Chronicles of Matthau - L. C. Perrine (reading like a writer .TXT) 📗

He looked down at the boy, seeing the singe-marks on the boy's face, left by his fists as they made contact with it. He saw a few small cuts, from where his knuckles had dug into the boy's skin. He wished the boy had not angered him. He had told the boy several times to just leave him alone. But he didn't listen. They never listen. He saw a few small drips of blood on the marble floor around the boy. He felt some pain in his hand, but it was a pain he knew. It was only a small cut on one of his knuckles. Nothing he should need to worry about. He had larger things to worry about. He was more worried about the consequences of the incident, then the mild pain in his hand. The burned boy would heal, with time. All that would be left of the conflict were the scars. But things were going to change forever for his assailant.
"Matthau! What have you done!?" one of the teachers screamed at him, "Go see the principal, tell him I will be there in a second. Johnathon," the teacher, Mr. Orlov, was redirecting his voice, trying to get help for Lucas, the burned boy.
Matthau walked away, not saying a word to any of the other boys and girls who moved out of his path as he went to meet with a man who he had come to know nearly on a first-name basis. And not because of any good things he had done. He had almost chanced calling this man by his first name – Mark – on several occasions, but given the man's generally poor disposition towards him, Matthau thought better of it.
He sat, facing the principal. He heard all of the questions and critical comments, words he had heard in the past. So why should Matthau speak? He also knew that the principal was most likely showing that look of contempt on his face, a look that Matthau had seen many times before. So why should Matthau look up? It wasn't as though speaking or looking would do him any good. Matthau never even looked up when Mr. Orlov came in, and explained what he knew of the situation. Matthau's father entered as Mr. Orlov left.
"Mr. Henry, your son has gotten into yet another fight, and as you know, he will have to be leaving our school. We cannot allow to put our students in an environment where they are in danger of being assaulted by a fellow peer. Matthau must be expelled," his principal stated. Matthau did not look up, but knew his father was glaring down at him. The same look the principal had given him.
“Yes, sir,” said Matthau's father, “I understand full well the consequences my son has brought upon himself. They will be evident at home as well.” They never made it home...

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I can't believe that you managed to get expelled from school!" lectured his father as they drove away from the school. "How do you do that!? You are a brilliant young man, with so much potential. You can do great things, Matthau. You have been given multiple chances, but you just kept on screwing them up, didn't you? I am very disappointed in you, son."
Matthau didn't look at his father. He just continued to look out the window. He watched as the fiery autumn trees flew by the window. He looked up at the blue, cloudless sky, wishing the emotions inside of him would mirror the day outside.
"Will you look at me when I'm talking to you, Matthau?" his father asked, "Look at me!"
Matthau didn't look, just stared out the window as birds flew in the sky. His father reached over and placed his hand on his son's shoulder. Matthau just shrugged it off without looking.
Matthau's father sighed, "Listen, I know it's been rough since your mother died in that fire, but you can't just lash out like this... And how did you burn that boy's face? Do you have a lighter?" Matthau heard his father, but wasn't listening, and he didn't respond at all.
His father never saw the other car coming. It spun out of control and collided headfirst into the car Matthau and his father were in. Matthau and his father were thrown into the air in their car, which flipped over onto its back as it smashed into the ditch in a crumpled heap. Shards of glass and metal flew everywhere. The blue sky Matthau so wished was his emotions spun wildly past his eyes as his entire world was turned upside down.
The force of the impact knocked Matthau into unconscious darkness...

