Authors Note: This fic is about Seifer's entire life. The first chapter is really short and is really depressing. You have been warned.
FF8 does not belong to me, I can only wish. Seifer is square's…for now. I can claim the plot for this story though.
Memoirs of a Madman
Chapter One
Early Childhood
I wasn't always the bad guy you all have come to love today, as a matter of fact, I used to be normal. Yep, me, Seifer Almasy, used to be a normal child having a normal childhood in a somewhat loving home. My mother I barely remember. What I do know about her is that I inherated her blonde hair and azure eyes. I also remember the hugs, the homemade cookies, and the bedtime stories. My father will always be on my mind. He was loving sometimes, but that was only when he wasn't drunk, which was almost never. When he wasn't under the influence of alcohol, he was a bounce on the knee and give your son a horseback ride type guy. Totally fun. When he was drunk though it was like seeing Dr. Jekll turn into Mr. Hyde. He became a completely different person. He became abusive, to both me and my mother. I can't remember all the bruises he gave both of us. I finally developed a habit of hiding out behind the couch whenever he was in one of his moods.
I was there the night they were killed. I was almost four when it happened, cause it was deep into the winter, but I hadn't had my birthday party yet. Anyway, my father came home in a drunken rage, throwing everything he could get his hands on to the floor. My mother, as always, tried to stop him long enough to get him to down a cup of coffee or two, just to try and stop the effects of the alcohol from coming. On this night however, she never really got the chance. He pulled out from his black jacket a gun. I don't know where he got it and I probably never will, but I remember him turning to my mom, pointing it to her chest, and shouting for her to just stop caring about him, that he wasn't worth her time. My mother's face was pale with horror, and tears were coming down her face. That's when the gunshot rang out. It was a direct hit to her chest. She collapsed without another word. My father then stuck the gun to his temple and another gunshot destroyed my world. I ran out from behind the couch, and looked at the two limp figures on the floor, crying and hoping they would jump up and say they were playing make believe. It never happened. I ran to my mother's side and started shaking her. I did nothing but turn her, so she was looking at me. I just found a way to crawl into her arms and her cold hands held me until I fell asleep, hoping to wake up to another normal day.
I never got another day.
One of my neighbour's found time to call the police on the gunshots heard in the neighbourhood, and they found the source of the noise at my house. Two police officers came bursting through the door. They found what they thought was three dead people, two homocides and a suicide. One officer came over to me and my mother, and when I felt the officer reach up to close my mother's staring eyes, I jumped. I ran away from my mother and the cop, but the second one grabbed me. I suddenly burst into tears, seeing my parents in the same position I had fell asleep to. The officer gently picked me up and tried to rock me back and forth to calm my nerves. He then turned to his partner and told him to get a social worker over here pronto. While the other one was out in the squad car, my cop was still trying to calm me down. He saw me shivering from the outside cold, so he grabbed the nearest object of warmth, an old grey trenchcoat with crosses my father used to wear, and covered me up. Soon I was quieted down, and a social worker came along.
She took me away from my home and the life I knew, and put me into a car. She kept on reminding me I was going to start all over with a new family and lots of friends to play with. I wasn't sure I wanted to start all over. All I could think of was 'What about mom?' I was really missing her. I got no bedtime story or glass of milk. No goodnight kiss and soft lullaby. What do you do without a mom. How does a four year old cope knowing his world changed within seconds, and no fairy tale magic was going to put the missing pieces of the puzzle back together again. My mind was rushing with questions about what happened, a rush of scenes containing insanity and death. Things I wanted my mother to tell me, as she rocked me back and forth in her arms, telling me daddy was just having a rough day and needed to blow off steam, would never be said. All the things I needed I was being deprived of. A mom, a dad, a home, and a good explanation to what was going on. But how do you ask someone who just took you away from the only home you've ever known about what was going on. I remained silent all the way to the Centra Orphanage.