Hannibal- Part 1

Note: Adapted and edited from the movie, Hannibal Rising.

I was barely eight when it happened. It was a bitterly cold winter night and Mischa and I had just lost our parents in the war. Mischa was too little to realise they were dead and she was pining for our mother.

I realised then, Mischa and I have no one but each other and I vowed to protect her for I loved her very much. Food was scarce in the winter and I had to therefore starve myself to ensure Mischa had enough to eat. I comforted her and was spoon-feeding her when the heavy, wooden door burst open. Instinctively, I pushed Mischa behind me, my arms spread out wide and protective in front of her, as though trying to hide her from sight.

The six heavily armed men leered as they saw us. My face contorted with as much rage an eight-year-old could bear and my sister's eyes wide and innocent for she was too young to comprehend what was going on. One of them took the food I was feeding to Mischa and shove it into his mouth with a mocking expression on his face.

Grutas, their leader stepped forward and pulled me to him roughly. "Now boy, I would like you to show me where you've hidden your food. My men and I are hungry and when we're hungry, we're not very... nice." I tried to reach for a wooden bat a few inches away but he was slamming me to the ground before I could reach it. His men pointed their guns at my sister as Grutas smiled and said, "the food, please."

Mischa and I were chained so that we could not escape. I lead them to the kitchen and tried to ignore the satisfaction as they searched in vain for food. Suddenly, another one of their man burst into the kitchen, his breath ragged, his hair and clothes lined with snow.

Grutas closed the cabinet he was examining and straightened. "Did you find any food?" He barked impatiently. The man nodded frantically, reaching into his pockets and drawing out a quail. Grutas kicked the man in the stomach. "This is all you've found?" He yelled as the man doubled over in pain.

Grutas snatched the bird from him and stuffed it into his mouth, with the feathers still intact. I covered Mischa's eyes in horror as I watched him tear the meat like an animal and devoured it. A wave of nausea swept over me when he threw the remaining bones to the floor and looked directly at me, his face and hands covered in blood and bits and pieces of meat.

"We eat or die..." he whispered, staring hungrily at my sister and licking his lips.