Chapter 1
It was only a skinned knee; nothing serious. So why did it hurt like hell? I mean . . . I know it was many years ago (I think I was six years old), but I can still recall the event with perfect clarity. Strange, really, how not only do certain events remain ingrained in your head, but the feelings during them as well. I was playing with some of the local ruffian kids in the streets of Jorrigu, the capital city of Nar Chunna. While chasing one of the kids through an alley, I stumbled over some garbage. Damn, the pain! I may be able to pride myself now with a high tolerance of pain, but back then . . . wow!
I stumbled back to my parents, crying the whole way through; not my proudest moment at all. My mother took me by the hand and we walked back home. That house-unit was an old, grey building on the outskirts of town which barely served its purpose. I'd tell you the names of my parents here and what they did, I suppose, but I honestly don't know. All I know is that my name is Rusl Hymark, and my parents . . . they did something that the hutts didn't like. I'll get their shortly, but not yet.
Where was I? Right, the skinned knee. Hurt like hell. Anyway, when my mother saw it, she did as all good mothers did (I assume, using her and Tyree as examples), and she helped clean it up. I tried not to cry in front of her. For some reason, I found it more difficult to let her see me weep as opposed to the guys I hung out with. Not that I wanted them to see me cry, but it bothered me more that my mother saw me in that state. Of course, she didn't care. If anything she encouraged me to be honest with her.
"You shouldn't feel ashamed that you have to cry." She told me, her hand caressing my knee with a damp cloth. My response was far less smooth. "I- I just didn- . . . didn't want y-y-you to think I was w- . . . weak."
My mother smiled. It was a sweet smile. I don't think there is a sweeter thing in all the galaxies that comes close to a mother's smile for her child. "You can never shame me, Rusl, so long as you have a good heart."
"A good heart? W-what's that?"
"It's something some people have but others . . . choose not to get. To have a good heart means that you choose to do the right thing, and not the wrong thing."
"But how will I know what's right and what's wrong?"
"Your dad and I will teach you."
This was the first time my mother told me about morals. If only I knew then what I knew now, I would have told her to teach me everything at that moment, and to leave nothing out. Of course, that's impossible, and I must live with the way things are. But if I could . . . if only I could.
Sorry, I shouldn't allow myself to drift. The problem is that despite the fact that I cherish these childhood memories, it always reminds me of the memories I abhor. I suppose then, that it's time to talk about that day.
It was a little over a year later. I was playing just outside the house when my mother called me inside. I thought it was time for supper, and that she'd greet me with that smile that I always loved. To my dismay, she wasn't smiling. In fact, she looked horrified, if anything. It was the first time I saw that look on her face, and I didn't understand what it meant, but it made me worry. I think she realized that I was beginning to do so, because she then attempted to hide her fear with that smile. She couldn't quite hold it together, but it comforted me then. I listened intently as she explained everything to me.
"Listen to me, my son," she never called me 'my son' before. "Your father and I need you to hide."
"Are we playing a game?" I was so stupid and naive then.
"No, dear. This is not a game. You must hide somewhere that nobody can find you, and you must not come out until we tell you to."
"But why?"
"I can't explain it, dear. Just . . ." I think it was here that I noticed the tears in her eyes. "You must do this. And no matter what happens, you must not come out before we say. No matter what you hear."
"But why?" My mind just wasn't processing anything. My father came into the room in a rush at that point. He said something into my mother's ear before quickly heading to a number of cupboards, grabbing seemingly random things and tossing them into the garbage compactor. My mother hurried me to a far corner of the room before she answered. She kneeled so that she was level with me, and spoke to my eyes. "Because, we want you to have a long and full life. We want you to live!"
There was a thud at our front door causing my mother to shudder. She mouthed the word 'go' and I obeyed. I went climbing from the kitchen counter to the ventilation shaft. I had learned quickly how to open the grate that covered it and shut it behind me quite early when I had a desire to be mischievous. It was a brief phase of my childhood that my father halted before it got out of hand, but I never forgot what I'd done. Instead of crawling all the way to the back of the shaft (before it drops down), I opted to stay close so I could watch what was going on.
I would regret doing this for the rest of my life.
The front door finally opened, and two aliens, a gamorrean and a twi'lek, forced their way into the living area. The twi'lek spoke huttese, which would have been fine, as I'd grown up learning it as well as basic, but he spoke really fast. All I caught were a couple words here and there; a mention of Yurgga the Hutt, the local law. I still don't know what they wanted, but it became obvious that they were upset at my parents. My father tried to be calm as he responded, and I understood him to say something along the lines of, "We don't have anything."
It didn't help. That twi'lek was fast, and angry. He got louder and louder. I remember thinking he was going to explode, but he didn't. Instead, he drew his blaster and held it at my mother. I was shocked, as was my father who tried to calm him down, but it wasn't any good. He shot her, and she collapsed on the ground. My father charged the twi'lek, but the gamorean cleaved him with his ax. He nearly cut him in half. It was a sight that a child should not have witnessed. I tried to close my eyes, but I couldn't. I really should have, because it wasn't quite over yet. My mother was still alive, and she struggled to move, but the gamorrean saw this as an opportunity. He grabbed my mother and took her into the bedroom.
I did not understand what I was witnessing. All I could do was watch in shock, trying to not watch. But all I could see was my mother in pain. All I could think of was how much I wanted to push my way out of the ventilator and rush to her side, but it wasn't the knowledge that I would get myself killed that held me back, but my mother's command that I must not get out until she said. When that monster was done with my mother, he took his ax to her as well and walked away laughing. Laughing! That sick bastard was laughing at my suffering!
I . . . can't speak of this act any longer. It sickens me . . . and enrages me! Had I known who they were, those two, I would have sought them when I had grown stronger. Unfortunately, as a child, I could do nothing. I couldn't even cry, which was perhaps my saving grace in all this. All I could do was wait. I waited for hours, wondering when my mother would somehow fix herself up and tell me to come out. I was so naive then. It wasn't until midnight that I finally realized that she wouldn't call me. She would never call me again. As I crawled back out of the ventilator, I took a closer look at my parents. Almost instantly, I began weeping and puking.
To this day, I can safely say that it was the most sickening thing I'd ever seen. Everything else at that moment became a rather tangled mess of thoughts. I don't think I can recall what all I was pondering. I do remember the conclusion that I had come to, and it was my mother's final words to me:
"We want you to have a long and full life. We want you to live."
