electra

The scarred boy said good-bye to home the next day when the gypsies packed and left in giant caravans pulled by monstrous horses. He followed Abastado like a dog, since he was the only familiar face. Many people glared at him while others smiled wickedly and greedily at him. Whispers tailed his back everywhere he went. It wasn't until what seemed like forever that Abastado concocted a mask for the boy. It was a small, coarse potato bag with rabbit's-ear knots in the corners from which two small holes had been cut out for the boy to see through.

He slipped the bag on over his head and the fabric began to itch him like a hoard of mosquitoes. He adjusted it so he could see through the two small holes, the rough strings tugging at his hair. He could hardly see through the holes. The world was two small openings before him through which the edges were blurred and only a small pinprick in focus.

The boy sniffed.

The cart in which he and Abastado were traveling was smelly and coated in hay. A few other gypsies were littered around the edges and one caught the boy's eyes, his limited vision taking in every detail of the gypsy.

She was watching him with dark eyes, outlined with thick black lines. Her dark green-brown eyes drilled a hole through his mind, a piercing gaze breaking his layer.

The boy began to cry as she watched him, thankful that he finally had something with which to hide his face. He looked down at his hands which were clutching each other like lovers, snot dribbling down his face, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He was still silent.

An inaudible sound brought his attention back to the lady-gypsy. He lifted his head the fraction of an inch until a blurry outline of the girl was detectable. Her lips were moving. In curiosity, the boy looked directly at her, so his focused prick of vision was placed upon her. He could tell that the movements her lips were making created words, but he somehow felt incapable of telling what they were.

The boy looked over at Abastado, who had fallen asleep and was snoring loud enough to be heard over the rattling of the caravans. He looked back at the girl and got down on his hands and knees and crawled over to her, the tears leaving dried paths of salt on his cheeks. She got down from her spot on the benches and sat down on the hay-strewn floor in front of him just as he reached her. He sat down and cradled his knees, wrapping his arms around them.

"What's your name?" she whispered, her voice hardly making it's way to the boy's ears through the racket of wheels.

He did not reply at once. He just let her stare at his eyes through the holes.

"What's your name?" she said again, louder this time.

"…" he mumbled.

"I can't hear you through the bag," she said, smiling slightly, her white teeth contrasting dangerously with her dark skin. Her dark, dirty, ringed fingers slowly lifted and clasped the bottom of the bag. There was a split second where she hesitated, not sure it she wanted to reveal his face. She had obviously never seen him before.

Then, without warning whatsoever, she whisked the bag off his head and dropped it to the floor. The laughter in her eyes disappeared with the sight of his face.

"Erik," he said.

The girl did not say anything.

Erik had a beautiful face, on the left side. The right side of his face was coated in what looked like a severe pink mask, contrasting with his tan skin. His eye was pulled down in a drooping gaze, like a sad puppy. The ridges and bones on his face were sharply and grotesquely emphasized by distortions. It looked rather like a large third degree burn had devoured half of his face, chewed it and spit it back onto his scalp again.

The girl lifted a trembling hand to touch his face, but he shied away, hiding his face with his hand and she promptly retracted her hand.

"Erik," she repeated matter-of-factly. "That's a wonderful name. It's very … final."

"Final?" he asked, not looking her in the eye, his hands still covering his face, his left eye roaming the floor of the caravan.

"Yes. That's a good thing."

Erik nodded. "Where are you from?" he asked.

The gypsy laughed. "When you move around as much as we do, you aren't from anywhere. But my name is Electra." She smiled sheepishly. "My father was Greek. It means 'the shining one'."

"Electra," Erik repeated.

"Very good. What does your name mean?"

"I don't know."

"Are you joining us?"

"I don't know."

Electra grabbed Erik's wrists and pulled them gently away from his face. She lifted his chin with her finger and turned his head to look at her.

"Don't hide your face, Erik. People will think you're ashamed."

"I am ashamed." Erik buried his face in his hands once more and Electra pulled the small boy towards her, embracing him in a comforting hug.

"Don't ever be ashamed of who you are."

Erik pushed himself away from her and started screaming, awakening a few gypsies nearby. "This is not who I am! I am not a monster! I AM NOT A MONSTER!" He slammed the bag over his head and stood, pathetically, trembling and his body shaking from the sobs which involuntarily escaped, his arms glued to his side. The sad eyes stared down at Electra who looked at him from the floor, at the sniffling boy.

He was just a boy, still a child.


Hey, this is really cheesy, and for that I apologise. I just really wanted to introduce Electra.

BTW: If any of you were wondering, "Erik" is Scandinavian (?) and it means "Honoured Leader".

Review Responses:

Chibi Hime: I really wanted to capture his tortured character as early as the prologue. Just, it makes him more ... pitiful and more of a likeable character. I want to hug him instead of scold him just thinking of the past he earned. Also, Abastado isn't the gypsy he befriends. That would be a terrible friendship, eh? Lol.

Doomed Delight: I realise that it's the most unoriginal story ever, but I really needed to write it. It's a very random story of how it came about, and I still have homework. Lol. I'm glad that some writing talent - if not for the lack of my original plot creation talent - might bring you back for another chapter at least.

sparklyscorpion: I must say ... sniff, you worded that wonderfully. I love it when people examine my work. Lol. It makes me see things I didn't see. But I'm glad you liked it so far. Hope I didn't let you down!

PentagonMerlin: That was ... um ... a ... meaningful review?

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