Rain patters on the window. Even the rain seems sad. Through the blotches of water running down the low quality glass, fire and smoke block the sky. The overcast, although gloomy, still seems to somehow be above the death and destruction plaguing those who reside beneath it.
A little boy, sitting in a poorly made chair just big enough for him, is looking out the window with an unfocused gaze. The sounds not quite reaching him, despite not being far. The boy, no older than eight, is already filled with quite a lot of pain.
No wound is obvious on his body, but his eyes hold a deadness in them that should not be there. His little hands, curled into unclenched fists on his thighs. Eyes regaining some focus, he looks away from the visage of pain and misery. Reaching with a hand he grabs a ring he left on the windowsill. The item itself holding just as much pain to the boy as the grim reminder of what lies beyond the glass.
His family. This is all he has left of his little brother, an image of a boy being stabbed. Of his little sister, her end being the same. Neither being older than five. And yet he lingers. His parents, neither being terribly good nor bad, still protected him and his siblings from the outside world. His mother dying as she tried to stab the invaders with a kitchen knife, his father intervening not long after.
The invaders were killed, but his family was still gone. His father, on his last few breathes, gave him a half armed hug, his ring, and a sad look, before passing away.
He hadn’t had time to think of his arrival at the orphanage before he could hear the screams of the denizens of his new home. Knowing they would make their way to his room in time, the little boy decided he wouldn’t try and stop them. No hiding, no pleading. He would reunite with his siblings who he loved so much.
Adorning his fathers ring, he sat back in his little chair, and looked at the sky. He could hear the thumps of the invaders’ footsteps as they reaches his room, but continued to look at the overcast sky.
‘I don’t mind the rain’, he thought. ‘I don’t mind it at all.’
As the door to his room is smashed open, he decided to harbor thoughts of his brother and sister as his last.
The invaders, entering the room, see a small bed, a little boy by a window in a chair, looking into the sky. Their leader, accepting the grisly work for what it was, decided not to pain the kid. Holding his men back with a wave of his arm, he approached the child.
Knowing nothing he can say will take the sin away from such butchery of children, the man hopes the quick death will at least earn him some respite when his own end comes. With some disgust at himself, quickly tempered by already endless acts of cruelty, he stabs the boy through the back.
Knowing he cannot stand to look at the face of the little boy, no older than his own son, he quickly turns and gestures the rest to leave.
Being the last to leave, he gives a half turn to glance at the kid, now slightly more slumped than before, in his little chair, before closing what remains of the door.
The boy, knowing he had been stabbed, the pain being the largest reminder, continued to look out the window. ‘I hope,’ He thought, ‘I can see little Sera and Dain again.’ Before finally succumbing to his wound. Grey eyes close, his face twisted between a sad smile and a grimace at the pain.