Requiem for a Mouse (2 page)

BOLT

The slums looked like someone had tried jamming as many houses as they could into one place. Every street and alley were surrounded by rows of houses. It was ironic because most the houses lay empty as nobody could afford one. The difference between streets and alleys was which side of a house surrounded them. Streets led to the fronts of houses while alleys the backs. Due to poor planning, many alleys were simply dead ends, giving the slums the feel of a labyrinth.

Bolt clutched the alley wall as he inched his way along. Without the wall, he wouldn’t be able to stand. But the end of the alley was fast approaching.

“C’mon.” Bolt muttered as he stepped out of the alleyway shadows into the moonlight.

With no wall left to hold, his knee caved and he fell to his stomach. Tiaren’s knife prodded him through his pocket. He snatched it out, afraid it would cut him. He almost wished that it had, he deserved as much.

The moonlight glinted off the blade in a dazzling flash. Its tip had burned black. He cursed Tiaren for having shown him mercy when he had been so merciless to her. From the moment he had stolen her knife, her empty gaze had followed him.

Her body was still warm.

“She’s a Hawk. We’re enemies,” Bolt reminded himself.

The dull aching of his arm sent a throb of agreement. He placed the knife back into his pocket, careful to position the tip away from himself. He pushed himself up, but his leg buckled beneath him again. No matter how he commanded it, it refused to obey.

I deserve this.
The thought wasn’t unexpected, but it startled him all the same.

With a groan, Bolt clawed himself deeper into the street.

I wonder if her friends would even notice.

By the time he had mustered the courage to take the knife, the other Hawks had gone in pursuit of the killer. He had never seen anyone in such maddened states before. They sprinted faster than he had ever seen them run, even the fat one kept pace.

The sound of trickling water brought him back to reality. The night was nearly over. The thought of sleep invigorated his lopsided crawl. Pretty soon, he had reached the edge of the street, the divide between civilization’s dirt roads and nature’s wild grass. He had never been more eager to sink his knees into mud. To his left, the moon reflected off the black ripples of the river.

He approached a mass of tents scattered throughout the riverbank. Each tent seemed to be alive. They gently flapped in the wind, supplemented by the rhythmic snoring of their inhabitants. It didn’t take long to find an empty tent. With a tired exhale, he crawled onto the stained sheets inside and fell asleep.

SASHA

Bolt still hadn’t come back. Sasha had looked through all of Bolt’s favorite places: the church, the market, and now, the riverbanks near the tree they first met at. She walked through scattered tents, biting whatever nail was left to bite in her thumb. Each tent she peered into gave the same reaction. Men and women alike threw dirty blankets over their head to ignore the sun already high in the sky.

At this rate, I’ll never find—

“Sasha!”

Sasha turned to see Bolt waving in the distance. A smile stretched across her face. She let out the breath she didn’t even know she was holding and headed toward him.

“You never came back last—” Her smile disappeared when she saw the dried blood caked onto Bolt’s arm— “Holy shit, Bolt.”

“It looks worse than it is.” Bolt gave her a strained smile.

Sasha lifted up his sleeve to find a triangular scab etched into his arm. He now had almost as many scars as she did. “Alright?” she strained to keep her voice down.

Her mouth twisted into a snarl, but upon seeing Bolt’s pale face, her lips parted into a weary smile. She exhaled and pulled Bolt into a tight embrace, resting her cheek on top of his prickly hair. Though he would hate her for thinking it, he felt frail.

Bolt hugged her back. “I didn’t finish the drop. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, Bolt. It happens.” It felt like he would crumble in her embrace. “Let’s get you home,” she said as she released him.

They walked in silence. Sasha snuck occasional glances, but he never looked back. She kept this up until they cleared the mass of tents and neared the city. When she couldn’t take the silence anymore, she halted.

“Bolt, what happened?” she asked, careful to keep her voice soft.

“I just dropped the ball again. Another well-deserved scar,” Bolt said as if he was telling the punchline to some sadistic joke.

“We all have scars.”

“But none like yours,” Bolt muttered.

If Sasha hadn’t been listening so intently, she wouldn’t have caught it. The words were spoken like an accusation, clearly not words for her to hear. She fought the urge to trace the jagged white fissure that cut through her right eye. It was what had changed everything.

She pretended not to have heard Bolt. Before this scar, Bolt would’ve laughed off a failed drop. She still couldn’t grasp what the scar meant to her family and she wasn’t ready to tackle the issue. Luckily, it didn’t seem like Bolt knew she had heard him.

“It just sucks,” Bolt spat. “The world sucks.”

