I Dreamed of Angels
Part Three A
"Trowa Barton, philanthropist, billionaire
and former circus performer passed away yesterday at the ripe old age of
ninety. He will forever be remembered as a great man who devoted his entire
life to charitable causes. A memorial will be held tomorrow in remembrance of
one of the greatest humanitarians of all time."
Quatre looked down at the newspaper
solemnly.
"Don't worry Trowa." he said. "We'll both
come back and find each other again."
He looked at the earth as if wanting to
make sure that everything was fine and glanced up at the sky as he slowly
ascended into the heavens.
Decades later, in a large house somewhere
north of the city, a boy could be seen seated on a large dining table. A look
of boredom covered his features as he swirled the mashed potatoes on his plate.
He was starting to doze off when he realized that his long, thick, brown bangs
were touching his dinner.
"Trowa! Finish your dinner and stop playing
with your food."
Much to his father's dismay, the statement
was blatantly ignored.
"…and try sleeping earlier tonight. You've
been spending too much time decorating that tree of yours. Why don't you just
put those regular ornaments and be done with it?"
"No! It has to be special." the boy
answered, his voice increasing in volume.
"Stop trying to make that tree so perfect
and stop trying to be so picky about what you put on it. If you don't, you'll
never finish."
"Leave me alone dad! You just don't
understand." By this time the boy was screaming.
With that said, he stalked off to his room,
leaving a disappointed father and a crowd of baffled servants behind.
"That little brat!" one of the servants
whispered harshly to another. "He better learn how to respect his elders."
"Keep it down. Mr. Barton will hear you."
Intent on continuing to voice out his
opinions, the servant that had expressed his anger quickly grabbed as much
people as he could into the kitchen.
"Mr. Barton should do something about that
child's attitude." he continued. "That's the reason why he's been getting too
stressed out lately. I think that it's just too much for a child to act this
way."
Hearing the frustrated voices coming from
the kitchen, more servants came in to join in on the discussion.
"That boy is never going to learn if his
father doesn't reprimand him."
"He always gets what he wants."
"One of these days, he's going to learn his
lesson."
The constant bickering continued on for
quite some time until one of the servants let out a frustrated scream,
obviously voicing out something that he had been keeping in for so long.
"He's the son of Satan!" he exclaimed.
Gasps of surprise were heard from all
corners of the room. Everyone had felt the same way but no one had ever dared
say it. Silence followed the remark and the initial surprise.
Just then, a stout, cheerful woman entered
the kitchen with a laundry basket on hand.
"Is that so?"
The uncouth comment had apparently traveled
a great distance. She looked at her companions in disbelief.
"So, if he *is* the son of Satan then why
does he dream of angels?" she asked.
All she received were incredulous stares
that spoke more of their dislike for the boy than anything. They looked at her
as if she had been possessed, used by the evil child as a tool for some sort of
plan he had conjured up in his malevolent dreams.
In defense for his beliefs and suspicions,
one man decided to speak up.
"Anything that comes out of his mouth is a
lie and you know it. I bet he's lying to you so that he could use you against
us."
"That is absolutely absurd! What did he do
this time to make all of you think this?"
"Well," the chef responded. "Last night, he
came into my quarters with a match in one hand and a can of gasoline on the
other. He said he'd deliver me to hell if I didn't make him a chocolate fudge
cake."
"Oh, come on. He was just teasing you."
"Is that," the chef said, pointing to his
charred hat on the counter "…exaggerating?"
A majority of the crowd sympathized with
the chef. With their beliefs reiterated and somehow proved through the burned
hat, the verbal assault on the boy was gladly continued.
It was starting to get late, however, and
the laundry woman who was now laughing uncontrollably from the implausible
statements she had been hearing had noticed this.
"Enough with the paranoia people." she
interrupted. "I'm sure he'll grow out
of it. After all, he's only seven."
She wiped a tear from her eye and composed
herself.
"I think that it's about time we get back
to work. The little devil might be watching and he may just decide on roasting
us for dinner if he sees what we're doing." she teased.
The timing was just right because just
after that had been said, evil, childish laughter could be heard emanating from
the boy's room.
Without a second thought, the servants
quickly dispersed from the group and went back to work.