I'm losing my sanity…
In a forgotten nook of a Strovian slum, Sieg — a frail-looking boy in ragged garments, his skin filled with fresh bruises, found himself surrounded by three thugs.
Today I decided to stand up to them with my tiny fist.
"Being brave today, Sieg? How about we knock some sense into you?" a thug named Grizz said while cracking his fist.
"Where is it, Sieg? Hand it over already!" one of the impatient thugs, named Ralts, chimed in. He had a hood and a worn jacket; his fingers and body were fidgeting slightly.
The thugs wanted the envelope that Sieg's mother sent to him. It held 1000 ₷trovian dollars, precious money that was supposed to help her son escape poverty, for a better life…
But even now — Sieg's mother wasn't aware that for the past three years, all the money she sent to her son had been stolen by the local thugs' gang.
"You want this envelope? Then you gotta get through me!" Sieg let out a war cry, standing his ground despite the unfair odds.
Behind the two thugs stood their leader, Knuck — an imposing, muscular figure twice Sieg's height. Still, the short boy refused to be intimidated.
"Sieg, hand over the money, you don't have to get hurt," Knuck said in a friendly tone, his eyes not trying to be scary.
Sieg smirked, "Over my dead bo—"
A punch— Knuck delivered a right fist to Sieg's face, causing him to fall to the dirty ground. "You brought this on yourself."
Pain radiated through Sieg's left cheek, though it seemed Knuck hadn't punched that hard, evident by the fact that Sieg hadn't lost any teeth.
"Know your place. I'm saying this for your own sake. Just listen to me," Knuck murmured, looming over Sieg.
"I'm not—" Sieg tried to murmur something in return, but Knuck leaned closer, curious to what the boy wanted to say.
"I'M NOT WEAK! I'M JUST MALNOURISHED!"
Sieg suddenly rushed Knuck, trying to punch and kick his abdomen, but he might as well have been a wet towel for how soft his punches were.
Knuck gave him a pitied look before delivering a right knee strike to Sieg's belly — immobilizing the boy.
"Teach him a lesson." The thug leader ordered.
Sieg clutched his stomach; the pain was unbearable. But before he could even try to flee — Ralts and Grizz gave him the beating of a lifetime for his transgressions against their leader, who watched the whole thing unfold.
"This is what you get if you don't listen to us!" Grizz shouted.
"AHHH, STOP IT."
Nobody was there to help him.
After all, this was an unfriendly ecosystem of selfishness intensified by poverty.
"Heh, his mommy keeps sending him loads of cash. We'll help ourselves to it." Ralts inspected the stolen brown envelope.
How dare you… don't open it…
But as Ralts flashed the cash out of the envelope, Knuck suddenly took it from his hands, and Ralts couldn't exactly fight back.
Knuck knows there are letters here from Sieg's mother. "You can have this," the imposing and muscular thug leader said, throwing at least 100 Strovian Currency and the rest of the letters toward the beaten-up boy.
I don't know how — one of these days I'll kill all of you…
The crumpled pages drifted to the dirt, landing right next to him.
"Mother…" Sieg murmured as the thugs walked away, laughing and savoring the crisp grey money they had stolen from him, while Knuck gave him one more pitied look before eventually leaving him alone.
Ughhhh…
Today was supposed to be my special day...
Mice and insects were scattering everywhere — the smell of blood and rotting trash swirled in the air. But for gutter rats like them, it was just another day at the gulags.
Using the last of his strength, Sieg rose to his feet and gathered the scattered money along with the single crimson letter that bore his mother's words.
As Sieg walked through the sketchy parts of the slums, mean-looking stares met his eyes, and vendors on the sidelines were selling wares that might have held various types of contamination.
The noise pollution in this place was a hazzard… it was rather normal to have ear damage around these parts. Amid the usual clamor, a deranged old man screamed at the top of his lungs.
"The collapsing eclipse is coming! We are all gonna feel the king's arrival! And he demands new children! New sons and daughters! All hail to the lord of the night! The dark star and aether! Devourer of the worlds!"
The uneducated passersby ignored him, though a few children gave nervous glances — in these slums, madness was just another friend in the background.
What is that old man talking about? The collapsing eclipse is still a few months away. It's only November 1st, and it doesn't happen until January 1 and June 16. Is he crazy?
It's not the kind of thing you'd ever want to hear people preaching about… after all it causes the deaths of many lives.
