge the chasm that had opened between us.

My mom's voice hitched slightly. "Oh, sweetheart, I didn't mean that. I guess I'm just... emotional about your dad." She reached out and brushed a stray tear from her cheek, a tremor in her hand.

I didn't know what to say. Pity twisted in my gut, but it was laced with a growing frustration. Why did she always try to shield me, pretend everything was okay?

"Mom," I mumbled, "It's not fair. They shouldn't say those things about Dad."

She gave me a sad smile. "They don't understand, hon. But you do. You know your dad was a good man, a hero."

I nodded, clinging to her belief, even though doubt sometimes gnawed at the edges. I wouldn't let her tears be in vain.

"I'll be good today, Mom," I promised, forcing a smile. "I'll make you proud."

The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air as I burst out of our gingerbread house. Its sturdy construction and cheerful red paint seemed out of place amidst the bustling streets of Avalora City. Yet, it was all we had after Grandpa's gift arrived with news of Dad's disappearance. Mom's stories painted a different picture of the city, but here, the air tasted gritty, and the towering buildings cast long, menacing shadows.

Mr. Schwartz, our ever-patient driver, offered a warm smile as I climbed into the car. "Gearing up for another exciting day?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

I shrugged, the weight of the upcoming encounter with Elias Blackthorn and his cronies heavy on my shoulders. "Not really," I mumbled, the words muffled by the fear churning in my stomach.

He arched an eyebrow, his gaze kind and knowing. "Trouble with those bullies again?"

My face flushed. "They never quit," I muttered, bitterness twisting my tongue. "Always reminding me of what I've lost." My voice dropped to a hushed whisper, "Please, Mr. Schwartz, promise you won't tell Mom."

As Mr. Schwartz pulled away from the house, the city unfolded before me, a chaotic tapestry of brick and steel. School loomed ahead, a concrete fortress filled with echoing hallways and mocking whispers. Mr. Schwartz, noticing my unease, cleared his throat.

"Remember, Sam," he said, his voice a calm anchor in the churning sea of anxiety, "you are stronger than they think. Don't let them define you."

His words offered a fleeting comfort, but the knot in my stomach remained stubbornly tied. Inside the school, my fears materialized. Elias, a swaggering shadow framed by cruel laughter, and his posse blocked my path.

"Look who it is," sneered Elias, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The orphan of Avalora, come to grace us with his presence."

His jeering cronies echoed his laughter, their taunts like needles pricking at my already strained emotions. But this time, something was different. Mr. Schwartz's words resonated within me, a flicker of defiance sparking in my chest.

"Leave me alone, Elias," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Elias's smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise. The other boys exchanged confused glances. The silence stretched, thick and charged.

"Oh, really?" Elias challenged, stepping closer. "Then enlighten us, orphan. Tell us where your precious hero of a father disappeared to."

His words were meant to wound, but instead, they ignited a fire within me. My grip tightened on my bag, the image of Mom's tear-streaked face flashing before me.

"My dad wasn't a coward," I declared, my voice ringing with newfound conviction. "He was brave, and he did what he had to do."

Elias's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint lurking within. Just as the tension threatened to explode, a bell clanged, shattering the moment. Students rushed past, urging us to move along.

With a final sneer, Elias and his posse melted into the crowd. I stood there, adrenaline pulsing through my veins. It wasn't a victory, not yet, but it was a start. Mr. Schwartz's words had sparked a change within me, a flicker of courage that refused to be extinguished.

The day continued, a blur of lessons and stolen glances. Yet, the encounter with Elias lingered, a seed planted in my mind. Was the truth about Dad more complex than Mom had portrayed? Did the whispers, the mocking words, hold a grain of truth?

My fingers drummed a nervous rhythm against the worn library table. Recess should have been buzzing with activity, but I was trapped inside, adrift in a sea of silence thicker than the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sunbeams. Miss Haney, the librarian, had just spoken words that sent shivers down my spine.

"You just looked like him," she'd murmured, her gaze lingering on me before she disappeared into the labyrinthine bookshelves. My mind raced, replaying the encounter. Who was "him"? Did she know my dad? My breath hitched – could she hold the key to the mystery that shrouded his disappearance?

The idea of approaching her cubicle made my stomach churn. But the desire to know, to finally pierce the veil of silence surrounding my father, was a fire burning bright within me. Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself up and navigated the hushed library, the creaking floorboards amplifying the hammering in my chest.

"Miss Haney, excuse me?" I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up, her familiar glasses perched on her nose, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yes, Sam?"

"What did you mean by 'you just looked like him'?" I blurted, emboldened by her gentle demeanor. "Did you know my dad?"

A flicker of surprise crossed her face, replaced by a warm smile that held a hint of something unspoken. "Perhaps, dear Sam. But sometimes, answers are best sought closer to home. Why don't you ask your mom about your father, Little Alex?"

Little Alex? My mind reeled. She'd never called me that before. Was it a slip of the tongue, or did it hold deeper meaning? Mom always told me Dad was a hero, that he disappeared doing something brave. But Miss Haney's smile, enigmatic and knowing, suggested more layers to the story.

"She said he disappeared, that he was a hero," I offered, hesitant.

She gave me a knowing look, her smile unwavering. "Sometimes, stories have different chapters, Little Alex. You just need to know where to look."

Her words hung heavy in the air as she turned back to her work. I felt adrift, lost in a sea of unspoken words. "Little Alex," the nickname echoed in my head, stirring a strange sense of familiarity. Where had I heard it before?

Then, a hazy memory flickered – a playground, hushed whispers, and a pointed finger. "That's little Alex," someone had said, the voice laced with pity and fear. The memory remained incomplete, but the nickname now felt like a missing piece, a thread leading to a forgotten past.

Driven by a newfound resolve, I left the library, Miss Haney's cryptic words echoing in my ears. I wouldn't simply wait for answers; I would seek them out. The first step? Talking to Mom. But as I walked home, a question gnawed at me – was she holding back the truth? And if so, why? And who was this "little Alex" I seemed to be becoming?