He snubbed his coral coloured
cigarette out into the immaculate tablecloth. It smoldered, fire dying in the throat of
purity.
‘I’ll repeat myself,’
the brusque man, saying the statement again in its threat, made the frail man below his
mental grasp shake like a leaf.
‘Where,’ he said,
lighting another cigarette, ‘are the documents?’
The small man, (or perhaps boy)
looked fearfully into his interrogator’s eyes. Would they flicker?
The interrogator, shuffled his
suit as he adjusted sunglasses upon his nose, dulling the silence in the room. The
frightened, being questioned, began to whimper as his interrogator fiddled easily with
someone concealed in his jacket that the boy knew to be a knife.
‘Do you know what I do,’
he said, pausing in the sentence to take off his sunglasses and move closer to the young
man’s face at a frightening speed, ‘to people that refuse to answer?’
The boy gulped, his face
betraying his terror, and his jaw hung slack,
as if trying to say something.
Finally, he stuttered out, ‘…I’ll…I’ll never tell you.’
Such a feat of bravery, in the
cruelty of a dark room with its stark light, was not often seen. It shone, outranking its
predecessors in martyr-ship, and mocked their shameful cowardice.
The suited interrogator, however,
sighed impatiently and gave the boy’s face a good smack.
‘Such a pretty attempt at
strength,’ his eyes mocked the boy’s light, and the sarcasm in the room grew
thick with its stench.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll
be a martyr yet, my boy.’
The boy’s eyes grew wide as
the concealed knife was now unveiled.
‘Now,’ he said, his
voice strangely like a school master reprimanding an errant student, ‘where did you
hide them?’
The boy, his emerald coloured
eyes suddenly alight with a far not seen before, moved in an unpredicted move.
He spat scornfully into his
interrogator’s face.
The man, who up to that point had
retained a placid look upon his handsome features, darkened considerably to a level that
made the boy’s blood run cold.
Suddenly, the evil glint of a
knife in motion was seen, a moment of malevolence frozen forever in time, and a mean slash
of red appeared on a once unmarred cheek, a surface of sweet innocence. Now, delicate
crimson streams dribbled down, and the boy, his eyes wide with shock, just stared straight
ahead into the face of impatience.
‘As I said,’ the raven
haired man, regaining his former composure, continued, wiping the knife clean of dirty
blood, ‘I don’t wait for answers.’
Suddenly, unidentifiable to the
interrogator, the boy leapt up, his hands unbound, and gave his torturer a good kick
before making a run for the door.
The interrogator, so was he taken
aback, that, despite his swift reaction speed needed in his specific line of work, he let
lapse a couple seconds before trying to apprehend his assailant.
The boy flew through the Shin-Ra
hallways as a mad man does an asylum.
Livid with fear and loathing, he
found a stairway that looked like it led down, though through a haze of overriding
emotions, he failed to see the large shadow that loomed over him.
He flung open the doors, praying
they weren’t bolted, and rushed through in a whirl wind of movement. Before he could
run halfway down the stairway however, a strong hand shot out and clamped almost painfully
around his wrist.
‘Wha--,’ he was cut off
by the deep rumble of a male voice.
‘Who are you?’
The boy stared dumbly at his
apprehender, but was slapped back to reality by the sound of sharp footsteps approaching.
He began to struggle, but could
not loosen the large man’s iron grip who stared at him strangely for a few moments.
Their eyes locked, emerald upon dull brown, and in that moment the world seemingly
stopped.
The boy didn’t feel slimy
hands tear him out of the brown eyed demon’s grip.
He didn’t notice when his
other cheek was slashed as a punishment.
And he certainly didn’t
notice as he was gagged.
The last thing he saw before
being knocked out by his former assailant were brown eyes, frightening in their depths, as
if one might drown.
Perhaps their owner already had.