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“Wake up, poika, I have much to tell you," Matthau heard. He did not know the deep voice that spoke to him. It sounded almost like a dog's growling, stemming from the deepest recesses of the throat. Matthau’s eyes were open, but he saw no more light than when they were closed. His whole body ached as he shifted in the chair he sat in, trying to get comfortable. His hand bumped against a table in front of him, and one of the cuts opened again. But, again, he was more worried of other things.
"Where am I?"
The growling voice replied, "No questions, poika, just wait. I will explain everything to you in time, but for now be silent"
As Matthau's eyes began adjusting, he saw more and more of his surroundings. "What is your name? Who are you?"
"In time, young one, in time"
Matthau was becoming frustrated, but realized anger would not help him. And if his anger spurred a conflict between he and the body of the voice, he could not see well enough to defend himself. Then he had a horrifying thought, "Where's my father?"
The body Matthau could barely see hesitated, sighed, and said, "What did I say about questions?"
Matthau was now able to discern his surroundings. He was in a small shack which was not well lit. It must have been deep night, for it was very dark when he gazed out the window. It smelled slightly of smoke, for the sparse light within the shack was being cast by a small candle on the table in front of him. He could see the figure more clearly, over by a stove. It was cooking what Matthau thought must have been some kind of stew, from what he could smell of it.
"Why won't you answer any of my questions?" asked Matthau, becoming audibly irritated.
"Because everything you need to know, I will tell you when you need to know it," replied the man, and placed a bowl of the stew in front of Matthau as he said, "but now, it is time to eat."
Matthau looked down at the stew. It seemed to have some kind of meat in it - that Matthau didn't know by sight - and what looked like carrots.
"Eat up, Matthau, you're going to need your strength."
"How do you know my name?" Matthau asked, shocked that this man - who he had never met before in his entire life - knew who he was. Especially since the man would not tell his name to Matthau.
The man seemed completely unaffected by Matthau's reaction as he said, "Answers later, food now," gesturing towards the stew.
"No. Answers now," Matthau responded defiantly. The man said nothing, only sat and stared at Matthau. Matthau met his gaze. He started to actually look at this man, and notice him. He was old, with lines of age crossing his face, along with a good number of scars. There was one especially deep scar barely an inch under his eye, an inch and a half long. He looked very calm, which Matthau assumed must be his usual demeanor. And then Michael looked at this man's eyes - those dark, blood-red eyes.
Matthau noticed himself backing away at this, and made a double-take before deciding to eat. He was very hungry, and along with being sore from the accident, was also quite weak. The stew warmed him, and filled his stomach, appeasing his hunger.
"This stew is good. What kind of meat is this?" he asked, wanting to ask about other, more important things, but knowing that they would not be answered.
"Rabbit. I got that critter just before you woke up.” Then, after eating a bite of his own bowl of stew, “Crafty little guy, that one.”
"Hm," Matthau responded, not worried at all about the process of getting the rabbit, "Well it's good. Really good, in fact," then continued to eat more of the stew, looking at the man rarely, but meeting a red-eyed gaze each time.
"Do you hunt, Matthau?" asked the man, calmly, like everything else he said.
“There he goes, using my name again,” Matthau thought, before replying, "Yes, occasionally. My father and I used to deer hunt up in northern Wisconsin."
"Good," the man said, "That will be useful in feeding yourself, and it will be essential in training you to slay Demons."
"Slay what?" Matthau exclaimed, nearly dropping an entire spoonful of stew.
"Demons," the man replied calmly, as if it were no matter at all, and in no way out of the ordinary.
"You do realize what you just said, right?"
“He better damn well realize what he just said, or this bastard's crazy.”
"Why yes, of course I realize what I just said," the man replied.
“This must be a dream, has to be a dream.”
The man then asked, “Are you religious, Matthau?”
“Again with the fucking name!”
"Yes, I'm religious. Why does it matter?" Matthau queried.
"Then you must believe in Demons, do you not?" the man asked, and sat - patiently, calmly - waiting for an answer.
“What the hell is this guy smoking?”
"Well, yeah, I guess."
“At least I'm getting some god-damned answers now. Might as well keep talking, humoring this lunatic while it lasts...”
"Do you believe, then, that they should continue to run rampant in the world? Roaming free; causing death, disease, war, and hatred where there would otherwise be none?" the man asked, as calmly as he had yet, even though his words carried great weight. Matthau could only shake his head “No,” and was completely speechless. The man continued, "Of course not. That is what you are here for. You are the one who is going to end it all."

“What do you mean I'm the one who's going to end it all?" Matthau did not understand any of this. It made no logical sense. Demons were only in the bible. They didn't exist anymore, they were all cast out, weren't they?
“This must just be a severely fucked-up dream, there is no way that anyone would be this crazy.”

"No, poika, it's not a dream. God put you here for a