Sieg paused his steps — his eyes fell on the blackwater shoreline right next to the Strovian slums, and perhaps it contributed to the people's insanity, with its muddy waters stretching along the dying horizon, polluted by the slum dwellers' everyday activities.
Despite the state of the slums, and the world, some children still tried to enjoy their playtime when they weren't working. Sieg walked past them, mostly ignored. As wrong as it was, an injured boy like him was a common sight in the slums, where crime ran rampant.
I need to start saving whenever I can.
My mom's salary usually comes in between the 5th and the 20th each month, but this time it came in late by ten days! — which is partly why I got beaten up by those bastards. They thought I was hiding the money!
Before long, he finally reached his rundown slum shed. It was made of scrap wood and metal, old planks, and barricaded windows. It leaned at a crooked angle.
Sieg entered through its wooden door and was greeted by his small room.
He slept on cardboard shoved in the corner of the room, and used an old metal box for storage. Hangers faced the sun to dry his clothes. Scattered around the floor were books of all kinds, covering all sorts of random topics he'd picked up over the years, all he inherited from his mother.
The boy feeling hungry, so he had to taste his good ol' struggle meal.
"A can of sardines, good stuff—" he pried it open, revealing a fish covered in tomato sauce. Without further delay, he ate with his bare hands.
Hygiene wasn't his strongest suit.
As he ate the sardines frustratingly, his mind remembered the letter from his mother — it was something he always looked out for. After he finished eating, he washed his hands outside at the public faucet, though whether the water was clean was a mystery.
He slumped on his cardboard bed and carefully unfolded the crimson-lettered envelope, eager to read its contents.
Dear Sieg — Have you been well? Are you eating properly? I hope you're living in a better place than before. I am so proud of you, my son. Remember what I told you? Use the money I send to invest in yourself. Enroll in a proper school, study hard, and graduate with high scores. I believe in you. You are capable of so much more than this life has given you…
Love… mom…
The sensation of disappointment stabbed at his heart — For three years, he was still a prisoner trapped in the filth of the slums.
"Why am I still stuck here?" he whispered, clutching the letter to his chest.
"It's my fault… I told everyone about the money. Now look at me! and I don't even have the courage to tell my mother that I've been lying to her about the truth!"
"I'm such a stupid bum!"
Yet as he thumbed through the pages, he noticed another folded note tucked inside. It was smaller, plain, and almost hidden beneath the main letter.
He unfolded it lazily — a stack of numbers and official stamps stared back at him: medical bills from her hospital stay.
Emergency care and trauma treatment: ₷5,000
Surgery and operating room: ₷15,000
ICU stay and life support: ₷12,000
Medications and consumables: ₷4,000
Lab tests and imaging: ₷2,500
Miscellaneous hospital fees: ₷1,500
Total: ₷40,000
He knows what these prices meant — yet his mind refused to acknowledge it…
"It can't be…"
Before he could even process this revelation — he heard a knock on his wooden door, it was a rough rhythm.
For a moment he didn't reply.
Sieg could hear brash murmurs behind the door — several men, but who could they be? The slum thugs usually left him alone after stealing his money, yet right now, something wasn't right.
"I told you, man, he's in there!" That voice — it came from Grizz. Then another followed: "That Sieg spends all that money on booze and women! Yeah! He wasted all of it!" That one was Ralts.
What do they want this time?!
Without warning, the door came crashing open. It was shoved by Knuck himself, startling Sieg.
Knuck wore a somber expression, not daring to utter a single word.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" Sieg screamed involuntarily in distress.
"Yeah, he's here! He's the one who had all the money!" Ralts pointed at Sieg, guiding a group of men towards him.
"What money? Didn't you all take it?!" Sieg said, but then Grizz chimed in, "This bastard is lying! He just wasted it on junk!"
Sieg grew both worried and confused, because behind the thugs stood other people — and they were nothing like the usual slum dwellers. They wore black coats, were tall and well-fed, with colder, meaner expressions.
But one individual with cold footsteps came from behind them — at first glance, Sieg already knew they won't get along.
He stood out among them the most, a boy with blond hair, around Sieg's age, with pale skin and blue eyes. It was clear as day that he was a noble; however, anyone could tell he had a scummy demeanor.
Sieg asked himself, Why is a man like that looking for me?
Chapter End.