Ch. 5 It was raining that night also…
The air rushed into his lungs as he sprinted down the street. Everything was a blur; objects lost their form and became muddled as they rushed past him. Rain started to pour, the icy spikes chilling his skin. Thunder pounded in the background and a flash brightened the dark scene. Vincent's thoughts were immediately reminded of that night; it was raining that night also…
Vincent was six when he became a war orphan, drifting as a youth from one ruin of war to the next. Ruins and shambles for homes, and scraps for food. Desperate times, but they were locked away in the depths of his mind that he repressed and never looked back. When the war was over, the winners had to take over the spoils of war. War orphans were a nasty reminder of the harsh realities of the war that occurred, and it was an occasion that the country as a whole wanted to forget. So a government project was derived to move all these reminders of the war to a corner of the country where they would not be noticed. Vincent was one of these reminders at the age of six. Hundreds of orphans, prisoners, and criminals were shipped to the harsh country, an area that was desolate and bitterly cold.
The prisoners and criminals were shipped deeper into the country, and the orphans' journey stopped short at just the border. But that did not stop them from seeing the brutality of man when they accompanied these men and their captors on their journey. Impressionable children witnessed executions, beatings, and the savagery of men on a forced march through the harsh country. Young minds were warped with the realities of a cruel world, where the strong survived and the weak were prey to these survivors. These ideals would continue in the orphanage which now had the feel of a prison camp due to these impressions.
There were several riots, especially in the orphanage of the older teens, and correctional officers from the prisons had to be dispatched to restore order. This was done swiftly and brutally, where supposed ring leaders where executed, and others beaten severely. These stories would be told to the younger orphans by their guards as a warning. Get them to fear you young, and then they are easier to manage was the philosophy of the guards. Vincent heard this news when he was twelve. He was in the second oldest group, twelve to fifteen. Here the guards were the harshest because they wanted to curb the orphans' behavior before they entered the oldest group where there were more riots then the prison camps.
The camp they were in was run like a prison, it had to be. These teenagers grew up with violence their whole lives, and now with their hormones kicking in, they were rebelliously lashing out on a system they were forced to live in and that they blamed for their miseries in life. Vincent had already survived the younger camps with frequent encounters with playground bullies, and many bodily injuries that he sustained from many beatings. But Vincent toughened up to survive; he would not lie down and die so he got up and fought.
Now at the twelve to fifteen camp, he stood up tall and glared at the other boys without fear. He had learned how to fight and how to intimidate. But now there weren't bullies, but guards who were twice his age, and twice as big. Guards saw the pride in his step, the glare in his eyes and their instincts saw that he was fearless; some fear had to be instilled in him.
"What you got to be proud about kid?" said a burly guard as Vincent was being in processed on his twelfth birthday along with four other children his age. Vincent just looked at him and then he felt the quick pain as a hand smacked across his face.
"Pride won't do you any good here, you understand that you stupid sons of bi…" Don't think about that time, Vincent thought as his face remembered the pain. He blocked out the thought like so many others and focused on one goal as he had learned how to do. That goal was to get home and shut himself out from the world until he could make sense of the world again. Vincent did not want to remember that world; he had experienced the purity of the world with the farm. He did not want to go back to survival instincts. He wanted to stay in his state of naive ness and innocence. But deep down, he knew that innocence was dying every second that he was in the city, and the scary thought was that he was becoming accustomed to the thought. In fact, he was starting to welcome it.
Vincent slammed through his door and just as fast as he opened it, he slammed it closed and locked it. He hastily shoved a chair under the knob and shut all his windows. The small enclosure immediately became hot, but he didn't notice. He made sure everything was secure and he slumped on his bed. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off as he was safe in his place. He didn't notice anyone following him, and no one knew that he lived here, he mostly kept to himself. Only person who knew he existed was Moe. He sat at the edge of his bed, trying to keep his head clear of thoughts with great effort. He sweated through his clothes as if he was on the factory floor at Shogun, I guess I am fired from there, but they wouldn't realize I am gone either. I'm just one of a hundred faceless slaves to them. What the hell am I going to do? That thought lingered awhile and a wave of exhaustion hit him as if his body remembered the stress it went through. And his mind agreed as Vincent lay down and slept almost immediately.