Maleko was supposed to be sleeping. He knew that. But Mama and Papa weren't around, so it wasn't like they would know if he was playing instead of sleeping. Bon-Bon said it was okay if no one knew.
He tried to sleep, had for a while, curled in bed, wrapped up in all his favorite Superman blankets. He had slept a little, dozed off, really. He had been in bed snuggling Bon-Bon and woken up to the sounds of Mama and Papa talking. So he quietly—and he could be really quiet! — kicked off his blankets, got out of bed, and snuck out to hide at the top of the stairs and watch them go. He didn't understand most of what they were saying; he rarely did when Mama and Papa talked.
Part of him wondered if this was due to the mess Maleko made of his Mama's building. Everyone had seemed bothered by it.
But it had been an accident! It had!
One of the guys who worked for Mama had been mean, saying things Maleko couldn't understand. While he didn't know the words, he knew the tone. He was being a real jerk face!
Bon-Bon had told him he couldn't let someone talk to him like that, so Maleko hadn't! It just didn't go as he had planned. He'd only meant to scare the jerk and burn his shirt a little. He didn't mean for his scarf to catch on fire. It turned out that the blue goop Mama and Papa made was super flammable.
Technically, the whole thing wasn't even his fault! The jerk face threw the burning scarf over the railings and into the giant pot of flammable goop, so technically, Mr. Jerk Face caused the building to go up in flames.
No one else seemed to think that.
Bon-Bon thought it was funny, though, and Maleko liked the flames. The burning goop turned into all sorts of colors and was mesmerizing! The smoke, however, could have been more fun. It smelled wrong and made breathing hard, which shouldn't be right because Maleko usually could breathe in smoke just fine.
But Mama hadn't taken him to any other goop buildings after that. He didn't mind much; it meant more time playing with Papa, and the buildings weren't that fun anyway. They were full of stuffy people who glared at him and smelled awful.
But this time, as he listened to them talk and watched from above as they grabbed their coats and went out the door, it was clear Mama and Papa were leaving him. Only for a little bit, he was sure, they'd come back. But still, with them gone, there was a sort of loneliness in the air. He'd been lonely before—a lot—before he met his Mama and Papa, and he always knew one way to stave it off was to play.
"Is this loneliness, or an opportunity?" Bon-Bon asked, draping his arms across Maleko's shoulders to hug him from behind, leaning his whole weight onto the boy's back. "They don't leave you alone too often, certainly not long enough. Now, with them thinking you're sound asleep, you've got the whole house to yourself until they come back."
Bon-Bon was right, Maleko realized, he always was. He never got any time to really be himself, to feel free. If Mama and Papa were around, then there were rules he had to play by. They couldn't enforce those rules if they weren't around. He had the whole house left to himself, and with it, all the fun in the world. Already, his mind was buzzing with ideas of things to do: play games, watch cartoons, raid the fridge for all the whipped cream and pudding. The possibilities were endless!
After a little bit of chittering and excitement, he decided to play.
He had Bon-Bon, his precious bunny plush, seated on a chair he had dragged up the stairs into the second-floor hallway. Several of his other toys were spread around him: stuffed toys, dolls, and a few of his Superman action figures. He had a lot of Superman toys, but who could blame him? Superman was the greatest! No matter who the bad guy was, Superman flew in, beat them up, and saved the day! He was the bestest hero ever! He wanted to be just like him when he got older, strong and fast, and always saving everyone, no matter what!
Mama had a weird expression when he told her that, but his Papa always told him he could, and when they played together, his Papa would play one of Superman's villains while Maleko got to play the Man of Steel, beating his villain up and saving the hostages. Usually, the hostage was Bon-Bon, who played the roles of Lois, Jimmy, or whoever they needed him to be.
Tonight, however, was not a night to play Superman, and Bon-Bon was not the damsel. Tonight, Bon-Bon was the evil king, sitting on his throne wearing a paper crown.
Maleko laughed as he raised a wooden sword high into the air. I'm here to stop you, he thought as he giggled, lowering the sword to the bunny and the army guarding him. He was here to end the tyrants' evil reign and bring peace to the world!
"Try as you might," Bon-Bon taunted as he sat on his throne. His grey hair stuck up all over behind his white mask and from beneath the hood of his grey hoodie, the ears of the hoodie were bent and floppy. He was taller than Maleko, a little older, dressed with a king's cape around his shoulders, his golden crown shining atop his hooded head to match his role in this game. "But you have to get past my army of demons before you can even touch me!"