“How can you say that when you’ve seen so little of it?” Sasha looked up at the cloudless sky. She could only imagine how infinitely it stretched.

“I’ve seen just as much as you have.”

“They say that in space, when you look down on the Earth, our cities look like stars.”

“You don’t need to into space to see stars.” Bolt walked past her.

A small frown flashed across Sasha’s face. Bolt’s mood would not be so easy to lift, but she was never one to turn from a challenge. She skipped ahead of Bolt and stopped him in his tracks. “But imagine running through those cities. I bet it’d be like flying through space— She leaned into Bolt with the widest smile her mouth could manage— “Someday, I’ll take you to Paris and show you what the stars look like from up close. And that’s a promise.”

Bolt pursed his lips together. “If we ever get out of this place.”

“When,” Sasha corrected him.

“How can you be so sure?” Bolt returned her the hint of a smile. They both knew how she would answer.

Sasha puffed out her chest and yelled, “just who the hell do you think I am?”

Bolt burst into laughter and walked past her, his steps lighter. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re something else.”

“I’ve been told. Anyways, as soon as we get back home, you’re taking as much medicine as I can shove down your throat. Who knows what kind of filth the Hawk scratched into your arm.”

“No need. The Hawk burned her blade before scarring me.”

“What?” A loud snort escaped Sasha’s lips as she laughed. “How thoughtful!”

She looked up to see Bolt eyeing her strangely. When she realized the sound she just made. Her stomach dropped. “You’re not telling anyone about that.”

Bolt nodded at a silver pole in front of them, the sign they had returned back to civilization. “I don’t have to; it was caught on camera.”

Attached to the pole hung various cameras pointed in all directions. They were as dark as the river. Over the past few years, these camera towers had sprung up like weed. Most of the city was under its scrutinizing gaze. Sasha frowned.

“Let’s go home.”
Where at least nobody is watching
.

FLOWER

Flower awoke to the sound of her name echoing through the alleys. She rubbed her eyes as if she could rub away her fatigue. With a drawn out yawn, she crawled out of her tent into the blinding sunlight.

“Yes?” Her voice came our hoarse. She cringed at the taste of her morning breath.

“Bolt’s back!” Sasha’s voice echoed down the alleyway.

Sasha’s voice always projected so well. At times, Flower was jealous of it. Her own voice came out soft and timid, two things she never strived to be. Though if she were to ask the group what they thought of her, she would put money on soft and timid. It was because she was the smallest and the youngest, and no matter what she did, she’d always be. She stood facing the entrance to their home and waited.

Home was a circle of tents at a dead end in an alleyway made due to erroneous city planning. Mostly likely, someone built a house where they should’ve built a road and were too lazy to fix it. It was a fitting place for them to live.

“Bolt!” Flower called when he turned the corner. She ran into his open arms. “You had me so worried.” She gave him an innocent smile before swinging her fist into his shoulder.

“Ow.” Bolt recoiled away from her. “What’d I do?”

“You had me so worried!” Flower repeated, this time, as an accusation.

“Didn’t you just wake up?”

Flower brought her fists to her hips. “Only because I stayed up so late worrying about you.”

“Spare him.” Sasha giggled. “He’s already been beat up enough.”

Flower’s pout loosened into a concerned frown. “Where are you hurt?”

“Mostly my shoulder, a thirteen-year-old girl just attacked me.”

Flower ignored Sasha’s giggles. “Seriously Bolt, where?”

Bolt yelped while Flower prodded and squeezed his limbs. Admittedly, some of her techniques were made up. Whenever she could, she would read through medical books, but they were hard to understand and even harder to find.

It took her only thirty minutes to clean and bandage all his cuts. When she was done, he looked like a mummy of torn cloth. As a final touch, she gave him some antibiotics and sent him to bed.

As soon as he disappeared into his tent, Sasha and Flower broke into relieved laughter. No matter how many cuts they treated, it never got easier.

“You know I almost prayed last night.” Sasha chuckled.

“Don’t let Bolt hear you say that.” Flower grinned. “He’ll think that he’s converted you into a believer.” She purposefully omitted the fact that she had actually prayed.

“Well then, hopefully he’s not eavesdropping.”

Flower laughed at the image of Bolt with his ear pressed against his tent. “Bolt, if you can hear me, you’re an idiot.”

They both waited a second. But by the way he had stumbled into his tent, neither believed he could still be awake. He probably fell asleep as soon as his body hit the ground.

“I supposed we failed the drop then,” Flower said.

“That makes four in a row.”

“Which means we get one more before we lose three years’ worth of work.”

Sasha nodded.

