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I am Wild Boy – Part 1


Forest

Forest (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn DeLight (back again))

I am Wild Boy – Part 1

My mother’s face was a blurry smudge within my memory; luckily I don’t remember her; Dad spoke in his sleep and what he did to that poor woman… He didn’t leave her with much of one when we fled from her murder scene. I do remember the car trip though; I sat in the back seat swaying side to side while he drank bourbon driving away into a permanent foggy madness. I sat clutching a half eaten cookie in my toddler Parker jacket next to a duffel bag of Pistols, Rifles and enough ammo to put shame on any small war faction.

We were on the run from our old life to build a new-one off the grid, way to the backend of vast frozen nothingness which was our destination and where we were to begin our survival training. He told me he built this cabin for me and mom to come to when the world had gotten too much for us. It was tacky and crooked but it kept the rain and snow at bay and held warmth when the cold-rolled in. Dad evolved into a bedraggled ragamuffin, me, I transformed into a wild boy. Our own filth and stench was covered by rotten animal carcasses.

There was only so much I could do as a child but he took me hand in hand on hunts, sometimes he even allowed me to deliver the killer-blow to our prey. As the years shredded the photo memories of me and my dad, I grew into a routine machine; he called me his ‘special weapon’. Up before dawn crept upon the valley of forestry shadows, the aim was to kill, train, hydrate, train, eat and rest. I know nothing else.

We agreed to put off the childish treatment, so when hand to hand combat was the training for our afternoon, he laid into face until I bled and swelled. But he was getting on in life so when my muscle formed harder, I made sure I put him on his ass. Knife throwing, dismantling and assembling Guns and Rifles, martial arts, body and mind endurance, hunting, tracking; I became a black-belt in it all. In all honesty, I forgot about the world which scurried along beyond our tree line, when I hit my mid-teens I did think and wonder if there was anything else within my world as I sat on the edge of a mountainside or stood at the top of the trees gazing at the sunset.

One winter my father fell down with a bout with what he called pneumonia, he stopped his training, sleeping and eating; his breathing became erratic and body shifted to weakness. He couldn’t do much, so I trained by myself, hunted by myself, ate by myself, he died and then I started talking to myself.

I left his body within his room, I never stepped foot beyond the nail jagged door frame. I was now the King of this vast plant and animal life; the routine was I had and knew, so I pushed on further into the year of kill or be killed by the unknown.

Several Years Later

If I knew what depression was I would find it happily. Before ever daybreak I would sit in a couch position at the edge of my father’s bedroom door, perhaps he will wake up today. I wait until the sun’s ritual breath edged over the window ledge before I would do my daily bidding until the eyes of the dark skies blinked at me. Fearless to the predators and elements, they must sense something dark within me. The morning was skin nipping from the cold but the idea of victorious kill kept my blood steamy. I head towards the feet of the humongous wet-white hill, the deer huddle and graze within this area. A family a nestled nicely next to small stream which lines through my land. I would never think of harming something scrawny or motherly, I have my sights set on the papa-deer. I clutch my hunter’s blade in my hand; my eyes do not stray, before I move a muscle I think of the kill in every way, good or bad. Small rocks which collect at my feet, I pick one up and I subtly throw it away from the deer, so their attention would be towards the possible predator.

At the last few seconds before I sliced into my prey, a thunderous roar echoes throughout my valley. There are no storm clouds wandering above the trees. The deer scamper far into the tree line. A gargantuan wheeled hog type creature hurtles into my view at the other side of the trickling stream. Is this a new animal I have never seen?

Four men heavily armed with shotguns exit the hog. They are each dressed like greenery, perhaps to blend in. I scurry on my belly closer to get a better look. Dad always said people may be after him, could this be them? Could they be here for me? Are have they come to disrupt my kingdom and steal my food? One thing is certain, if they have, no four shotguns will stop be defending what I know.

I will recon for now and make a decision when the time is right. Keep your knife to your side Nick, it’s all you have.

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Part 2 of ‘I am Wild Boy’ Coming soon to www.youngadultfictionblog.com

Young Adult Fiction Blog.com

Keep your pens busy,

Regards Alex.

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Guest Blog from James Buysen


Hey psycho people! Here we have another awesome writer in the making, I would like to introduce to you James Buysen. All of us here at young adult fiction welcomes you to the halls of insane, James!! READ MORE OF JAMES WORK HERE   thepaperbackadventure.com

***

“I turn 21 tomorrow, the day I can officially consider myself an adult. My awkward teen years are behind me, I’m going to make something of myself… oh, who am I kidding? Look at me. I’m pathetic. I’ve got no friends, my parents are ashamed of me, I’m flunking all my classes at Uni. In ten years time I’m still going to be living the same dead end life I am now.”