With a howl of delight, Maleko charged forward. He drove the sword at Captain Teddi, commander of the Dark Bunny Lord's armies, but a magical blast deflected his strike! Twisting his head to the side, he saw the toy robot staring back at him, hand perpetually fixed in an outstretched position. Drats! The High Mage Bot-Bot had spotted him!
He threw himself backward to avoid another magical blast, his back hitting the floor as he tripped over his cape. It was just a blanket tied around his neck.
From across the hall, Bon-Bon laughed as he leaned forward to watch the chaos and battle. "See, little hero? My army is far too much for the likes of you!"
Maleko bared his teeth, a frustrated growl escaping him as he pushed himself back onto all fours. His back is arched, and his nails dug into the floorboards. Against his chest, the stone ran hot as it suppressed his magic. He didn't care as he picked up his sword and rushed towards the dark army.
He ducked under another of the High Mage's magical blasts and shouldered a Barbie soldier, knocking her past the handrail and down the cliff face to the living room floor; he could hear the echoes of her landing on the coffee table dimly through the sounds of battle.
Another soldier was struck down with his sword, and he dropped low to the floor to avoid a retaliation strike from Valant, the ferocious lion doll. Valant roared in fury, and Maleko roared back, ducking under another strike and driving his sword into the lion's heart, slaying yet another of the Dark Bunny Lord's soldiers.
Before he could pull his sword back, the High Mage struck Maleko in the back, knocking him down.
"Don't get cocky, now, boy!" Bon-Bon mocked.
Maleko stuck his tongue out at the rabbit and whirled around, his sword forgotten in the lion, as he stared Bot-Bot down. The toy stared back, and a plastic hand pointed at him.
Fingers flexing, Maleko lunged forward. He ducked and swerved, avoiding magical blast after blast with the grace of a hunter. He leaped over other soldiers, using them as springboards and shields. He hissed and tackled the High Mage, throwing him to the ground and pinning him down.
The stone around his neck shattered.
The smell of burning plastic filled the air, and Maleko uttered an alarmed cry as he scrambled off his toy robot. His hands, burning with flames wrapped around his fingers, were raised high above to avoid touching anything else.
His heart was racing in his chest from the exertion of playing and the horror of what he'd just done. Body shaking took a few moments—and a few deep breaths, just like Papa taught him—before the flames on his hands died out, leaving only echoes of their warmth.
The toy was still sizzling, the smell of burnt plastic still hanging in the air. Mournfully, Maleko scooped Bot-Bot back into his hands. The robot was hot to the touch and malformed, its body half-melted from the flames and Maleko's handprints visible on its corpse. "Bot-Bot," he whimpered.
"A valiant soldier," Bon-Bon comforted. His bravado and jeers from earlier falling into the soft sorrow of seeing a friend vanquished.
Maleko pushed himself to his feet, the other toys forgotten as he held Bot-Bot out to the bunny and whimpered. "Mama mad," he whined. Not only was he playing when he was supposed to be sleeping, but he'd broken his stone— third time today! —and he ruined one of his toys. She would be so upset with him when she got home, and he didn't want her upset with him. If she got mad, she might leave him, and he didn't want to be thrown away! He didn't want to be alone again.
"It's okay, it's okay," Bon-Bon said as Maleko continued to whimper and cry. He grabbed Maleko by his shoulders, forcing the boy to look into his eyes—or rather, the black dots of the mask's eyes. His grip was firm but not tight, and his thumbs rubbed comforting circles into Maleko's skin. "She won't be mad if she never finds out, okay? So, we have to ensure neither she nor your Papa finds out about this."
"How?"
With that, Bon-Bon's mischievous glee returned as he cackled loudly. "Hide the evidence, of course!" he said, letting go of Maleko to clap his hands in delight. "We'll give the High Mage a hero's burial and bury him in the backyard. Then we can get all your toys back in the toy chest. If they ask about the stone, we can say you had a bad dream; you reacted with magic and broke it. They'll be none the wiser."
Smiling a wide, toothy smile, Maleko bounced the remaining few steps towards where the bunny perched on the chair. "Ye! Bon-Bon's smart!" he praised, lifting the toy with his other arm and bumping his head against the bunny's own, the paper crown falling to the floor. Bon-Bon always came up with smart ideas; of course, he'd know what to do!