“You have to tell them.” Flower gave Sasha an incredulous look. “They deserve to know what’s at stake.”

Sasha took an exasperated breath. “God damn. We were so close.”

“You act like we lost. Not everyone is on a moral crusade. Some of us are happy with just a meal in our stomachs.”

“I wanted us to be more than that.”

“I know, but we would be the first Mice to ever finish the program. That’s got to count for something. If nothing else, it gets us enough money to die old.”

Sasha grinned a toothy smile. “You’re too young to talk about dying old. Flower, I’ll tell them the truth. Let’s just hope they don’t freak out.”

Flower let out a breath. She had worried that Sasha would fight her on this. If Sasha was so inclined, nobody in this world could match her stubbornness.

“Oh, by the way Flower, could you run over to our last drop and see how they’re doing? That one isn’t too far from here.”

Flower raised her eyebrows. “Why? It’s not like any of them ever care anyways.”

“Because I asked you to.” Sasha bit her lower lip and gave Flower a hurtful look.

Flower rolled her eyes. “I’m not Prince, you can’t just give me that look and have me do whatever you want.”

Sasha giggled.

“I bet he’s off causing trouble again,” Flower said with a rogue-like grin.

“Before I left to find Bolt, I told Maverick to keep an eye on him.”

“Like that would stop him.” They both knew how Prince was. Flower gave Sasha an impish gaze. “Speaking of Prince, have you had any more dreams—”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Flower bit her lower lip and replicated Sasha’s hurt look from earlier. “I feel like you always think I’m about to do something bad.”

“You are.”

Flower smiled, seeing Sasha’s ears starting to turn red. “You’re no fun.”

“Go.” Sasha pointed toward the alley exit.

“Fine, fine.” Flower left, chuckling.

PRINCE

“You fucking cheated!” John’s face turned purple. His voice carried through the bar.

Mismatched tables and chairs furnished this place. The only piece of furniture that wasn’t rotting or broken was the bar itself. Its polished oak contrasted sharply with the flaking wood of the other tables.

Prince wanted to explain to John how impossible it was to cheat in chess, but instead just rolled his eyes, “Next time, don’t underestimate me,” Prince said with a waning grin.

It had been a mistake to gamble with this man. John was the type of man who would rather accuse a fifteen-year-old boy of cheating than admit defeat.

But I could probably win even more money from him.
Prince thrust the thought from his mind, astounded by his own greed. Even when facing such a volatile man, his money-making schemes were so attractive. Luckily, he wasn’t that much a fool.

“What did you say?” John clenched the table, sending quakes across the chessboard. His arms were pillars of flesh littered with scars. Even his face carried proof of battle. “You arrogant little shit, you’re lecturing me now?”

“If I were to lecture you, I would teach you to be a more graceful loser,” Prince said, like a fool.

Prince had always known he was reckless, but this bordered absurdity. Still, he understood why he couldn’t just walk away. He was a gambler. If the odds were enough in his favor, he would bet his life. The fact he had so many opportunities to do so was nothing short of a blessing.

John swatted the chess table across the room. Every eye in the bar turned to see John’s shadow swallow Prince.

“I’m going to give you one chance and one chance only to get down on your fucking knees and beg,” John growled.

It was near impossible, but Prince kept his grin steady. “Sorry that you lost.”

“What was that?”

The gamblers of the Riverside Tavern abandoned their games of cards and dice to watch the spectacle. They surrounded Prince and John, a ragtag circle of men dressed in clothes patched beyond recognition. Even the bartender, wearing his nice black vest, stopped washing glasses to listen in.

John brandished a switchblade from his pocket. “Don’t think just because you’re a kid, I won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t, but this bar belongs to The Dragon. That’s why you won’t hurt me.” Prince kept his voice level. “There’s a better way to decide these things.”

John followed Prince’s gaze to the chessboard he had flung across the room.

“Or do you think you’re going to lose again, John?”

“Ha.” The laugh sounded forced. John glanced at his friends behind him and then at the crowd around him. “Fine.”

“Good.” Prince leaned back in his chair to steady his trembling leg. The floor creaked under him in complaint.

Suddenly, John stabbed his knife deep into the polished table. Prince jumped and fell backwards. He shot his legs up and caught the bottom of the table, stopping his descent. A sharp yelp escaped his lips, betraying his fear.

What Prince lost in confidence, John gained.

“I don’t care if The Dragon owns this bar. Cheat again and this knife is going straight up your ass,” John said. He plucked the knife out and placed it on the table. “Dmitri, Owen, set the chessboard back up for us.”

Dmitri and Owen separated from the crowd to do so.

“So the usual bet?” Prince’s voice came out unintentionally weak.

