The Ace

In an attic in New York, the lights of the sun reflected by the tinted windows of the various skyscrapers gave the polished, marble black countertops an almost iridescent quality. The spacious attic, however, for all its beauty, seemed empty, the surfaces bare and no decorations in sight save for a smattering of weapons anchored to the walls. This set-up could be described as Spartan at best, all furniture clearly high-end, yet all in either black or white. In continuum with the colour scheme, in a king-sized bed with simple yet luxurious white sheets a silhouette could be made out.

The defined contour of his figure made him appear as skinny - almost sickly so, and yet, if one glanced at his face, the striking face that one would observe could only be described in one way: angelic. The peaceful aspects of his sleeping face give him an almost ethereal quality - as if he may be broken if woken up too harshly. The inky black hair that contoured his face seemed to have a life of its own, radiating in its absence of colour. The boy lay there peacefully, breathing in and out in a measured manner.

Suddenly, breaking the idyllic image, the boy woke up and groaned:

"Uuaaaaghhhh"

He stretched, thin arms in which the elbow protruded profusely, he let out a long, tiresome sigh and muttered: "Another day, huh.". It all seemed well, and yet suddenly, he opened his eyes and let out: "The pain! It's gone!".

He remembered, the chronic pain he had suffered from since the accident had made his life hell. At his young 13 years of age, he had gone through more pain than people usually went through in 50 lifetimes. The car accident he had been in was the cause of this, 10 years of hell, and he could hardly remember the cause. All he knew was that a drunk driver (now apprehended by the authorities), had crashed a stolen oil rig into the car that had contained his whole family, him, his older sister, his mother and the driver - his father. He remembered nothing from that day and the weeks that followed, you would assume that he would, considering it was the event that marked the death of his family, and yet all he could picture of those moments was the pain.

It was as if someone had been tearing at his insides, from his most delicate nerve endings to the most robust bones in his body. Now, the boy felt none of that, he simply felt peace, peace and the pleasure of being alive.