Golden Darkness

In Which an Assassin is Born

        Wide black eyes fluttered open, gazing at the bespectacled old man above him. A small look of confusion grew, his golden locks covering his face as he sat upwards slowly. For a second, he sat there, staring at the ground before his small pearly white teeth clenched together into a grimace. The boy's pale bony hands gripped the man's woolen robe, yanking harshly to bring him closer. "Where. Am. I?"

        His words were ragged, as he tried to draw breath, feeling the bandages tighten every time. The monk gently pried the boy's fingers off his robe, smoothing back his blonde hair familiarly. "Shh, child, you don't want to exhaust yourself." The child's heartbeat quickened, realizing this moment was becoming his first memory. He felt like he was nobody, he had nothing, nothing except this moment right now. "...You haven't answered me." he snarled, laying back down on the stiff hard bed, glaring up at the stone ceiling. The monk was quiet for a moment, looking down sadly at him. However, the child clearly was annoyed by this, picking at his cotton bandages distastefully. "What happened to me? Why am I hurt?" He spat, crossing his arms across his chest, even though it stung with pain. The monk gently grabbed the tankard nearby, offering it to him kindly. "I'm afraid.... It's best to keep the past in the past. " He said with a long drawing sigh. "Well then, what's even my name?" The child snorted with contempt, grabbing the tankard and making the water within slosh audibly.

"You have a special name, one that usually only an angel bears. Your name is Raphael."

The child choked on his water, submerging from the cup and sputtering loud. "What kind of a name is that?" he said skeptically, narrowing his eyes. The monk chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "You'll get used to it."

After several weeks went by, Raphael's wounds healed, and his anger grew worse. He was told how old he was, when his birthday was, and constantly told he will be educated. It truly was the best place to grow up with the splendor of fields, orchards and gardens as well as the countless books full of knowledge that the monks had in their library. However, he could never appreciate it, his anger got the better of him, sometimes lashing out into a fit, wrecking anything in sight. The Abbot, Brother Avery, advised him to take sword fighting lessons to vent his anger.

***

Raphael's eyes snapped open, muscles tensed and senses alert. His feet swung out of the hard cotton covered bed, touching the chilly stone floor. It sent a shiver up his spine as he stumbled near the soft light leaking out of the door frame. He tripped on the rug as he went and fell forwards, leaning on the door and pushing open as he hit the ground hard. Raphael's heartbeat quickened as a flash of lightning illuminated the dark dimly lit hallways of the monastery. His feet thumped loud on the tiles, advancing down the hall. He turned right and saw what had awoken him. The door to Brother Avery's room had been knocked down forcefully and a tall man now stood above the elderly man, yanking out a golden engraved gun and twirling it gleefully in his large grimy hands. In a flash, he had grabbed his throat, even though it wasn't really necessary to hold the old man down. In the man's eyes was nothing but bloodlust. Raphael, looking at them, brought a chill of fear, paralyzing him for a fraction of a second before his anger gripped him, picking up the large golden cross on the small table in the Abbot's room. His sudden burst of intense anger shattered what conscience he had at that moment. He swung it fiercly, the assassin obviously not paying attention to the young man, but fixated on killing his target quickly and effectively. The man turned in a blink once he heard the roar emanating from Raphael, shooting one of his bullets from the golden gun. It shot past Raphael's golden curls, grazing his cheek, however it didn't faze him.

There was a loud bang, the carpet stained scarlet, a strained gasp- a conclusion was set. Raphael stood there, his arms limp, the golden cross fallen and rolling away. The man was clearly dead, looking at the ceiling blankly. Raphael's face was pale and sweaty, his chest tightening convulsively. A wheeze was audible as he sunk to the floor. He gasped for breath desperately while his eyes danced back and forth. He had killed someone. Panic flooded his body, making him try to muster a groan. "Raphael." the whisper echoed through the room. "Don't let your anger consume you."

Raphael closed his eyes, hot tears leaking down his cheeks as he pressed his palms to the cool floor as he struggled for breath. "I... I will always... control my anger after this day." He swore, suddenly starting to cough hard. By this time, the other monks had already started to file into the room, witnessing the young man's asthma attack. There were frenzied yells of "We need to get them to a doctor." and "Brother Avery, are you alright?" but they were nothing to Raphael. He was trapped in his own mind at the moment, not even feeling himself being carried away.