“Tenfold that.”

Both knew that Prince couldn’t afford that gamble. Prince opened his mouth to refuse but before he could, he saw John’s smile. It was the smile of man used to the world submitting to him.

“I’ll go first.”

For the first time since he had beaten John, a genuine smile spread across his mouth. Without a moment’s hesitation, he advanced the pawn in front of his queen. If he was good at anything, it was this.

If John was at all nervous, it didn’t show. He rubbed his chin with two fingers and moved his bishop across the board, jumping over his line of pawns. “Check.”

Prince half expected him to take it back with a crude joke, but nothing happened. “Are we making up our own rules now?”

“You cheated last time, so I’m cheating this time.”

“I didn’t—” Prince stopped. Reason held no power against this man.

Prince hadn’t considered the scenario that John would never admit defeat. He eyed John’s knife. Winning was probably more dangerous than losing. There was only one thing left to do. He stood and lunged forward, swinging a small fist into John’s face. The blow connected and bounced off.

John buried his fist into Prince’s stomach. Prince stumbled backwards and with a croak, purged himself of his lunch. He grabbed the table to steady himself but only ended up tipping it over as he collapsed. Everything on the table spilled to the floor. The chessboard, the chess pieces, and John’s knife.

“What did you expect would happen?” John sounded amused. “I’m bigger and stronger. No matter how many tricks you have up your sleeves, I’ll always come out on top. That’s life.”

The words were faint, even the cheering of the crowd sounded muffled. With quivering arms, Prince crawled forward until he laid on top of the knife. He met John’s eyes for a second before he lurched over to dry heave.

“Beg,” John said, crouched in front of Prince.

A quick scan around confirmed what Prince already figured. The crowd smiled eagerly. People pushed and pulled each other to get a closer view. These pathetic adults wouldn’t help him.

Prince pushed himself onto his knees. He brought his head down until it touched the vomit on the floor.

“That’s right. Do it proper now with your head to the floor,” John said.

“Fuck you,” Prince yelled, still out of breath. He never intended to beg. In this position, nobody could see him tuck the knife into his shorts.

“You have a death wish kid?”

Prince ignored him. “My turn,” he said, looking at the chess board.

John shook his head. “Fine, Owen, Dmitri, set it back up, just like how it was before.”

Even the smallest movements sent waves of nausea through Prince. He clamped a hand over his mouth and took great care not to move too fast. By the time he sat back down, the chessboard had already been set up.

“The offer still stands, beg for mercy.”

Prince had no sharp retort to give. Even if he did, saying it would cost too much energy. He moved his knight to block John’s bishop.

“These pawns remind me of you.” John jumped his rook in front of his pawns. “They were made to be stepped on. They shouldn’t get in the way of the more powerful pieces.”

“Only an idiot would underestimate a pawn,” Prince responded in barely a whisper.

Move after move, John’s advantage grew. The crowd stayed silent, watching Prince bleed pieces. At last, he was down to some pawns, his rook, and his queen. But John had not come out unscathed, he had lost most of his pawns throwing them recklessly into Prince.

“You’re too careless,” Prince said taking John’s last pawn. By now, he could talk without trouble.

“They’re only pawns.” John moved.

“Then I guess you won’t mind this.” Prince moved his queen. “Check.”

John shrugged and retreated with his king.

“Check,” Prince said moving his pawn up.

“You’re going to send your pawns after me now?” John moved his king back again. “Do you see how weak your precious pawns are? I’m right next to them and there’s nothing they can do!”

Prince moved his queen into a space protected by his pawn. “Checkmate.”

Silence. John stared at the chessboard as his face turned a deep violet. “What?” His trembling hand hovered over his rooks and bishops, but none were able to help. A line of pawns blocked their way.

“Even if you cheat, I’ll still win,” Prince said.

In a single instant, the table was gone, flung away by John’s monstrous arms. Every fiber of Prince’s body screamed to run. His legs twitched and his heart was a jackhammer, but he remained still. John clamped his hands around Prince’s neck and lifted Prince up until his feet left the ground. The crowd around them came to life, screaming and clapping.

Now!

Prince thrust the knife into John’s stomach. The blade tore through John’s skin, but stopped at his wall of muscle. With wide eyes, John dropped Prince. As soon as Prince’s feet hit the floor, he sprang up and tackled the knife. It tore through John’s body with a sickly rip. John screamed as he fell to the ground.

Prince stood over John. The words came out scratchy, but they were impossible to miss. “Don’t ever underestimate me.”

Through the roaring crowd, Prince heard a click. He looked up and stared straight into the barrel of a pistol.