Creation
[prologue]
The hanger was quiet that night, on the night they had brought him there. The clang of medical instruments being placed and being lifted from the metal table were the only sounds that echoed through the dorms and the hanger.
Cleaning them....cleaning the old dried blood from their sharp tips. There were four boys in the hanger that day, and only the oldest knew of the day when those instruments had been used last.
But they hadn't been used to operate on him. No, that would have been far more painful. But watching was painful enough. Watching as the knife cut a fine line just below the man's shoulder. Watching as that line became a river of blood, coursing around the flesh, oozing out of the wound. Then there were cloths; bunches and bunches of them, working to stop the bleeding. He had turned away when amputation begun, unwilling, and not wanting to watch as the arm was removed. He had been only six, and he had cried; but no one listened.
He didn't know where they had put the arm; didn't want to know. All he knew was that he never wanted to go into the that room again. For all he knew the disease was lurking about in there. And then he would wake up and his fingertips would be black, then maybe even his toes. And the blackness would spread, up his arms and legs, until it got to his heart; where it would attack.
A tremor coursed through the boys spine as the faucet in the medical room was turned on. They were finished scraping the dried blood off them, and now they would give them a good rinse and wash. The boy's breath quickened. He gripped the edges of the steel ramp he had perched himself upon, just waiting for it to be over. He felt like hours, and the sounds were becoming more disturbing. The other boys were there as well, not making a sound; afraid to. There were no tears, no whimpers, just sharp, uneven breathing. The youngest boy made a move to get up, but the oldest gestured towards him, and glared, shaking his head when they made eye contact.
It was only a moment later when the faucet was turned off with a horrible screech, and the screaming began. The youngest boy clutched the arm of the boy beside him, squeezing his eyes shut in horror. The oldest went still, blood going cold. Every muscle in his body tensed, but he was too frightened now to make a run for the exit. It was too late, and now he had to stay and listen to screams, the sharp intakes of breaths, the thrashing, the groaning, the whimpering. It was all too familiar. The boy's breath got faster and faster as the screams increased, and the young one had begun to cry. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the closed door of the operating room, couldn't block out those horrible sounds. The hanger seemed so empty, nothing to hide behind, nothing to soften to noise, it just echoed off the empty walls and floor.
And then there was the gundam, just a climb up the ramp he would be able to get to the cockpit. It was risky. Dr. J didn't like anyone to touch the gundam. It wasn't finished, and it wasn't at all stable. Plus, the ramp was steep, and an attempt to climb up it, mixing in with the boy's fear was likely to lead him to a long fall to the ground. He could inch his way up on his hands and knees, and the spikes on the ramp would hold his sneakers in place, yet ding into the clammy skin of his hands.
Another scream, this one much louder than the rest, rang in the boy's ears, and he lost all reason, scampering up that ramp as fast as he could. The commotion attracted the attention of the other boys, who shouted at him to get down; it was too dangerous. But he didn't listen. He had to find someplace that would block out the screaming; someplace where he would feel safe. A cry of relief escaped the boy's lips as he flung himself at the top of the ramp, although sweat mixed with tears poured down his face. He crawled on all fours to the door to the cockpit, which was always left open, because it couldn't be opened from the outside. The boy scrambled into the pilots seat, bringing his knees up to his chest, and his shaky fingers searched for the button on the control pad that would shut and lock the cockpit door. Finding it, he put the weight of both his tiny hands on it, for that would be the only way he would get it to work. The echoing screams slowly died down as the racket of the cockpit door began to activate, and the door slowly began to close.
The boy whimpered as it finally did, leaving him in complete darkness and silence.
~
Author's Notes: I know this is kind of a weird prologue, 'cuz it's hard
to understand, but the next chapter will explain everything. Reviews
are craved! ~_^
~PrussianCrystal