I remember my father, though my mother seems to have forgotten him. Or at least she tries to. I was only two when he left us behind, a whole decade ago, but I could still see him clear as glass in my head. He's tall, muscular, his long beard is neatly trimmed and his smile is warm enough to brighten up a room. His sword glistens in the sunlight, so sharp it could pierce any monster. My father is a hero, but no one believes me.
"Daydreaming about heroes again, Alianora?" Demitri, the scum of Bowerstone Old Town sneered. He was always sticking his big nose where it didn't belong, most often in my affairs.
"Leave me alone!" I retorted, closing my diary and standing to face him. I dropped it into the small sack that my mother had given me to carry things around.
"What are you writing this time?" he laughed. "My Daddy is a hero," he said in a mocking tone that made my blood boil.
"He is too," I insisted, clenching my fists. "My father is the Hero of Bowerlake,"
"The hero of Bowerlake is a myth," Demitri retorted. "He doesn't exist."
"He does too. My mum said so." I hissed angrily.
"Your mum is a drunk." he sneered. "She's a nutter."
"Say that again," I growled, taking a step closer to him while reaching my hand down to the wooden toy sword that I kept attached to my belt; the gift my father gave to me the very last time I ever saw him; the only clear memory that I had of him. He had laid it next to me in my crib; most children slept with teddy bears but I had always had my sword.
"I said," he spat, towering over me. "Your mum is a nutter," Before the last part was out of his mouth, I was swinging my sword. I heard a sickening crack as the blade collided with his skull. I knew I should have stopped there, but the adrenaline pumping through me was too intense, an energy that I never knew I had. I struck him again and again, the crimson that escaped his torn flesh didn't deter me from delivering another blow. He flailed helplessly, desperately trying to defend himself but I was much too quick. He was on the ground, crying.
"Alianora, stop!" My best friend's voice forced me to stop hitting Dimitri and look up, locking eye contact with the scraggly, brown haired boy whose blue eyes were filled with both amusement and fright. "He's had enough," he added, his voice quivering. I nodded numbly, letting him take my sword from me with one hand and guide me away with his other hand. His fingertips were warm to the touch as they intertwined with my frigid fingers. I didn't have to ask to know that we were going to our favourite spot close to our houses. I didn't look down at my hands until we were close. Dimitri's blood was covering my knuckles, the tip of my wooden sword stained in scarlet.
"Oh drat," I hissed, forcing him to stop walking and grabbing at my sword. I felt the warmth leave my fingers as my hand was pulled from his. "I'll never get that out." We turned the corner and sat in our usual hang out spot, an old wooden crate in the far corner that overlooked the castle. The best view in all of Old Town.
"I can ask my mum if she can get out those stains," he told me.
"No," I shook my head. "She'll ask whose blood it is. I don't want to get in trouble."
"Well you could always get a new one," he suggested. "The gift trader sells them for only three gold pieces."
"I don't want a new one, Matthias, you dolt," I rolled my eyes. "This one is special,"
"Well now its special with Demitri's blood," Matthias snickered. "You reckon that bloke's alright?"
"I don't care," I scoffed. "I hate him."
"Was it about your father again?" he asked.
"Yeah," I nodded. "And he called my mum a nutter."
"You shouldn't listen to him, Alianora." he retorted. "He's just trying to rile you up."
"But no one believes me, Matthias. Only you, but you don't count." I sighed.
"Rude," Matthias muttered.
"Why doesn't anyone talk about him? My father?" I frowned. "Surely if my mum met him, then someone else must have seen him too. He's the hero of Bower lake!"
"My mum says no one likes to talk about the heroes." he shrugged.
"Don't you see, Matthias? If my father is a hero, then I have that same blood in my veins. I must be a hero too." I grinned.
"Well, heroes go on adventures," Matthias smiled. "So when you go on yours, you better not leave me behind."
"You'd want to come with me?" I frowned in surprise.
"Of course," he retorted. "Old Town would be so boring without you." His crooked, goofy grin always made me smile.
"You could be friend's with Dimitri," I laughed, nudging his shoulder playfully. I reeled back when he winced in pain. "What's wrong?"
"Nuffin," he mumbled, but I could always tell when he was lying. He got a certain twinkle in his left eye whenever he was trying to hide something.
"Liar," I retorted, pulling his dirty, scratchy, moth-bitten rag that covered his shoulder back to reveal the purple, tender bruises that were there. "Oh no," I gasped. "They've gone and beaten you up again!"
"No," he shook his head quickly, his twinkle giving up his fib. "I-I fell into my table. Clumsy me," Before I could reply, his mother's voice calling his name echoed from the nearly empty alleyway, her drunken slur so strong that I could almost smell the alcohol on her breathe. "I gotta go," he mumbled, jumping off the wooden crate. I followed him, knowing that my own mother would be out soon enough calling my name.
"Matthias, wait," I grabbed his hand before we turned into view of our homes, looking into his blue eyes that were always clouded with pain. "Soon," I promised him. "I'm going to take you away from Old Town real soon, where they can never hurt you, and then we can both be heroes."
What do you think?