Maleko snuck outside, careful to make sure neither Papa nor Mama were coming back before he slipped out to the flower garden beside the back door. Technically, the garden was Papa's. Mama wasn't much for plants; she couldn't keep them alive, but Maleko liked them. They reminded him of home before Mama. So, Papa planted vibrant and beautiful flowers around the back of the house for him.
Bon-Bon was on the step, and Bot-Bot was beside him as Maleko dug his hands into an empty patch of dirt between two purple flowers and started digging. With his stone already shattered, he didn't have to think twice about using it to extend his nails into claws, digging into the earth with more ease.
Once the hole was deep enough, he rested Bot-Bot and stared at the toy.
"It has been an honor, High Mage Bot-Bot," Bon-Bon said solemnly as he watched from the step, legs bouncing anxiously as he offered a salute.
Maleko felt his lower lip quiver, guilt gnawing at his insides. "Sowy," he whimpered, crouching in front of the flowers and hole. The toy robot stared back at him with lifeless eyes, its melted hand still reaching for him. "Will... miss you, Bot-Bot."
With that, Maleko piled the dirt back over the toy and grave, patting it down.
He'd miss Bot-Bot. He had been a good toy, one of the first ones Mama gave him when she found him. He had gone through many toys since Mama first found him, sometimes from his magic surging, like with Bot-Bot, and sometimes because he just played too rough and didn't realize how fragile the toys were.
Still, now, the only one out of the first toys he got that remained was Bon-Bon.
"Probably a sign," Bon-Bon said as Maleko picked him back up, cradling the plush toy to his chest. "Just goes to show that I am the best of the best. That I am meant to be, always and forever, your best friend. You picked me out yourself, after all. It's destiny."
That got a smile from Maleko as he bumped his head against the toy once more. That's right. Best friend. His chest grew warm, the guilt of Bot-Bot fading, not entirely, but lessening just enough that he didn't feel like crying.
Cleaning up the toys didn't take too long. Maleko was proud to say he was quick at gathering and storing. He got the toys he'd thrown down to the living room first and then came back and forth for the rest, putting them each in his toy chest and trying to tidy the area up as best he could to hide the fact that he had been playing instead of sleeping.
All the while, Bon-Bon stayed with him, either tucked under an arm or sitting on the chair, watching and praising.
It had still taken some time; he didn't understand how to tell just how much, but it had taken a little. But his toys were all put in place, Bot-Bot buried so Mama would never know he'd broken him, and now all that was left was for Maleko to turn the lights all off. As he crept across the floor, Bon-Bon regaled him with a tale of how he, the Dark Bunny Lord, would defeat Maleko in their next battle, how his armies would rise from the figurative and literal ashes to vanquish good and spread his evil across the world.
That story fell silent at the top of the stairs, and Maleko went still. Too still.
His eyes widened, and his pupils dilated. Instinct. Instinct. Instinct. Something was wrong. The hairs on his neck began to rise in anticipation, as it always had when a predator lurked too close. There was—a bad scent, not belonging, not belonging—filling the house. Smoke and powder. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.
"Maleko," Bon-Bon's voice was a whisper in his ear, warning.
His fingers gripped the stair railing, nails—claws—digging into the wood, scratching, scratching, scratching. He held back the low hiss. Intruder. Intruder! In his home. His territory. His. His. His!
"Maleko!"
A shadow appeared in the doorway leading to Mama's office. Short and small and not Mama. Not Papa. Trespasser.
"Come on, come on!" he could hear her voice—shrill and loud and wrong—scream and hear the sound of drawers being yanked open. "Where is it? I know you have to have some on you, you bitch! I need one. I need one right now to slip away, but he won't find me! Come on!"
The door creaked loudly and quickly, slamming against the wall. Maleko crouched lower, staring down the stairs. Waiting. Waiting. Who was trespassing? Who did he need to chase off? He'd chase her off. Chase her, bite her, claw her, get her to leave!
A woman came into view. He didn't recognize her. He recognized the scent. Magic. Witch. Like Mama and Papa, but not them. No, no, not them. She reeked of fear and panic and sweat. She reeked of smoke and powder. He didn't like it. Didn't like her.
