The Life and Struggles of Franjo Kratochvil
He stood before a battered wooden door, its hinges loose enough to allow the wind to rattle its frame. End of winter, and he found himself at his family's doorstep. He hadn't intended on this, but for some reason he had a hope left. His eyes looked over the notice in Balok that was nailed to the door: "House Arrest: Kelemen Kratochvil, Suspected Rebel Activity. Report any sighting if seen outside of home until investigations are complete." Franjo merely shook his head, rolling his broad shoulders as he stepped up to the door, grasping the brass ring knocker and slamming it against the frail door a few times. He waited then, wringing his hands as he adjusted his cloak in the blistering cold.
It was the end of winter, but the cold just didn't seem to want to let up. His ears felt tender, their tips a bright red. Licking his lips in reflex to clear the chapped feeling they had. Then, he heard footsteps. They grew close for a moment, then more distant, before the window beside him's curtains opened ever so slightly, a single eye cautiously peering out at him. It narrowed, then the curtained closed again. Lock after lock could be heard clicking behind that doorframe before the door opened wide. There was his mother, a daunting, frail woman with eyes as cold as the winter that stung his ears. It reminded him of the switch she used on him, somehow, as a child. She looked upon him with the most critical of stares, lip twitching and her face telling clearly how she felt: "What the iadul are you doing home?"
While no words greeted him, he offered the widest of forced smiles as he looked to the dark haired woman. "Szia, momma."
"What the iadul do you want?" She hissed, grasping the door as she leaned in slightly, "you leave home with that Svetla whore of yours, then you come running back? You're done, there is nem coming back for you."
He found his gaze shifting, looking to the side and down the strada, as if hoping someone would come, maybe a Garda, to take her attention from him. He didn't like being here, but he felt it necessary.
"That's why I came, mother... Svetla's dead, she's... been dead. Bandits." He murmured, adjusting his cloak as his eyes became downcast. "I have a new domna now..."
"Pfah. She was a whore anyways. A damn Vrana. A Vrana is always trouble, mark my damn words. And you saw. Got herself killed. You're better off." The frigid woman seemed to relax, somewhat, at this, the faintest of smirks etched over her features which Franjo quickly noted. The woman was happy. It was time to crush that from her. His last stab against her, and what remained of his family.
"My new domna is half-vistana."
The woman seemed to freeze, her body seizing up as her eyes seemed to bulge from her head. The vein in her forehead seemed to throb. Her lips pulled back, opening her mouth as if to say something, only to turn around and slam the door in the boys face. The sound of lock after lock bolting into place could be heard audibly as the woman angrily locked him out of her life for good. The repercussions didn't seem to matter at him as he came to find himself smiling, backpedaling away from the door.
Only to slip on a pile of melting ice upon the cobbles, falling onto his rear. He hissed aloud, closing his eyes as he slowly stood, rubbing his bottom as he began to shamble down the street.
And away from what remained of his childhood.