Benedict's Story | Chapter Three

Benedict's uncle asks about his mother.

 

 “How’d she die?” There was a tint of mourning in my ‘uncle’s voice.

 

 “Why should I tell you? I barely know you!” Okays, I was being rude. But the guy was asking about my mother’s death. It was a brutal death too. I remember it pretty clearly. Two years ago, when I had just eased myself into the ripe ole age of thirteen, my mom came home drunk as a cloud about to rain. She ranted on about no one cared about her anymore, and how the streets were tough. I ended up ignoring her, predicting she’d sober up in a couple of hours.

 

 There was a loud crash accommodating two big thugs. They were exactly how them movie people imagined them to be: hairy as a gorilla, tattooed to the bone, and hell they had way to many muscles to be considered healthy. They argued with my mother. She shouted something; they shouted something until one of the sides had had enough. There was a loud clash as what I presumed was a beer bottle colliding with the furniture. Then there was a gunshot. My mother didn’t even scream. I heard the echoes of their footsteps. When silence entered the small apartment, I stared at my mother’s body, blood had splashed the carpet. A river slid from her head and ended at a broken beer bottle. She stared back.

 

 I had panicked, running out to the streets. The next day there was yellow tape on my door, and no one remembered about the victim’s son. So there I was on the streets stranded and alone. That’s about the time I started stealing. Tourists came from all corners of Tehra, partying and enjoying themselves like there was no tomorrow. Pick pocketing had kept me alive then, but it was about to kill me now.

 

 “Tell me, brat if you value having bones.”

 “She was shot, happy?” I answered angrily. I was done with these people. I wanted out and if I couldn’t get it I wanted to at least know what this guy’s deal was with me.

 

 He handed me a photo, of my mother...and him. “You wanted proof didn’t you? I’m your uncle.”

 

 I was speechless. I never asked about any of my other relatives, and my mother never mentioned them. It was always me and her and that was it. ”Wait wha-“

 

 “I want you to come live with me. You can’t keep living uneducated in Hausa. And I have plenty of money wasted on nothing. I have no family of my own anyways.”

 

 I studied Uncle again. He was right. The man was loaded, no doubt about that. The clothing was all from the most expensive designers. He was well groomed, and held a confident yet cold look in his eyes. I could already picture the luxurious life I could soon embrace.

 

 Uncle smiled. “Excellent, Travis will show you to the mansion. I have to stay back here for awhile.” Whoa, a mansion. Sweet. “Guess I’ll be living the easy life from now on,” I mumbled to Travis. “You keep thinking that brat.”

Author's Note

I know short chapter. But I felt like it was a good place to cut off. That and I'm all a sudden feeling uninspired...so I probably won't be posting any chapters for my Hamilton Sotry or this one..