In Secondary school, at least.
The day began sleepy, as a continuation of two days of sheer boredom and what felt like neuron necrosis.
Mr Sng came in during the third period and asked us to do our summaries. Of course no one was in the mood for it because after school we were to have an Additional Maths test, and everyone wanted to study for it. So he let us take our summaries home to complete, and he let us use his period for revision. With that, he walked out.
He came back near the end of English class with our personal recounts from about two weeks ago. And suddenly apocalyptic music played in my head, because I really really really (x30000) didn't want to get my assignment back. I was scared. Scared because I told, not showed. Scared because I ventured into unfamiliar ground. Scared because... it was a sort of test-drive.
But I guess I could justify that with "what did you expect us to come up with in one and a half hours about being late for an important date or event which led to serious consequences?!?!?!?! *swearing*"
And so it came back.
And I was expecting something horrible. Twenty over thirty. Nineteen over thirty. Oh, the possibilities!
And it returned.
Twenty-six.
TWENTY-SIX.
I went red. Very red. I was so... so... happy. Elated. Jubilant.
I laughed silently to myself under my table as he went through all the common mistakes for our class personal recount essays.
And he'd been indecisive about it, too. He'd written 22, then cancelled it, then 26, which was cancelled too, before he settled on 26.
Ah, mafia men, you make the narrative world such a beautiful place.
I'll type it out here ^^. With what Mr Sng's corrected.
-
I rushed into my black Lamborghini, as Alphonse slid into the driver's seat almost effortlessly, the way I'd demanded he do it since I was a child.
"I told you it was time to go half an hour ago!" Alphonse cried as he started the ignition. "I really don't know how you'll succeed the Wright lineage, the way you're acting," he said, softer this time, as if he were talking to himself.
It was my fault, of course, but I wouldn't admit it. Father told me once that there are two things that Wrights do not do - admit one's mistakes, and to apologise, for these two are signs of weakness, which our world, our terrain, has no tolerance for.
The jalopy sped past expressway after expressway, as I hastily adjusted my tie, fiddled with my cufflinks, and slicked back my hair. My first day, and already I was making mistakes. Ten minutes to the time I was supposed to become a made man, and I was half an hour away from my destination.
My mind flashed to all the horror stories I'd gleaned from the butlers as a child, of people who were late for their induction as made men. Some had Father's hitmen attack them, others had the end sections of their little fingers cut off, a lucky few had cigars stubbed out on them. But all of these people still became members of the Dark, so in a way, my mind was put at ease.
At last, we arrived at Uncle Victor's turf, where the ceremony was held. Along with Uncle Nero, who was mildly amused, I met with the cold stare of my father.
"Virgil," Nero, the head of the Dark said, in an unusually calm tone for the given circumstances, "it appears Sebastian here, your son, has no sense of responsibility. Was this, Sebastian's making, not supposed to be the best day of your life? And Sebastian, was this not supposed to be the best day of yours?
"I remember, when I took you in, my right-hand man's son, as my apprentice, I saw great things in you. You seemed to possess the ability to pursue greatness, to carry on the name of the Wrights as the best henchmen the Dark, the world, has ever seen. To be late for your induction, why, your father," and here he pulled out a derringer, "could just die of disappointment at his only successor's failure to arrive and be made on time."
He cocked the gun and placed it at my father's temple. My pupils dilated as cold sweat trickled down my own temples, as the hitmen in the back sniggered somewhat. I'd lost all self control by then, and all I could do was to yell "NO!".
What happened after that was a blur. I only remember that the great heaping mass that was Nero toppled to the ground, knocking him out cold as he fell on the back on his head. I remember, too, that there was great pandemonium as the hitmen and all the other men present went delirious. To assault the Don... that was sheer madness. It could have spelled death.
But most of all, I remembered my father.
I remember his expressionless face when the gun was put to his head, his shock and anger when Nero fell, and the intense disappointment in his eyes, that gave him pain even to acknowledge me as his son, all of which culminated in the last two words he has ever said to me.
"Get out."
No, this was a nightmare, I thought. Disowning in our world was done only if I had committed the unforgivable. It was the greatest dishonour, and to be disowned was to say I could never return to our world, our house, ever again.
"Get out," he said, mildly exerting his vocal cords now.
I remained rooted, paralysed.
"GET OUT!" he hollered, exerting his diaphragm and using every last bit of strength he had.
Alphonse dragged me off in the end. He drove me home and handed me my things. "Sebastian... I'm sorry."
"It's not your sentence, Alphonse, it's mine. I'm sorry," I murmured, no longer a member of the Wrights.
"As is customary for the disowned, they are allowed one trip, to be sent off by their personal butlers to any place they so desire, as a final service. Where do you wish to go?"
I thought for a while, tearing somewhat at the prospect of even leaving home, and the books, the memories, Alphonse.
"Take me far away. Far away from here. Anywhere you please."
And at last, when I alighted, in the dead of night, on a seemingly endless beach, I looked up into the vast blue sky, uncertain and crestfallen, as I was to start life again all by myself.
-
I'd like to take this opportunity to apologise to all the mafia/prospective mafia who read this blog (heck, no one reads this blog) because I don't think I did you guys justice.
"Very gothic and vampirish", read the verdict from Mr Sng. Hmm. Vampirish.
Iman went delirious reading this. She was laughing all the way and going on about how he was totally right and how it was so very vampirish indeed, at which I flailed my hands asking loudly what it was that was so vampirish about my composition. (My references were from Artemis Fowl, 300, Kamikaze Girls, and the Godfather theme song on repeat in my head. Oh, and the whole thing playing itself out in my head anime-style.) She didn't tell me, because when I showed my composition to her she was studying for the A Maths test, and couldn't be bothered to explain further, but she cited the seemingly endless beach in the dead of the night as an example.
Penelope read it, and after that there was a pause, before she turned and looked at me. "This is... absolutely masterful." she said. She said her heart didn't feel it though, but her head did. (That was my main fear. This composition didn't have my heart in full throttle.)
Prisia said that Sebastian was an idiot for someone raised in a mafia family, and that he should have controlled himself better because it was obviously a common joke.
Ah well.
Mr Sng was all, "If you want to know how to write a good personal recount, ask Faith, Sakinah, Mavis and Vanessa." (I think he said those four anyway.) But I don't think I can help anyone who asks me - I just wrote whatever the hell I wanted and prayed he'd like it.
Archery!
We were tested on our grouping. We had to shoot three arrows in any place we so chose (and hope to God that they were together).
So I shot. Fast.
Stab.
Stab.
Stab.
And they were together ^________^
I got a red mini arrow with red, orange and yellow fletches. The only red arrow in class. The other three got black arrows, but I heard that the colours were random. Oh well.
A Maths after school was... bearable. I'm going to get a lot of flak from my Maths tuition teacher for forgetting how to do one whole question (or two) but I see a 72% if all else goes well other than what I didn't know/answer at all.
Alright, going off. ^^
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