Jeran Ruze ; D2; Done

From the moment I was born, I was given a future to become exactly like my dad. I was expected to act, think and be like him. I was taught to be tough and I had a rigorous agenda. "No non-sense from you boy" is something he would say on a daily basis when I was growing up; even at a mere year old. My mother babied me though. Coddled me for years until my little sister, Kyanite was born, when I was two. From then on, my father was even tougher on me growing up. I had new duties. I was a big brother and he drilled it in my head that the only way to protect her was with training and fighting. Using my fists in order to prove my point that she was not to be touched. I was given clear instructions about how I was suppose to act in a woman's presence; with respect. He taught me how to act around strangers and older adults that came over to the house for the parties that my parents put together for their friends. I was the 'perfect' kid.

What my dad didn't realize was that happened to be the perfect recipe for my rebellious side to come out. It started with the little things first like staying out later without remorse for punishment. I decided to cut my hair and shape it enough so that I could let it be spiked when I wanted to let it, or let it lay flat. I havn't changed it since. I became hard to control when I was eight and even got into several fist fights that resulted in being suspended from school. My dad was furious with me. That's when he began upping my training to more time. It was the only way that he could make sure I was where I was suppose to be. The only way he could dictate my life further. I hated him for it. I hated everything he put me through for years. All of the miles I had to run and the lifting of weights. All of the tedious practice with that damned sword and those throwing knifes. My aim sucked, to say the least. I had no skill whatsoever for aim. I am more of a physical being. I resented him with every fiber of my being by the time I was eleven. Then one day, I challenged him. I made the biggest mistake of my life.

---

"I'm tired of this dad. I never have any friends. I never get to play with Kya. I never get to do anything I want. I want to be a kid. I don't want to train for the games any more." The young boy, with the dark mahongony, short brown hair argues with his father. His boyish features shining bright with the few freckles that decorates his nose. His light brown eyes stares directly into his father's, challenging him with a luster of hatred, a grimace on his face with his fists curls up tightly into his palms; his knuckles turning white.

"Stand down, boy. Get to your training, now. Don't make me ask you again. I mean it. Go on." His father steps closer to the boy, hovering over the child that's at least a foot and a half shorter than him. His hands are sitting on each of his hips before one shoots out, pointing in the direction of the front door. When the child doesn't move, father takes the opportunity to grab the boy by the collar of his shirt and jerk him toward the door, shoving him out the door, only to land with a thud on the bottom of the stairs, his feet above his head for a moment before he came to a standstill looking up at his father. With the most upmost hatred forming in his eyes, the words that came from the little boys voice was something that hardly effected his father at all.

"I hate you." The little boy spat out and rolled over only to have his fathers hands on him once more and with a quick movement of his hand, smacked the boy across the face and brought him close to his face.

"You disrespect me once more like that and you'll find yourself in the local orphanage with no lineage to your life. You hear me boy? I demand you upmost respect and obedience. You are a Ruze. You will act as such."

With tears in the boys eyes, he gives his father a subtle nod and his mouth opens no more to what demands his father expects of him. From that day forth, he learned to never question his father's demands, only that he must obide by them.

---

That day, I learned where I stood in the family. I was meant to be the son that he was expected to show off; to his friends and the rest of the family. Especially during sparring matches in the gym. He made sure to express that I was strong and that I could win these so-called games. I gave in to my dad's requests without no more contest. I began to do everything. Then, that next year, mom died. Dad could barely notice how ill she was. He was more worried about the office work piling up and my training to care. It was Kyanite that had to deal with her death first hand. She realized how awfully sick she was when she couldn't even get out of bed. It was her that sent me out that night to go get the doctor. By the time I got back, she had passed. I felt nothing but anger towards my dad, and that resentment came to me once again. I may have to respect him, but deep down I truely hated him. I hated that man that had let my mother die, but what could I do?

I was only twelve! I was hardly big enough to hold my weight. I planned on getting him back for that one day, but I would have to get stronger; both physically and mentally, but first to do that, I needed to keep with my training regiment. I had to turn that little boy who weighted barely even a hundred pounds with little muscls into what I am now, a hundred pounds heavier and strength that can be seen in both my arms and legs. I had adapted to my fathers wishes and when puberty set in, I shot up from being just five foot one to a almost six foot tall. I matured into a man with a well built body from the newfound dedication to training that my father couldn't instill in me. I had to do that myself. I was happy with who I had becomed. Though, the only thing I lack from being his 'perfect' son was the inability to smile. I'm not talking about a grin from ear to ear, but to actally show teeth? I had an overbite that I seriously disliked and that has merely played into why people seem to take me too seriously. I never smile.


But, that day when my mom died, two revelations had been awakened in me. I became interested in medicine and becoming a peacekeeper. I had the makings and the dicipline to become a peacekeeper one day since my dad had started training me at such an early age. Every since he told me I had to protect my sister, I learned just how to do that. My fists were my form of punishment for others. Whenever I didn't like what someone said to me, I used force to make myself clear.

I was practically feared by those who knew what my father put me through and until my sister started training that year, my father decidedly found his new muse. She became what I was, but she had a lot more hell to deal with, though. She was coddled by mom for years. She was weak because dad allowed it. I was his secret weapon, me; not her. At first, I hated how much time he spent getting her started with the basics. He put me on the back burner when she showed more promise and dedication than me. Jealousy was a common form of attitude towards my sister for the first few years, and my father then allowed me to start training her with everything he did for me growing up. She was a willing student and took direction like no one else. It's almost as if she wanted it. She did, too. A lot more than me.

From that experience, I kept my old dream from when I was a kid, so I started getting books on medicines and healing. Something I knew my dad would shun me for, so that was a secret that I kept and harboured for years. My mind began becoming full of useless information that I would use one day. One day, I wanted to make sure that someone else's mother wouldn't die from a sickness just because they didn't notice it. Not even Kyanite knew about that because once again, our own public affairs is our own business. It wasn't heard of in this family to speak of problems or acheivements unless it had to deal with training. Now that I'm eighteen, I'm more than anxious to be joining the peacekeeper academy soon. I'm ready to show what I'm made of.