Before the dark

It was a rainy day,yes a rainy day, I remember playing in the park with the kids from the neighborhood,splashing water and jumping across puddles. Indeed, it was one of the rainiest days the village of Livingsworth had seen in years.Livingsworth. The name still induces a feeling of nostalgia. Those quaint two storied row houses, with their conjoined terraces. The narrow,crooked lanes that slithered their way through the entire village. The village centre and all its activities, the tea houses and the knowing looks of the elders as you walked your way through the alleys. Ah! how can i ever forget that place.

I, who spent most of the year living in the Big City, for me Livingsworth was more than just a place. It was a haven. A sanctuary to get away from the hustle bustle of the Big City.

And so it was that on that day as i was in the park having fun in the downpour that i saw him for the first time. He was just a child, dripping wet and shivering. He was cowering in one of the old, unoccupied shacks, which until a few years back belonged to an impoverished smith who, one night in a drunken rage, had murdered his wife and children and then committed suicide . Since then, the shack was unoccupied and falling apart. The roof was in such a bad condition that it hardly could keep the water out. He was right there, and i couldn't take my eyes off him. Even in such a pitiable condition, there was something about him that stumped me. Something in the way he was looking at us playing while he cowered, alone and cold. His eyes, i can never forget that look, seemed to blame us for his troubles. Those cold, hate-filled eyes.

Before i had the time to think , i felt myself walking towards him. There was something in those small, grey eyes that was strangely hypnotic,and there i was right in front of him still transfixed by those eyes.

"Hey, i am Roman, are you new to Livingsworth?"

No reply. He kept staring at me with the same look for sometime and then suddenly got up and walked inside the house. I was taken aback, and honestly felt a bit insulted. But yet i decided to follow him . So i walked into the shack. It was damp and stuffy in there. The holes in the wall let some light enter the otherwise dark place. I followed him till the very back before he stopped and turned. Those eyes,i observed, had completely transformed. From the piercing,blaming look to a look of fear and pain, the change was astonishing.

"Please don't hurt me", he pleaded in a small squeaky,almost feminine voice. The fear in his voice made me feel pity for the boy."I won't hurt you", i assured. "Who are you?". Still he did not reply. We both stood there in the damp place looking at each other. Maybe my silence gave him confidence."My name is--"

You know what the name was sir.Even then when i heard it, the name seemed strange, funny, sinister even. But he relaxed after that, and started talking. He told me he was not from Livingsworth and that he was an orphan, also that he had come to the village in search of a shelter as the masters at his orphanage would regularly beat the children there.

I took him to my house and my father let him stay as a helper in his dairy business. We became friends and were almost as close as brothers. All was well, until the fateful summer four years later.The summer of 1956. If i had known then what this boy would do in the future, i would have never gone inside the shack. But those eyes, i knew the moment i saw them, they were destined to see greatness, to see things no ordinary eyes ever could.

 And that they did...

To be continued....