Ch. 1 (The Beginning)

A Chapter by J. Womack

Chapter 1(the beginning)

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Lucas says regretfully as he rocks in his favorite chair. It was cold, so cold that you can hear the blistering wind hitting the window like an all-star baseball player hitting a home run. Lucas was sitting in the living room next to his electric fireplace. Here you can see red and green streamers all along his wall as he prepares for the holidays.

On the wall was a voice activated speaker that controls most of the electronics in the house. He slowly walks to the speaker, dragging his feet with every step and says, “heat the floor,” in a deep demanding tone. Within seconds his dark obsidian floor begins to heat up, relaxing his feet, and glowing an effervescent reddish- orange color. Lucas looks down and sees his reflection in the volcanic glass. The glow just accents all his features, like his deep blue eyes. It carefully captures his autumn leaf brown hair that stops three inches above his neck. It accents his tan skin and thin, narrow, shoulders. He sees it all.

Although his maid was in the vicinity, he felt alone. “May I go home to my family Mr. Williams? It’s Christmas eve.” Her eyes were wide with optimism, hoping he would let her go after she finished dusting off his fireplace.

“ Yea, you can leave, but if you do, don’t think you’ll have a job when you get back,” He declared to his maid without even looking at her as if she was a lesser human being than he was. As she storms out of the room stomping and crying, he looks over his shoulder and grins. Power and control were the hosts, and Lucas was the vile virus, without it, he would perish.

His oak wood rocking chair screeched with every movement he made, but this was music to his ears. “Change was inevitable but to this extent?” He closes his eyes, pinches his forehead, and shakes his head in utter disbelief. “This isn’t what I wanted.” Lucas thinks again as he begins to gaze down at the fire once more, gazing as if the bluish-white lit blaze was a reflection of his feelings; anger, sadness, regret.

The crispy aroma of toasted lemon pepper chicken lingers in the air along with golden mash potatoes, and green beans but, Lucas’ mind was far from food. In the background, the television was on his favorite late night show before the broadcast was abruptly interrupted.

“Here we go again,” he let out a sigh, “who is it going to be this time, ” he thinks nonchalantly as he knows what is to come whenever the network interjects the broadcasting.

“No, No, NOO! Please, I’m innocent ” The frantic yelling and forgiveness of a young boy steals Lucas’ attention, prompting him to turn around and look at the television screen in despair. Lucas’ breath was short, heart racing, and eyes portraying a multitude of sympathy.

The boy’s shirt was stained with mud, jeans ripped at the bottom, and his shoes had deep, rugged holes in them. His face was covered with a black mask while two emotionless military guards dressed in all black Kevlar dragged the kid to his destination. The guard on his left forced him to his knees with his baton and pulled the mask off, revealing the boy's face.

He looked like he was no older than twelve. The sun beamed on his face, revealing his cuts, a long scar on his right cheek, and a couple of bruises as he screamed from the pain of the baton. Looking to the sky for a brief sign of relief, he felt his demise quickly creeping upon him.

His voice cracked and he was shaking his head back and forth hysterically like he was searching for help in the audience. The camera crew quickly moved to the spot reserved for his family who was required by law to be there and bear witness to the agonizing pain of losing a child, but they were nowhere to be found.

“Nooo! This isn’t what I wanted!” Lucas screams for the last time, yelling at the television screen as he falls to his knees and chunks his wooden chair across the room, shattering it into pieces. “He’s too young how " how could they just…” Lucas' voice vanishes as the boy’s last cry goes silent…

The kid was shot in the head on live television for the entire nation to see like he was some animal at a slaughterhouse.

Guilt floods Lucas like a tidal wave as he sits down on the floor and stares at the fire once more with an empty, dull look. “ Why did he have to die, was he really innocent?” he thinks in disbelief. “ Things weren’t always this way,” was Lucas’ last thought as he slowly closes his eyes, puts his head down like a sad puppy and begins to reminisce of how things used to be.