Story of my life really; Scott Grafter the outcast and failure, no friends and nothing to live for. What I wouldn’t give… just to do something with my life.

***

As Scott slept that night he was unaware of the cost that wish could bring him, some deals just aren’t worth the price. But the haze of youth can cloud the judgment of the desperate. Whilst Scott slept he was unaware of the choice he was about to be given.

“Mr. Grafter?” only a few seconds ago he had laid his head down onto his pillow. “Over here Mr. Grafter.” He could feel the rough surface of an asphalt road beneath his feet. His spun around to see where the voice had come from; he stood at the centre of the crossroad outside his house. Opposite him stood the silhouette of a man hidden in the shade cast by a street light on an old oak tree. “Do you know where we are Mr. Grafter?”

Scott looked around; he was clearly no longer in the bed in which he had fallen asleep. He was not even in his room for that matter. “We are on the street outside my house.”

“That is correct Mr. Grafter.” Scott eyed the silhouette warily. “It’s your birthday tomorrow isn’t it?” The man looked down at his wrist, “twenty three minutes to be exact…”

Scott didn’t speak; this was possibly the strangest dream he had ever had. “Sorry, how rude of me, I completely forgot to introduce myself. My name is Alistair.”He stepped from the shadows to reveal himself, an average height man dressed in a cheap dinner suit. Cleanly shaven and short cut hair; he had the air of a door to door salesman who sold useless ‘necessities’.

“This is a dream isn’t it?” Scott pinched himself with no effect.

“On the contrary, this is very real Mr. Grafter. I mean, this is all in your head but you can be assured this is far from a dream.” Alistair offered a hand to Scott.

Scott looked at him for a moment and then at his hand, he did not move. “Very smart Mr. Grafter, you do not know me, how could you trust me. Perhaps we need to find some common ground?” still Scott remained quiet. “Do you love your parents Mt. Grafter?”

Suddenly he had taken Scott’s interest, where was he leading with this? For a moment he thought the man’s eyes had flashed a bright pearlescent white, almost demonic.

“Of course you do what a stupid question. What if I told you, you could save them?”

“What is that meant to mean?” Scott had started to fidget now.

“Earlier tonight your mother forgot to turn off the oven… it’s still on right now; a very easy mistake to make.” Scott eyed the house, he made to move but found his body frozen stiff. “Hold on Mr. Grafter, your forgetting something. We are still in your head.”

“Let me go.”

“I can’t do that.” His tone changed, he had suddenly become very stern. “Even as we speak it is too late, too late for you, too late for them. I can give you a choice though.”

Scott tried with all his might to move, to get free of the grip on him. “Why should I believe you?”

“You smell that?” It was the smell of smoke, Scott could smell it strongly but he still didn’t trust it. “You can wake up now and deal with the consequences of your choice…” The windows in his house as it stood there behind Alistair lit up in a blaze of fire. “Or you can make another choice. You can save them, and in return you will work for me. Your life will have a purpose.”

Was that it? What did he have to lose?

***

If only it had been so simple, he had shook Alistair’s hand that night and his life had changed forever. He had awoken in a burning house and dragged his parent’s unconscious bodies from the flames. He was made a hero. His face was all over the TV for weeks. Never had he felt so loved by his parents and the people around him.

At the end of the second week though, Alistair came to him again. It was time for him to hold up his end of the bargain. He would become a Grimm; a soldier of the Covenant. For eternity his soul would be held until his dept was deemed repaid.

For months he wore the price of his parents lives; until he learned not all had gone so well for them. Whilst he hunted souls that had run from their deals; his parents had died in a fiery car crash. He had sacrificed his soul for them, only to have them taken from him months later. And then he learned the worst part… a soul saved through the selfishness of another would be condemned to an eternity in the pits of hell.

He had not asked any questions; he had been promised a purpose in life, a chance to be more then what he saw in himself. Without thinking about the cost he had taken the reward, and it was only temporary. It was snatched from his grasp like it had never been his at all.

***

“You realize that if you do this, you will be hunted as a traitor and a rogue? It is forbidden for a Grimm to peak through the veil.” Scott had managed to track down a highly reputable Psychic who was reported to have a direct line to the souls of the damned.

“They are there because I put them there. If there is even a chance I can save them from the fate I have committed them to, then I owe it to them to do just that.” She closed her eyes and took a hold of his hands as they sat across the table from each other.

NOW PRESS THAT LIKE BUTTON AND VISIT MORE INCREDIBLE WORK HERE   thepaperbackadventure.com

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