Three Faces in The Dark, One Never Gets Excited at All. My Story vol.1

Its been more than 24 hours since I've last eaten. Only one of "three faces" has the ability to eat under pressure. This post will be black and white. Raw. I might consider adding a picture or two, but as I'm writing this story there is no colour in my mind. 

You can read the prologue to my story here.

The Beginnings

So 1995.  was upon us and the war was over, our "hero" returned home. You would think its peace time, but my war was just beginning. The first thing, the very first memory I have of my childhood is a blurred image of my mother that was a bit younger than I'am right now, crying while a couple of cops were trashing up our 39 squared meters small apartment upside down. If you could even call it an apartment. I cant tell how old I was at the time but I couldn't have been much older than four or five. They went trough my baby clothes and toys looking for weapons, or anything related to an armed robbery our hero was accused of. If its wasn't the hero fucking up around the apartment, it was the cops. Kinda hate 'em both. You have no idea how hard it was to write these few sentences, remembering felt like a cold knife straight trough my heart. I'm clinching my teeth just to be able to continue. But crying could help right? At lest that's what I've been trying to explain to myself for the past ten years. 

Was our hero guilty? Well he sure as shit was found guilty. And I got the opportunity to see the district penitentiary and the bulletproof glass with them telephone handsets on each side that separates the criminal from his family, even before I took my seat behind a school desk for the first time.

Early school years

I grew up on a block where even the walls have ears and news travel faster than the speed of light. So you can probably imagine what it was like. Other kids and teachers looked at me like I was a wounded animal. For eight years straight. Yet, I never gave in. A-, Never hurt another kid, never even said a bad thing to anyone. I went along in a natural way. Had my first crush, played football, had my childish dreams. When you're a kid I guess you can't see shit. My grandma looked after me after school to help ma out. Grandma on my fathers side. Whether  because she felt guilty for what her son had done or just resented her own failure, she tried to be and was the best.  

That big ass building in the background of the photo, that's where I was growing up and lived before we got kicked out.

On the other hand, in the streets people would pause in awe when told whose kid I was. They worshipped the fucker, or they we're just afraid. Who the fuck knows. To me he was a wife beating piece of shit, PTSD or no. However, that didn't stop me from using his name to my advantage once I hit my teen years. I thought he owed me that much. More on that later. Around 2001./2002 our hero got out and for the first time in my life I saw him free. I'm guessing the year cause the only thing I can remember is that it was around the time the first Sam Raimi's Spider-man  movie was out in theatres. I don't remember much but I do remember one scene. It was a couple of days before Christmas eve and our elementary school, as was the custom, held a Christmas fair. I asked him to come. I sat there waiting for him, but he was no where in sight and I started loosing hope.  He finally showed up outside with a Playstation 2 and a bunch of CD games in a trash bag, said fuck the fair lets go home. Talking about a present under a Christmas tree. 

I didn't  care, I was just happy I finally had a father. It didn't last.

High school fiesta

Now, high school was a shitshow for me. I flunked 2 years, and didn't finish the damn thing until I was 19. But let me take things in chronological order. I chose engineering, at the 1. Electro-technical high school "Nikola Tesla". It was near the centre of Zagreb. A whole new world for an angry kid from the blocks that was "Novi Zagreb" or "New Zagreb".  There I met my first true friend that I'm still in contact with; Dominik. He was a punk-rock kid from a torn up family, just like me... 

This is the point where I've decided to cut this one, It would be way to long otherwise.

"Life is a game where no one gets out alive"

@elythies