"There's got to be a stone around here somewhere. Come on, why's it when I need you more than ever, you screw me over like this!" the woman yelled to herself, kicking the wall and knocking down a picture frame. A picture of him, Mama, and Papa. One of his favorite ones.
Maleko snarled, giving a warning, feeling his body heat up, feeling familiar flames start dancing along his skin.
The woman screamed at the sound, and in that instant, she turned to face him, eyes wide and wild and terrified, her hand held up and reaching out to him, just like Bot-Bot.
And just like the High Mage, she unleashed a blast of magic.
There was no way he could even react in time. The blast struck him with an explosive force, sending him hitting the wall, his head striking the very same end table he had knocked over and burned earlier. His ears were ringing from the sound of the blast alone, something warm and wet running down the left.
"Oh—Oh fuck! That was the kid. Oh, Inca, no, no... They're going to kill me! No—shit!"
There was another explosion. From him, he vaguely thought, it was less of a blast but rather a stream of flames toward where he thought the intruding witch was. Or maybe he just imagined the magic. It took a lot of work to think and stay aware.
A creaking sound echoed in his head, and more footsteps sounded across the floor. Metal against wood, explosions, screams and yells, tearing furniture, burning fabrics and wood, frames falling, and glass shattering.
Maleko groaned. His ears were ringing, his head buzzing, dizzy.
Something was burning; he could smell the smoke. Had he set something on fire again? No, no. Mama would be mad at him if he set the house on fire. She'd say she wasn't angry, but she'd be upset and disappointed, and he didn't want her to feel that way. His fingers twitched nervously, and sweat started dripping down his neck. His head hurt so much.
This wasn't right. The smoke felt wrong—wrong, wrong, wrong. It didn't smell like it did from his fires. It smelled toxic.
Flames tickled his skin like warm kisses. He felt like throwing up.
Rolling onto his stomach, pushing himself onto his knees, Maleko did just that. Emptying whatever was in his stomach onto the floor until all that was left was acid burning his throat, and he threw that up, too.
Vision blurry and warped, Maleko crawled across the floor, patting the ground blindly, searching until he found Bon-Bon against the opposite wall of the hall. One of his arms was hanging on by only a few threads, white stuffing bleeding out. His other arm wrapped around his chest where he had been cut open by glass, shards still embedded into his torso. His mask was skewered, light grey turning dark from dirt and soot; the hood had fallen, his body trembling, his hair even more a mess than usual.
Maleko whimpered, grabbing his friend and holding him close to his chest, unsure if he was comforting Bon-Bon or himself.
"I'll be fine. Get up," Bon-Bon urged despite his pain.
It was hard to get to his feet. His legs felt like jelly. He used the end table to help himself stand, and his hand landed in something wet when he did. Maleko couldn't see it well; his vision was messed up, but he could smell it. He could recognize the taste when he tentatively licked his palm.
Blood. His blood. He was bleeding.
Someone was laughing.
He rubbed his eyes. His vision started to recover.
Someone was laughing. People had broken into his home, broken stuff, and laughed about it. Mama was going to be mad. She would hurt them when she got home and saw what they did. Papa could make the pain in his head and ears disappear, and Mama would chase these bad people away.
The smoke was getting thicker. He didn't like it. It was too wrong, too dense. It was hard for him to breathe. He should open a window; that'd make the smoke go away.
The ceiling groaned, and bits of the wall were crumbling.
Maleko's body felt weird, and his head felt sticky. The smell of blood was getting stronger. He hit his head during the first explosion. Maybe he cut himself? Perhaps that was why he felt so dizzy. His ears were still ringing. His body didn't feel right.
Slowly, he reached the hall window.
He saw the flowers he and Papa planted in the yard, the pear tree directly below, and the metal stick Papa planted to help the tree stay straight. Papa laughed and said the tree would be big enough for Maleko to climb to get in and out of the house in a few years. He was excited about that; he liked climbing. He pressed his forehead against the glass; it was hot to the touch. He didn't usually mind the heat, but now it was uncomfortable. If he got the window open, he could get the smoke out, he'd be able to breathe, and then maybe he'd be able to think straight.
The window lock was out of reach; he had to climb onto the window seat to reach it. "Careful, be careful," Bon-Bon warned as he held onto Maleko, coughing up stuffing and smoke.
