Thirty-Two

Zero

He woke up to an unfamiliar sting of pain shooting up to his arm, his eyes could see nothing through the thick darkness of the room, but he could feel the hard grip on his left arm that dragged him out of the bunk, causing his weak skinny body to fall down for a short moment before being yanked off the cold bare floor. He could feel the rush of blood under his right knee's skin, the fast pulse, the hot flow of blood, he still has the scar that was carved into his skin when they woke him up and threw him inside a new life he was still living, a life that was not certainly his own choice but after all, when has he ever had a say in his own life? He doesn't remember the last time he was allowed to choose.

He doesn't know how, but he remembers the night perfectly, the feeling of fear that tightened around his guts like a dangerous snake and crawled up inside his stomach, all the way up to his mouth and out of his body, and then started tightening around his neck, trying to choke him to death. The imaginary yet real snake which the horror of a ten-year-old child gave life to, won that night. The child suffocated to death as he was pushed out of the door of the shithole he slept in and somehow, the corpse still walks and is alive, but not living.

The hand wrapped around his arm was surely planning to leave a mark there, the grip was so tight and strong that his left shoulder was being pulled up, half of his body walking on air while he was still trying to figure out what was going on. Everyone else was still asleep and he was the only kid awake, not that it was his choice. His small body kept shaking under the pressure of pure terror, he bit his lip as hard as he could, trying to maintain his tears from falling, the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth when he licked his quivering lower lip. His mouth was dry as if he had spent days lost in a desert "Move faster, kid." He heard the man say, whose voice could be hardly heard due to all the smoking he did all the time.

The little boy didn't know the man, had never seen him before. Nathan knew the little boy, he could see himself in his small shaking figure and his horrified face. He could remember the same thing happening to him, even though he was much younger than ten when he was sentenced to this life. He was the twelfth one that year, the twelfth kid that was snatched out of his parent's hands back twenty seven years before he met the small boy he was still dragging into another life. Nathan knew that the boy has a name, just like he used to have once, but now, Twelve is all he is.

Nathan knew that the boy had been living in hell for the past ten years of his life, but he also knew that all those things he had gone through were nothing compared to what life had in store for him. Twelve was drowning inside a wild ocean even though people saw him walking on the dry ground, looking tough, strong and dangerous. Inside, he was the little Nathan his mother never had the chance to watch growing up. Inside, he was broken and wrapped in band aids, the idea was stupid though, how could anyone fix a bleeding mind with band aids?

"Don't be scared, boy." The twenty-seven-year-old Nathan said, loosening his grip around the boy's skinny arm, it felt like he was holding a single bone in his hand. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how stupid they were. How could he not be scared? The idea of the night still manages to draw knives inside his brain. "What's your name?" Nathan asked the little boy, he already knew his 'name' but he was trying to make conversation, trying his best to make the night less dreadful than it already was "M-my n-n-name?" The small boy stuttered, was he allowed to speak his name out loud? "What do they call you?" Twelve asked, not wanting the boy to get the wrong idea and break the rules.

"T... Thirty-Two." His voice was weak, broken, devastated by the pressure life was putting on him. His backbones were shattered to a million pieces and made a way to his heart, wounding the already wounded organ and causing him more pain, more sorrow, making more reasons for him to give up.

Nathan nodded his head "Twelve." He said, giving Thirty-Two's body another push, which drew him forward, another step towards a new life. Not all fresh starts lead to a good ending, at least this one certainly didn't. "Where are you taking me?" He finally managed to ask without stuttering, daring to look back at the ginger haired man who looked forward with dark brown eyes, so dark that the iris melted into the pupil, leaving no boundaries between.

Twelve didn't answer him. Thirty-Two didn't expect an answer, he had learnt not to expect any answers nor explanations around that place. No one ever bothered to offer one, and to be honest, half of them didn't know the answers to the questions they were asked; Nathan did though. He just didn't know how to put it into words for the scrawny boy.

Nathan's grip loosened around Thirty-Two's small arm. Not just only because they were close to their destination but also because he just remembered how many tight grips has this boy felt in his young life and how many more he is going to feel from now on, probably way more hurtful than a hard grip on his arm. Nathan, Twelve, the ginger man who threw Thirty-Two in the middle of an ocean of sharks that had smelled blood and now looked at the thin boy as a meal; call him whatever you want to, but never forget his face.

Because Thirty-Two didn't. He hasn't. He still remembers him in details, even though it was dark that night but just as your last memory of this world is going to be the face of the angel of death, his last memory was Nathan's face right before he entered hell upon the Earth.

Nathan pushed the door open. Thirty-Two saw the angel of death opening the gates of hell.

Nathan gently pushed Thirty-Two in, gentle because he knew the fire was going to burn him for a lifetime. Thirty-Two felt the angel of death pushing him inside the flames.

Nathan held his head down as soon as his eyes made contact with his boss', not because he was afraid of looking into his eyes, but because he was afraid that the man would see the pity Twelve felt for Thirty-Two, the guilt that was ruling his head. Thirty-Two saw the Satan itself, sitting between the flames of the hell.

Thirty-Two died that day. As soon as he stared into the Satan's haunting ice-blue eyes, he knew it. He knew that something was waiting for him, something horrible. He didn't know what. The fear killed him inside but his body was possessed by the blue-eyed man. He is still alive like that.

The blue-eyed man smiled a big smile. The kind of smile with the flash of white teeth. The kind that villains have in animations, those ones with a bright star next to it right before they are about to fool the good kid. Thirty-Two almost heard the evil laugh that went off behind that face.

"Twelve." The blue-eyed man said, a small smile was still dancing on the edge of his lips. "Thank you for your loyalty through the past years." Twelve knew what was going to happen, he nodded his head, not trusting his voice to speak words aloud. He tried to remember his last words and he remembered that it was the number, the cursed number he was doomed to live with. And now, to die with.

"Nathan," He whispered under his breath, one time, at least one time the universe could hear it spoken out loud in the past twenty-something years. The blue eyed man laughed, but Nathan didn't regret his choice of last words "I am Nathan." He said, loud, as loud as lightning hitting the trees and setting them on fire.

The blue-eyed man raised his gun, Thirty-Two watched, his small body shook violently as he took Nathan's hand by his own choice, he looked down at the thin boy and smiled, a kind one, his words were silent as Thirty-Two read his lips "I'm so sorry."

Thirty-Two heard the gunshot, Nathan's blood stained the boy's face, the remains of his blown brain pieces could be seen against the half closed door as his body fell to the floor.

Twelve was out.

Thirty-Two was in.