Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabble 50 - The Angry Chess Piece 1

There had been a lot of death in his life. Some would call it short; an average person would be mourned for dying young and before the best of his time. He wasn't the first of his peers to die. Most died dramatically while defending their cities, families, and the world occasionally, in a valiant fight to the death against the latest villain to crawl out of the pipeline of anger, abuse or ego. 

Rajesh's death, in comparison, would go unnoticed by the people he saved. His family might mourn him once one of them figured it out. 

Silas would miss him, bless his sunshine heart. 

The rubble shifted, and the bar impaling him in his stomach moved. He screamed. No one would hear. He was buried too deep. As death went, this was up there with ways he did not want to go. 

Being afraid of death was stupid and beaten out of him early. His grandfather's greatest gift to him. Being the kid in an assassination cult where someone might decided to kill him on a whim did wonders for removing any concept of fear of dying. His mother might have cared when she had a heart, but then she also would have called him a fool for being too weak and not alert enough to avoid an attack. A few too many drops into hellwater left her too cold to care about him years ago. 

Possibly working with people who routinely died and reappeared a few months later also ruined the concept of permanent death. Lost didn't hit the same when watching someone explode and return from the grave. They changed, never unscathed, but they breathed and were alive.

His family were the human among giants. Myths, aliens and others, his family were the weird ones for being 'normal'. When he first moved to live with his father, he thought that his family might care if he died. 

He screwed that up. One too many murder attempts, one too many lies, one too many playing their weakness to suit his cause; it was never without reason, but the bonds that existed never had a chance to form before something happened to shatter the fragile things. Rajesh accepted that his brothers did not want him in their number. 

He saw it in his father's eyes when he watched them interact. His flaws played out in the brown eyes that gave him the same colour. Like all his family, he learned to read his father's eyes. Words were too difficult. He showed his love and care in touches and grunts, not words.

He wasn't as kind as Hari. Not as brave as Juan. Not as cunning as Sammi. Not as intelligent as Theo. Not as talented as Connie. Not as humble as Finn. 

He lived up to none of his older siblings. He wasn't worthy of the family name. Nor was he worthy of his mother's. He'd killed too many for one and was too weak for the other. He was his first name, and that alone. The one who tried to kill his brothers and betrayed his siblings at the drop of a dime. 

Breathing got harder. The oxygen was beginning to run out, or maybe the blood loss was starting to pull him away from this. Hari would say some kind words at his funeral. Juan might be kind enough to pour some drink on his grave. Sammi and Connie wouldn't give it the time of day. Theo had more reason than the rest to skip out, but Hari would force him to come to close the chapter of his life, which was having an assassin little brother. 

Silas would cry, big sobbing tears because he was a dramatic crybaby like that. 

His lips twitched, and despite the pain and the darkness, he faded without regret. 

-x-

"That feels suitably melodramatic for one of his kilk."

"Kilk?" The second figure eyed the first with dislike as they watched the emergency services dig out the body of one hero, codename: Nightknife. More than a hero, Rajesh had been the baby of the Shadows and the heir to a dark empire that he'd sworn off.