Maleko murmured in agreement, his fingers struggling to undo the safety latch and open the window. It wouldn't budge no matter how hard he pushed. Breathing hard, he leaned forward to rest his face against the glass; his fingers and lungs hurt.
He had to keep trying.
They could hear the people below. The house shook with each explosion, sending him wobbling on his feet, almost toppling over once again.
He wasn't sure what happened, not really.
One moment, he struggled to open the window, one arm still holding onto Bon-Bon. He stood on his toes just so he could reach the latch on the top, leaning most of his weight against the frame to stay standing.
The next, he flew forward, breaking through the window face first and falling.
He was plummeting to the ground, two stories below, so close and so far away, glass falling around him like glistening drops of rain that cut his skin. His ears were ringing from the explosion. Bon-Bon was above him in the sky, falling and staring down at him, his stuffing bleeding into the air.
When Maleko struck the ground, his head bounced against the earth, rattling his brain and causing another wave of ringing, dizziness, and pain while forcing the air right out of his lungs on impact. Bon-Bon landed next, caught in the branches of the baby tree beside him; the glass fell, coating him and his friend in sparkling, shattered shards.
His entire body hurt.
When did he end up on the ground?
Maleko's head was swimming with thoughts and drowning in pain. None of the times he'd fallen from trees in his jungle home had he felt this way. No fights with animals made him hurt this much. Everything felt like a blur, colors and sounds mixing together.
He tried to grab Bon-Bon, but his friend was just out of reach, his friend was silent.
He tried to stand or even sit up, but that was too much effort for his body. Maleko's eyes felt heavy, and his brain felt mushy confusion. Was it because he crashed through a window face-first? He'd never gotten like this when he'd fallen from trees—
—when did he fall?
His ribs hurt; they burned, not the good burn, not the nice comforting burn when he had a fire in his hands. This was bad; this hurt and hurt and hurt. He groaned, whimpered, and tried to move; the burn only grew worse, and something was stopping him.
The smell of blood was more pungent than before. Was it his blood? When did he get hurt? His head felt damp and sticky all over, and something wet ran down his stomach. Maleko blinked, his vision all sorts messed up again, and wished Bon-Bon would tell him what happened, but his friend was silent.
He smelled fire and dimly noted that he was burning, but he couldn't remember if the flames were his or the explosions—was there an explosion?—he tried to remember, but it was all bleeding together, bleeding… bleeding—why was he bleeding?
The sound of fighting inside the house died down with one desperate, terrified scream, and then it went quiet. He couldn't see. Were his eyes closed? When did he shut his eyes? Where was Mama? Everything hurt, so where was she? Where was Papa?
Why was he outside?
Someone approached him. He could hear their feet against the grass. Someone knelt over him, and he felt hands pushing him back down against the grass. There was more than one person; he could hear people talking. Someone was stroking his arm with cloth; why were they—oh right, his arm was on fire. He didn't mind the fire, but maybe they didn't like fire.
Maleko couldn't make out what they were saying; the words felt garbled.
A hand rested against his forehead. "Hey, kid, don't pass out," a man said, something clicking, clicking.
Maleko groaned and opened his eyes. His vision was still blurry, and he couldn't fully see the people standing over him. He licked his lips, the smell of smoke and blood overpowering, the pain overwhelming. His gaze lowered, and he stared at the steel stake hanging above him, glistening, slick, and red. How was it over him? Wasn't that thing supposed to be stabbed into the ground? It was funny that he got under it somehow, but it wasn't fun that it pressed right against where he hurt the most. Maybe if he shoved it aside, the pain would go away.
"Kid," the one with a hand on him said again—oh, he was referring to Maleko, wasn't he?—as his reaching hand was pulled away from the metal stick. He was saying something else, but Maleko's brain started to tune it out. He came back into fuzzy focus as pain rushed through his cheek. Someone else had pulled a shard of glass out of his cheek, which was nice, the pointy end had dug into his gums and scratched his teeth. "Stay with us, now. You can't pass out."
Maleko muttered something. He didn't know what he was saying; his words were gibberish to even himself. He looked over to Bon-Bon again, weakly attempting to grab his friend from the baby peach tree. Bon-Bon stayed there limply, worryingly unresponsive in his gored state. Maleko's hand fell limp to the ground once more.
His consciousness was fading away to the tempo of the throb in his skull.