Red Origins
Part I – Icarus
Poway, California. 1979.
A crow falls slowly, planting its twisted feet onto an old wooden post beside a steel gate. The bird opens its beak, as if it were about to scream, only to be disrupted by the sound of gunfire. It flies away swiftly into the clear blue heavens, a well presented young boy running the length of the dusty field beneath it, pointing a shotgun upwards.
The young boy is John Alexander, AKA Johnny. At 16 years old, just over five and a half feet tall and with a head of scruffy brown hair, he looks to be a regular kid. For the most part, Johnny lives up to the image.
Johnny loads the shotgun once more, visibly heavy in his hands, the force of the proceeding shot pushing his entire body backwards, falling onto the grass beneath him. The crow stops dead in mid air and drops like a lead weight, hitting the Earth with a dull thud. Johnny climbs to his feet, brushing off blades of grass from his jacket, and walks towards the wounded animal slowly, carefully. As he reaches the bird, Johnny notices one of its wings twitching slightly. He lifts the barrel of the shotgun and points it towards the ailing animal once more, licking his lips subtly in anticipation.
"What are you doing, boy?" screams the deepest voice of Johnny's father, Richard.
Richard Alexander stands at six feet tall, with slicked back jet-black hair and a well-maintained grey suit. He looks well off.
"Have you been at the birds again?" Richard bellows, a vein now clearly protruding from his temple.
Johnny trudges towards his dad, shotgun slumped by his side, his face now colder than a winter's night.
"I can't help it, dad, they freak me out," mumbles Johnny.
"I don't care if they shit in your face, I don't give you that shotgun to hunt birds, OK?"
"OK," Johnny begrudgingly states, grimacing slightly at his father's words.
As Johnny passes his father, he pulls his son's arm back forcefully, looking into his eyes.
"If you do that again, goes without saying I'm gonna have to teach you another lesson, right?"
Johnny nods slowly.
"And get your head out of those books for a while, help your sister clean the place up a bit," says Richard with a commanding tone.
Johnny heads towards the large, white house beside the field and enters swiftly. Upon entering the house, Johnny happens upon his older sister cleaning dishes in the kitchen.
Linda is four years older than Johnny, though she's the same height, has the same mud brown hair and a detached look in her eye, not dissimilar to her younger sibling.
Linda turns away from Johnny, but it's not enough as he notes the large purple bruise on her left eye. Johnny puts his hand on his sister's shoulder to comfort her. Linda begins to sob openly. Johnny sits her down at the kitchen table and makes her a cup of tea, the kettle whistling in pain as it boils. Johnny gets himself a glass of water and sits at the table, opposite his sister.
"I don't know how you drink that crap," Johnny gesturing towards Linda's tea.
"You should try it."
"Unlikely," deadpans Johnny.
Linda sips her tea and forces a smile. Johnny smiles also, only it seems more sincere. Linda can't tell.
"Y'know you never have spoken like a kid," says Linda honestly.
"I know. You've told me many times."
"Because it's true. And a bit weird," says Linda, laughing, half playful half serious.
Linda's laugh soon turns to more crying, fresh scars visible on her lower arm as she wipes clear marbles from her ruddy cheeks. Johnny extends his arm and touches his sister's hand gently.
"I've been thinking, sis. It's been 6 months since mom went. We can't let him do this anymore. I'm tired," whispers Johnny in a soft, reassuring tone.
Johnny sits back in his seat and takes a sip of water from his glass.
"He's too strong," cries Linda.
Johnny shakes his head.
"No, he's just a man. A sick man."
"What can I do? You're stronger than me," cries Linda once more.
"No. You deal with these things better than me. What I've taken from him is nothing compared to you. You're stronger than both of us, sis," Johnny pleads.
Johnny leans forward and places one hand on Linda's wrist, gently stroking her scars, whilst he plants the other carefully onto her shoulder. He looks into her eyes. She stares right back, his being a strikingly clear blue.
