Home
Wasn't it always the same with the household? A little perfect wife, the husband that was almost perishing to nothing, and a songbird of a son, so delicate with his cherub cheeks and sapphire hued irises lived in that small house on the hill with no neighbors. No, they had a little dying farm, the crops long wasted away. This was it, where they lived in the small country of Scandinavia. The land was dry, the sky was barren, and it was harsh just like the whiskey on Einar's breath. The nights were long when Einar came home and he began to hit the bottle. The male never did stop with the bottle, tipping it back as little Mihael ran along to play and giggled. But no, that noise was too much. An imagination was not allowed in the Keehl home. Tora was the wife of Einar, and the mother of Mihael. God, did she love her precious gift from God and how she always made him say his prayers at night. The woman knew her husband once was good, but the money dried up, so did he. Things were barren and cold within the walls, but she tried to remain lively, despite the career she turned to. Mihael was just an innocent face among the sinners.
"Little Mihael, come here to me." Her voice was like honey, sticky and sweet, blonde tresses that was done up in a braid. She had to work that night, and that night was going to be harsh. The customers didn't care that her son was there, just as long as he didn't get in the way. Her fingers played with the blonde's bangs and then she gave a small smile. "In the closet. Mother has to work now, and father will be home shortly. I love you." It was the same conversation she gave him every night. He could quote it, but the four year old had yet to speak. Never knowing when his voice should be heard. His father called him 'stupid' and 'retarded' but it was anything but that. Mihael Keehl processed many things and his memory was something to be messed with. He was highly intelligent, but that was yet to be seen by all. The male sighed out and went into the small space, holding a stuffed toy lion to his chest. Always when he was scared, he would pet the mane and wish he was strong and ferocious, much like the king of the jungle. All he wanted was to protect his mother. But alas, he was only the age of four and he couldn't do much.
The male would pay the woman and then have his way with her. Little Mihael all but didn't see the actions. Sometimes it was more than one man, sometimes he saw the worst. Still not a peep. In his future his respect for women would falter, but it was because he was a child of circumstances. The life that he led in his first four years revolved around three things. Abuse, sex, money. Nothing more and nothing less. He knew that his mother loved him, his father hated him, but he never knew where he belonged. His mother's arms were covered in bruises, his father smelled of the earth and booze. It was all he would come to know. The blonde held the lion close as another man finished with the one beautiful Tora, for now she was just a hag that was merely a prostitute. Her beauty faded long ago. Still Mihael would touch her face later and give her a smile. After all, Mihael was a good little boy. Yet, nothing changed despite how good he was. It was the same routine night after night. Hide in the closet, eat dinner, prayers, and then bed. The little boy just sat there, wide eyes taking in the scenes. His mother the whore, his father the drunk. What would become of him?
The hours passed and Tora cried. All the men were gone. Now Mihael stepped out, only to crawl onto her lap, his hands cupping her cheeks. He tilted his head and gave a silly grin, for sure that would have to cheer her up. The boy tried, even though he was young, he knew that the world was dark and corrupt. She gave a small smile, went to wash up, and then pulled Mihael along. This was his favorite part of the day. He got to help make the dough for dinner. His small hands kneaded the materials and his mother hummed songs. It was peaceful now, if only for a little. Preparing dinner was his favorite thing because it was time with her. How he adored the mother he once knew, but even she chipped away. "Your father will be home soon." She chimed as he frowned. That was when the bad came. The storm could never blow away. Alas, they still baked and boy did he smile at her. Mihael was a good boy, just trying to find a place in his parents' home. Behind those walls it was a hell of a home, broken and desperate, everything falling apart.
It was that fateful night that things would take a turn, horrid things that would never leave the little boy's mind. How his father slammed the front door, swaying side to side. He was too drunk, too angry, and how his fists swung when he saw his boy. Slammed across the jaw, Mihael fell to the floor. His little body broken and he spit blood on the floor. Tora rushed him away, hiding him in that closet. It was all he knew. Those white chipped painted doors. Einar screamed at Tora, his fingers wrapping into her long tresses. He pulled her along just to slam her face to the floor. Over and over, the blood splattered, her face recognizable no more. The blonde hid and his tears streamed down his cherub cheeks. Little Mihael watched the way his father defiled his mother's body. Raping the corpse, not caring. Still, little Mihael pet the lion's mane, wishing this all away. No, it would never end. How the torment it was. Mihael was all alone now, in this big bad world. A zip of his pants, a few stomps to stop in front of the closet, he pulled open the doors just to snort and mock his son. "What a coward you are, little shit." With a rough and calloused hand he lifted his boy by the back of his shirt.
The man carried his son and he hissed out a demand. "Keep quiet, we gotta get the fuck outta here." He was running from the wrong. He pushed his son into the car, not to put him in his car seat. He only cared for himself and that was the dangerous part of him. Speeding along, the cops began to follow, the flood of lights carrying in through the back window. He pulled over, blood on his shirt. An investigation was set, and charges were emitted. A little boy was still there not saying a word, holding his lion close. As the police sat him down, they wouldn't hear a peep. But those eyes had seen it all, his mother's demise, the wicked ways of men, and death. His father was pulled away in cuffs, going to be thrown into a cell, the keys to be lost. Never would little Mihael have to worry of him again. But the dilemma remained, where would the boy go? Instantly shuffled from the sheriff station to the morgue, to the service, and then to the orphanage he went. Never did he say a word. Never would he until the day came. He was all alone, sitting with his toy lion, his one and only friend. Nothing more.
It was all until one day they noted his intelligence. A man found him and carted him away. Wammy's it was called and it was in England. The boy had transferred once more. The walls were clean, the place was full of children. The boy looked up to the man, Quillsh Wammy, and finally he spoke. "Is this my home now?" The elder man nodded and Mihael took a few steps into his new room. Another bed was a mess, things already in place. The four year old looked up to the man again and tilted his head before he stepped into the room. He sat on the bed and glanced around. "Home." He uttered once again. This was now his home. It was scary, but it was new. Was it safe? He did not know. Mihael turned to look at Quillsh and the man smiled. "My dear boy…" He paused and leaned down. "You are now, Mello." He picked the name for the fact the boy never fought. He was a calm, tender child, but all of that was to change. Over the years he grew to be opposite of his name.
Mihael Keehl was dead… But Mello was now alive…