The boy was looking out of his window, staring at the police as they pranced along, dreaming of what he might someday do. But his dreams seemed impossible, his heritage was nothing. He had the simple joys of a poor boy, and those joys were none. He had no friends, because his parents never let him. He didn't have a chance to become anything because he knew too much. And he was a simple boy with the dream of becoming a police officer. Was that really too much to ask of life? Well, if it was, it was going to kill him; he was determined to do what he wanted. He, Javert, would conquer over all crime, he would banish the evil, and he would show what he believed in upholding true justice. If he survived the next ten years at home. His father was a thief, a dangerous man who made his living at another man's expense. His mother was a whore, a prostitute, she made her living off of the pleasures of men. It was wrong. His justice was going to go against his family, but he didn't really have a family. He would set them straight. He was fifteen, and his dreams would soon be his reality. He never back-talked, he always said yes mam, no mam, he never lied. His life was pure black and white, wrong and right. He would know that his world would be only to be right in the law.
"Javert! Get down here boy! We have company. Your mother has another man, go prepare the living room. And get the wine out! Move it boy!"
"Yes sir, father." He ran down the steps to the living room to see all linens were on the couch, and that all curtains were shut. He then ran to get the newer, less expensive wine out. He poured four glasses, two shots, and left the bottle uncorked on the table. He pulled out the candles, quickly as he could, lit them on ruby candlesticks, and returned to his room where he would make no noise until his mother yelled an ok. And that would be a while. He sat on his bed and looked at the ceiling cracks. Tears flooded his eyes again, the third time that day. He wanted to know why he was cursed with this type of life. Why did his family have to be the worst in the world? Why did people always click their tongues when he walked by? He, Javert, the little boy whose parents were known for their treachery, the little boy who everyone pitied. And he hated pity, mercy, all of the sort. He wanted to be powerful; to be perfect in his ways. And he had to do it. He had no choice!
"Javert! Come down here! You need to go fetch some bread before my new friend gets here! Hurry boy!"
"Yes mam, mother. I will be back in ten minutes."
"Hurry boy!"
"Yes mother." He took off running, he had to be quick, or his father would beat him worse than normal. He had no choice. If he ran away, he would be breaking the rules. Rules were established to make choices, and the right choices at that. And so he ran, to the bread store, to get the bread with his own money.
"Monsieur! Monsieur! I am in a hurry sir! I need three loaves of fresh bread sir!"
"Javert, you must hurry?"
"Yes, monsieur! I must! My mother is waiting for me! She is serving guests, and I must deliver the bread warm!"
"Here, two francs boy."
"Yes sir! Here sir, take three for your inconvenience I have put you in, sir."With that he took off running towards home. He saw the coach that he assumed would be at his door soon, and pushed himself to run even harder. So hard that the tears he had cried earlier were making his shiny cheeks leave streams of tears behind him. But he continued to run, he ran towards the one thing he wanted to run from. He saw his mother waiting outside of the door, and he handed her the three loaves before he ran to his room and shut the door quickly.He tried to stop his panting, he could not let his mother's "guest" know she had a child. His father would be in another room, or out trying to steal from more innocent people. His home was far from a home, and his parents would keep him from the world at all costs. He could not tell the world what he knew about them, they would both be arrested and put in prison for a long time if he did.But his dreams would come true, and he would be a hero to those who saw him, because of his courage, and his will to stand for what is right. The only reason he was quiet was because he would never live to see the day he would get his award if he did turn them in, the people that worked with his family would have him killed immediately. There was never any mercy, in right or in wrong. And that was the way it should be. No mercy, and all would be fair.
