Kid

Writing prompt: I stopped being a kid the day you sent me down here to die


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His past was not something he liked to talk about, nor think. He wanted to forget everything in his old life and start anew. He was fifteen for god's sake, why couldn't he just live a normal life? And yet, every time he was starting to settle down somewhere, and he started to meet new people and making friends, his old life would come back and destroy everything he had worked so hard to get.

Once again he was standing in front of the one he had considered as his father. His past has caught up to him, and he wasn't sure if there was a war for him to run away this time.

He looked around the empty corridor. A few moments ago it was full of life, and now not even a lonely soul wandered around. Every door was closed and probably blocked from the other side. The windows were an option if he needed to make a quick escape, but he didn't want to risk a broken bone from a third-floor fall. It was obvious that the man in front of him had planned this carefully.

The man stayed silent as he watched his son analyzing his surroundings with a cold gaze. He felt proud at seeing that his son hadn't forgotten his training. He couldn't help but smirk at seeing his muscles tense, ready to attack or flee depending on how the situation developed. It wasn't until the kid looked at him that he spoke, smirk disappearing from his face.

"You can't run forever." He said, hands clasped behind his back.

"I can very well try." The teen answered, glaring at him, hands twitching at his side.

"Give up already kid, or you will end up hurting yourself." The man said calmly, completely unaffected by the glare.

"Fuck you," he spat. "I stopped being a kid the day you sent me down there to die."