We'll Rule This City

Chapter 1

I have many memories from my childhood. Some good, many bad. But none stick out quite like him.

The unlucky boy, that was what they called him. Some might even say cursed.

A cursed child.

I remember him from a young age. Starting out at school, one of the poorest in our inner city, the kids there weren't expected to amount to much. I used to be determined to prove them wrong, to prove that not all kids from our area were doomed to be worthless pieces of trash. Maybe I succeeded...or maybe I became exactly what they feared I would.

Anyway, the boy. The first day of school - everyone was wide eyed and nervous - new friends beckoned, learning was the last thing on my mind. Fuck learning ABC's we're gonna play football on the school yard and charge at each other playing British Bulldogs.

At the tender age of four, appearances are usually the last thing you worry about. It is truly one of the greatest traits of children, the fact that stereotypes and prejudices that darken adult mindsets have yet to set in. Faces tend to blur into one gigantic, hyperactive mess.

That boy though, that boy I noticed.

For starters he was tiny, much smaller than me and quite a bit shorter that the second smallest child, craning his head back to stare up at everybody else, his school uniform slightly different to the rest of ours because the normal attire wasn't made that size. He was super skinny too, looked as if the slightest breeze might knock him from his feet and he would be swallowed up from my vision, getting lost amongst the larger groups of children.

Up until that point in my life there'd only been two people I really cared about - and one of those people was me. But for some unexplained reason, the moment I saw the tiny boy, I felt a surge of emotion rush over me, like he was something special that needed to be protected. It was weird for a four year old to have those sort of feelings and I didn't know quite what to make of them at the time. Still don't.

I remember sitting across from him - his table being next to mine - in Mrs Helis's classroom, legs swinging off his chair, too small even for the child sized chairs. More than anything I was fascinated, as kids that age tend to be when they see something or someone they're not used too. "Hey, look, look! Look at the weird thing!" There's no feeling of disgrace that is felt by adults for staring. And so I did stare a lot that first day.

I don't know if he saw me, he rarely looked up from his paper where he would be doodling stickmen rather than doing any work, eyes wide and glistening with concentration on his artwork.

At the end of the day, when me and the other kids from my home piled into the van, I watched him still, standing by the school gate, waiting for his parents or whoever was picking him up, swinging his arms patiently. I watched until our van pulled away from the school and I lost sight of him. I think I forgot about him when I could no longer see him. Very simple minds four year olds have, easiest to only concentrate on what is in front of you. But as soon as I saw him again the next day, I was once again fascinated.

He never really spoke much, I don't even know if I ever heard his voice except for when he'd answer the odd question from the teacher. Other than that, he kind of kept himself to himself, strange behaviour for a child so young. He didn't play with the rest of us as far as I can remember but sometimes I caught him watching, looking like he really wanted to. I wonder why he never did?

A year later the boy's father dies. I don't remember how he died, I don't know if we were even told. What I do know is that the boy was missing for a few days and our teacher explained to us that he was a very sad little boy at the moment because his Daddy was gone. That was how he was known as for a while, the boy whose dad had died. It wasn't a very good nickname, cause a lot of the other kids dads had died as well, it was just that sort of neighbourhood.