(This was a very old chapter. it doesnt fit int with the rest.)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This used to be the first chapter, but I moved it to be different.
I'm going to write some more chapters that will go before this. I feel like this is too fast of a start into the story :)
As of right now, this is chapter 1 (after the prologue), but I'll add some more before this. So follow/subscribe if you want to be notified for that. Afterward, I'll continue with the chapters that follow this one. In fact, I already have the chapter after this written. I'll just post it after I catch up to this.
Anyway, enjoy!
It was a cold day, not at all good weather for a beach. Little Tom, only six years old, sat on an outcropping of sharp, jagged rocks overlooking the careening sea. His combed, jet-black hair blew softly in the chilly wind.
The sun was barely visible through the overcast clouds. And the ocean seemed to stretch on to infinity.
In his hands, he fiddled with a poorly carved, wooden horse. It was one of his only possessions. Unlike the other boys, he didn't care about playing with it. He only cared that it was his.
He had stolen it from Bill a month ago. It was a trophy, confirmation that he was worth something. Everyone at the orphanage knew that the more toys they owned, the more important they were. Boys with many toys had more friends - more people wanted to play with them.
Little Tom planned to have the most toys. He planned to not just have ten or twenty, but to have them all. Then everyone would know just how important he was. And then, with all his magnanimous glory, he would be the perfect image of generosity. He would let the other boys borrow them, and in return, he would become their ruler. They can't fight against me when I hold all the cards.
As he stared at the dull, overcast sky, he heard light footsteps. Two orphanage boys - Jerry and Michael - walked parallel to the shore, the foamy sea lapping against their bare feet. Michael was half a year younger than Tom, and Jerry was a year-and-a-half older.
Jerry noticed Tom and squinted his eyes. "Tom? What're you doing here?"
Tom stayed silent, observing them as they changed trajectory and walked before him.
Michael spoke up. "Tom, why are you alone? Mrs. Janice said we have to stick with each other."
"They don't tell me what to do," Tom said, his voice quiet but confident.
Michael snickered. "Don't let her hear you say that. But you didn't answer us, why are you alone?"
Tom stared at them, feeling annoyed by their nagging. "Because I don't want to hear your ugly voice."
Michael's face lost its grin. Jerry looked at Tom and said, "Tom, why are -?"
"You think my voice is ugly," Michael cut in. "Your voice sounds like - like Mrs. Matthews' farts."
Tom smirked at Michael, concealing the growing annoyance in him. He stayed silent, not really caring about retaliating. He would enact his revenge later. No matter what, Tom was always patient.
Michael balled his fists, visibly angry and embarrassed at Tom for not reacting. Suddenly, he saw the wooden horse and said, "Wait, what's this!"
Michael ripped the toy from Tom's hands before he could stop him, and started snickering. "Jerry, we got a new toy! I like it, don't you?"
Tom shot up from the rock, clenching his fists in an iron-tight grip, trying to stop them from shaking with sudden rage. He marched up to Michael, who retreated from Tom, a devious grin on his face. "Give it back. You think you can take it from me?"
"I don't think I will give it back. Jerry, catch!" Michael threw the wooden horse toward Jerry, who fumbled. It fell to the sand and he quickly picked it up. But Tom didn't even move to grab it. That would make me look like an idiot - running to grab it and failing.
Tom sauntered right up into Jerry's face. Tom was almost as tall as him. Jerry's face shifted into apprehension from the close proximity, but he stood his ground. He's confident; that's annoying.
"Give. It. Back." Tom barely controlled his anger this time. It was rapidly becoming overwhelming. It was steaming from his chest and pulsing to every part of his body. His hands trembled slightly, his muscles clenched. He could see every part of Jerry's face: the light dusting of freckles across his nose; his pale blue eyes that wouldn't meet his gaze; his eyelashes; each strand of messy brown hair - he could see it all. And he wanted to punch it.
God, how his face infuriated him. How can he stand there like he's in the right, when he just stole my toy? How dare someone think they're better than me? How delusional is he?
Jerry finally stepped back, causing Tom to smirk again. He still can't meet my gaze, pathetic. "I'm not giving it back, unless you apologize to Michael -"
"Jerry! We aren't going to give it back -!"
"Oh, yes, you are," Tom said, his tone dangerous. It's time to end this. If I have to threaten the brainless idiots, then I will. Tom kneeled down and picked up a rock. "Give it back, or I throw it."
Jerry and Michael stepped further back. "No," Jerry muttered. "Apologize, and I will -"
"You think I'm going to apologize to you?" Tom spat out, his voice sharp as a blade. His heart was pounding in his ears. He wanted to throw this rock, but he couldn't, that would be stupid. It would be needlessly idiotic and wouldn't solve anything.
The world seemed to shift colors, everything becoming redder. His anger was so intoxicating, it whispered in his ear, wanting him to act on it. "Whom do you think Mrs. Janice will believe? Me - the perfect little boy - or you two - the troublemakers, always causing chaos?"
"We don't do that!" Michael shouted. "And you wouldn't dare go to Mrs. Janice about this!"
"No, I wouldn't." Tom's dangerous gaze drilled into Michael. "But I don't need to, either. Because you, Jerry, will give it back to me."
Tom smirked. Well, Jerry, let's see what you do now.