"You and I are different. We were even before all of this. We both know it. Dad knows it and he doesn't like it. He's just like everyone else, punishing us for what we have. But it's nothing to be ashamed of. As long as he's here, we can't live. Not the way we want. We don't want that, do we?" says John, calmly and confidently, yet with passion clear to see.
Linda shakes her head, still entranced into Johnny's gaze.
"And you know you can trust me. I'm your brother. All I'm saying is, next time he touches you why not fight back? It's about time one of us did."
Linda nods confidently and strokes her brother's arm as it leaves her shoulder.
Johnny suddenly becomes aware of all around him, as if he'd surprised even himself. He chuckles slightly and shakes his head.
"I'm starving."
The following week Johnny is lying half naked on the living room sofa, his father stood over him, striking him furiously with his belt. Aside from the odd wincing from pain, Johnny's face remains cold and unmoved. Richard throws his son's clothes onto his bruised mass and puts his belt back on smoothly, almost like a ritual.
"Get to school."
Johnny staggers down the lonely country lane, trying his best to seem at peace.
As a large number of other kids run around or stand in groups and socialize, Johnny sits alone under a small citrus tree, reading a book.
Johnny's presence is unassuming but strong. He seems normal, yet different at the same time. People notice him, but only when he wants to be noticed. There's something about him.
A scruffy looking boy waddles over to Johnny and coughs for his attention.
"Hey man. Can I show you something?"
Johnny shakes his head, gesturing towards his open book.
"Poetry is for pussies, come see something cool."
Johnny slams his book shut and sighs.
"Make it quick Stan," says Johnny wearily.
Stan approaches one of the school buildings and ascends a tall ladder up its side. Johnny follows, climbing the ladder and stepping onto the roof of the building, the vast green landscape clear to see behind his frame. A small group of kids, boys and girls, appear behind Johnny, one of them pulling his hands behind his back and nudging his soft torso forwards.
"What are you doing? Stop it. Please," begs Johnny.
The group and Johnny reach something large and rectangular, covered by a large black sheet. Whilst not visible, they all know what lies beneath, and even if they didn't, the distinctive cooing can be heard clear as day.
"No. No don't. Whatever I did, I'm sorry, OK?"
Stan lifts the sheet, revealing a large cage full of pigeons, flapping their wings at the sight of the sunlight and the people bathing in it. Another kid leans forward and opens the cage door swiftly, whilst Stan pushes Johnny onto his knees directly in front of the ensuing chaos. Countless grey birds swamp Johnny as they flee from their prison, flapping their wings relentlessly as they pass by his head, one of them pecking at his face with its beak as it breaks free, cutting his lower eyelid. Johnny screams and lashes out violently with his arms, before curling into a ball on the floor and covering his head. After the birds clear, the group stands laughing as Johnny rises from the stone floor, shaking and swaying. Johnny rapidly runs past the group and descends from the roof. He runs and doesn't stop.
Johnny reaches home, falls into the front door and drops, dead behind the eyes.
Johnny awakens, unaware of how long he's been out. The house is dark and silent, though he's sure he was awoken by a noise. Johnny stands at the bottom of the staircase before walking up slowly, his hand gliding up the bannister as his feet tread heavily on each passing step. As he reaches his sister's bedroom door, still shaking and twitching, he turns the handle and pushes it open slowly. As the door creaks and comes to a halt, Johnny is greeted by the image of his father's naked body, bloodied and limp on his sister's bed. Linda is crouched at the foot of it, cradling her knees close to her chin. Johnny's legs sway slightly beneath him. He bends down to meet Linda's eyes. She meets him.
"I did it I did what you said," says Linda, with a stutter.
Johnny stands up and looks over the bloodied corpse of his father, his stomach open and seeping. He turns and walks out of the room quickly, closing the door behind him, before making his way to the bathroom. Johnny stands before a mirror, looking upon himself. A tear falls from his eye and becomes bloody as it passes the cut on his lower eyelid. He smiles.