Ilius sipped the tea that he held in his hand. He stared at Colonel Graff with turbulent eyes, as he watched him talk to his parents. He was peeking around the corner, eavesdropping as his parents had recalled.
"He'll be alright with us, Mrs. Bowden," Graff said. Ilius squeezed the mug with both hands, until it splattered in his hands.
His mother looked his way then ran to him. She saw his hands, flooding with blood, but he wasn't crying at all. He looked at her then looked at his hands. She sighed, and bent down to clean his hands. Ilius watched her, not saying a word, not even crying.
"Are you alright, Ilius?" She asked, touching his face. He nodded slightly, then pulled his hands away from her, and retreated to his room.
He closed the door, loudly, hoping they would here the noise. He dropped to the ground, and stared at his bleeding hands. They overlaid small scars that covered the surface of his palms. With regularity he went to his bedside drawer at retrieved the first aid kid that his father placed inside it. He dressed and bandaged his own hands, realizing he was becoming low of his supplies. But from what he heard, he might not need them.
"Battleschool," he said to himself. He's heard of it before, but he never wanted to go. His fifth birthday just came around and he didn't want to go anywhere. He felt safe in the care of his parents, knowing that he wouldn't become in trouble if he murders someone accidentally. The mugs almost made him unstable, realizing he had strong hands, but not regular for a five year old. He remembered the monitor that he had on the back of his neck. It was irritating, but he also felt like he was missing something when it was taken off. But the real point was the plan the government had intended.
"This is normal, with him," Mrs. Bowden said, walking back into the living room. "I've never heard him cry before….it's…it's unreal to me."
"I know, Mrs. Bowden," Graff replied. "We've been monitoring him for a while now. We know why he doesn't."
"It scares me," she replied, looking in the direction of the incident. "One day he tried to carry his little sister down the stairs and…" she closed her eyes, the memory filling her mind. "And the glass cups…he has scars all over his hands."
"It's been going on ever since he was a bit smaller," Mr. Bowden added. "As you may know already."
Graff nodded. "We've also noticed the number of times he tried to turn his monitor off. He managed to successfully do it, once."
Mrs. Bowden looked at her husband with a worried look. "We never knew…"
"You weren't supposed to be aware of it, Mrs. Bowden. Unfortunately that incident was government information, until of course, I told you at this moment."
Ilius' father nodded at him, agreeing with the information that was now being addressed to him. "How much damage did he do?" He asked. Mrs. Bowden looked at him with a troubled look.
"James,"
"How much?" He asked again.
Graff sat back. "More damage than any other normal five year old would do," he replied. "He has the potential that we need up there."
"I never knew," James said quietly, sitting back. "I feel like…"
"You've failed him? James, you've been in the air force. You know what it takes to be as successful you need to be to be the best in warfare. Your son, Ilius has grasped your knowledge."
"But so young an age. It does not help me that much, Graff, to know my son is going to murder thousands of aliens that are no different than us."
"I wouldn't say murder. It's protection for this world. If they invade us, we would be in more trouble than we could possibly imagine. We don't know fully what they can do. As far as we know they could blow our planet to bits. We will not back down to become a play toy, James."
James looked at Graff for a long moment. He loosened his tie, and messaged his forehead with his fingertips.
Graff stood. "Sorry to bother you this morning."
"Wait," said a voice from behind. Ilius stepped from the shadows. He looked at his parents, then at Graff. "Let me go," he said, turning towards his parents again. They exchanged glances, then looked at Graff.
"Ilius," his mother began to say.
"Susan, if he wants…" James began to say.
"I need to go, mother," Ilius said. "I'm probably better off there, anyways. I don't have anything here, and I'm sure not learning anything." He looked at his hands. "Send me. It'll help both you and my sister. Please. I want to go."
Graff looked at Ilius and nodded towards him. "You won't see your parents for some time, Ilius. Your first leave is when you're twelve."
Twelve, Ilius thought. That's seven years. "I'll go. There's no changing my mind."
His mother rushed to him, and hugged him tightly. A few moments later, his father came and joined the hug. "I love you, Ilius, always remember that," his father whispered to him.
"And I want to be like you, Dad. I'm going to be like you," he replied.
James gave a small smile, then backed away with his wife. Ilius walked over to Graff, and followed him out the door. "Say bye to Lyra for me," he said, before the door slid shut.