Jerry gulped, his eyes flickering to the sharp rock. "No ..." Tom's eyes narrowed. "You won't do anything, Tom." His voice gained some confidence. "It's two against one. You're too scared too actually -"
Something snapped inside of Tom. The dam of white-hot rage exploded from his body. And, before he knew it, he threw the rock as fast as possible.
With a sickening, ear-splitting splat like none other, Jerry's head exploded in a shower of blood and gore, raining down on Tom's skin.
Tom stood, petrified, as Jerry's body was hurled back, head-first, through the air, slamming back into the ground with a thud masked by the wet sounds of bloody flesh. Tom's brain wouldn't work, he stared at the slick, red body that had been Jerry's. His head was completely gone, leaving behind a rush of blood-filled brain, muscle, and skull.
Wha - What? I - I didn't throw it that hard -
The silence was deafening, besides from his heart-beat. It was so fast that it merged into a singular note of fear, deep and raw. Tom's hair stood on end. His eyes widened past reason. He stared at the horrific scene. His hands shook so hard that it felt as if his arms were going to fly off into the sky.
Suddenly, Michael's high-pitched scream shrieked into his ears. He started sobbing and screaming frantically behind Tom. But Tom couldn't move. The screams were horrible, absolutely horrible. Never had Tom heard something so unearthly. They didn't even sound human.
Tom slowly turned to face Michael. He was huddled on the sand, hugging his knees and balling his eyes out. When he saw Tom looking at him, he screamed louder and scrambled up onto his feet. He tripped over himself and fell onto all fours. "You monster!" Michael screamed. "You - You killed Jerry!"
That was when Tom realized something: he couldn't let Michael tell anyone about this.
"M - Michael, don't - don't tell anyone!" Tom's voice was shaking like a leaf in a storm, he couldn't control it for the life of him.
Michael's sobs only worsened as he tripped a second time. No. Oh, no. Everyone's going to hear him screaming. Michael's eyes were filled with tears, his face was contorted in a grimace of raw fear, his body was trembling so hard that he couldn't even manage to stand. "Mon - Monster! I - I - I have to tell -"
NO! Tom dashed forward and grabbed onto Michael's feet, yanking him back onto all fours. He gripped his collar, pushing his blood-speckled face right next to Michael's, who sobbed and screamed so loud that Tom feared for his eardrums. "Michael - I swear - If you tell anyone - I - I'll -"
Michael squirmed frantically, kicking his legs and punching at Tom's face. "I'm telling EVERYONE!" Michael broke down into more sobs, pushing even more frantically. "You - You killed him!"
"IDIOT!" Tom screamed into Michael's face. Michael shrunk into the sand and cried even harder. "Just don't tell anyone and you won't have to die!"
Michael's hands kept shoving against Tom, but Tom was stronger. He straddled Michael's body, pinning him to the ground. Michael growled, tears still pouring from his face. "I'm not going to listen to you, devil! You killed him ON PURPOSE!"
Tom's hands found Michael's throat, slowly squeezing. Michael's eyes widened and he struggled with even more vigor, almost managing to push Tom off him. God, God, God. Why won't he listen to me! Tom scooted up Michael's body, pushing the weight of his knees against Michael's arms, restricting him from moving them. Michael kicked harder and harder, his cheap shoes bringing up a thin veil of sand into the air.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut, tears still leaking out. Horrible, child-like grunts escaped Michael's throat as Tom continued to tighten his hold. Tom's mind didn't waver, he had to do this. If he didn't, then his life was over. He would be thrown into jail, or worse, some insane asylum.
He felt Michael's throat move against his grip - he was saying something. Tom could barely hear him, his voice was low, gravelly, and strangely distorted. "I ... won't ... tell ..."
He repeated it. "I ... won't ... tell ..." Tom almost thought of letting go. But he knew Michael's words for what they were: lies.
Tom grit his teeth and shook his head. He then squeezed harder than before, his hands and forearms burning from the strain. Michael's teary eyes shot wide open, they seemed to be bulging out of his head. His skin started to turn slightly purple. And from his mouth came a high-pitched whine.
Michael slowly stopped struggling, his body laying limb and his eyes glossing over. After a few more moments, Tom let go of his throat and recoiled from the body.
He was dead.
Tom stared at his pale hands, his eyes dead and emotionless. He was trembling so hard.
He backed as far away from both bodies as possible. His back hit the wall of jagged rocks.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get the horrific images out of his head.
He had no tears for himself. He just stood there, trembling and breathing heavily. He was only six. Why did this have to happen to me, of all people? Why did they have to steal my horse? Idiots! IDIOTS!
He wanted to scream and rage from the top of his lungs. He wanted to destroy every part of the horrible beach. But he couldn't. He couldn't make a noise. He couldn't risk getting caught.
Tom glared at his hands, there were specks of blood staining them, smeared from where he had gripped Michael's neck. I - I'm a killer. Michael was right. I'm a monster.
OK, I know that was really dark, but this is kid Lord Voldemort we're talking about. I hope I portrayed his character realistically. He couldn't be too "good", otherwise it's not Tom Riddle. And I couldn't be too evil, otherwise he's irredeemable and rather unrealistic for a six-year-old.
If you liked this, please follow/subscribe to the story so you can know when I post next. This story only gets better, I promise :)
(P.S. That's why I chose not to have this as the first chapter)
Thanks!
