"The gutters aren’t your friends.

Rise above the limelight to the sky above;

Reach your claws and scrap the heavens,

That the mana that falls from their wounds-

Will pour upon you."

Gerone looked up at skyscrapers above him and back down at the card below. Its calligraphy was well done. Gerone read it again. He had first read the card when he was eight.

Gerone had found the card coming home from school. It was his eighth birthday:

Gerone was lucky today. He finished his classwork and hit the door leaving the school at a full run. He ran until he got home, and hurried to get inside. The other boys had bikes, and they were gaining ground every second.

Gerone opened the door just as the first kid turned the corner on his bike. He was quickly joined by two others on bikes and a set of twins on skateboards.

They were peddling up the driveway when Gerone got the door shut and locked. Gerone took a big breath and dropped his books to the ground.

"Gerry! Gerry is that you?" The sound of his father’s voice meant that his good luck had just turned to bad.

The screeching of rusty wheels heralded Mr. Thompson’s approach. Gerone’s father was a quadripelid. Ever since he could see, Gerone could never hope but to look at the places on his father’s body where there should be legs.

"Gerry? Why did you slam the door?"

Gerone knew he was on thin ice. "I … uh … I’m sorry dad."

"It is sergeant to you, boy. Sergeant 1^st Class, Edward A. Thompson. 3^rd Battalion, of the 2^nd Corps. Special Forces Division. Not only am I a Green Beret, Private, I am a superior officer, and you will address me as such." He paused, whipping the sweat from his brow, and adjusting his Beret. The beret was worn and useless; nevertheless, Edward set it smartly on his scalp. "Do you get me, boy?"

"Yes, dad." Gerone was confused, he knew that his father would sometimes go into trances like this, but he didn’t know why, or how to make it stop. All Gerone could do was to act nothing was the matter, hoping that it would go away.

"What was that, son,"(This wasn’t son, like the loving reference, but the condescending kind of son; the one that made you feel insignificant.) " Huh, boy? Cat got your tongue?" Edward brought his arms down in one swift motion, setting the wheelchair forward in a slow roll.

"I … I … uh … I said … yes, dad."

The backhand sent Gerone flying to the ground. "Boy, I am a Green Beret, and a superior officer. You address me as sir. Got that boy? Sir!"

"Yes, sir." Scared, Gerone crouched in the corner, struggling to bring himself up again.

Again the hand came down. Gerone tried to bring up his arm to ward off the blow, but the force was too strong. "You haven’t answered the question, son!"

"What question, dad."

The hand again. "I told you to address me properly, boy."

"What question, sir."

The hand came back up, enough to make Gerone back with fear.

"Why did you slam the door, boy."

"Uh … I don’t know." Another smack was immediately followed by the addition of "Sir."

"You don’t know, boy." A balled fist. "Good men die because you don’t know something." Another fist. "I ought to kill you right now, to save us all some time." The blows kept on coming. "Good people died because people make noise. Somebody out on re-con stepped on a twig gave his position away to a shit-load of Charlies. The whole squad was whipped out in five minutes. All because somebody made some noise. Boy, slamming that door is a whole lot, a hell of a lot, louder than stepping on a twig. You could have given our position away to the Charlies out ther-"

As if on que, Edward froze. His voice was deathly quiet, and he labored to breathe. "Don’t move, boy. There’s a Charlie right behind you." Edward was breathing very hard, but his hand was suprisingly still as he brought up his imaginary gun. "Like shooting bugs off a wall." A sly smile crossed his face as he mouthed, "Bang." Then his breathing peaked its loud, labored effect, and Edward passed out.

Gerone couldn’t help but turn around to see if there really was a Charlie. All he saw was a card on the ground. Gerone slipped it under his coat and slid to his bedroom. Gerone locked the door before he read it.

Dear Gerone,

As you go through life, let this guide you. Let your aspiration carry you forth throughout all time.

You, Gerone, you. They shall pour down upon you. Never forget that.

Blood from his lip fell onto the card. Gerone washed his face, bandaged his wounds and fell into a deep sleep.