He was small. He knew he was small because Elia was small, and he stood at exactly the same height. Elia was a pirate. He was a pirate, too. They wore red bandanas and black eye patches, and they brandished their swords at each other in an epic battle to the death. He was having fun. He always had fun playing with Elia.
He jabbed his sword at Elia, who giggled and smacked it away with his own sword. They clanked like metal, and they gleamed in the sun. They weren't sharp, but they were real swords. They hurt when they hit each other. They weren't supposed to hit each other with them, but they did anyway. There was a bruise on his arm. Elia's leg looked purplish, but they were having fun and real pirates got hurt.
They were in his backyard. It was sunny and warm. The grass was soft and green. A man came over the rise of the hill. He saw the man over Elia's shoulder. He wasn't scared. His father's friends came sometimes and played with them. They brought him toys and masks and hats to play with.
The man was carrying a gun. Pirates used guns sometimes, but he really wanted a cannon. The man raised his gun. Elia didn't see the man or his gun. He didn't know what was happening, but for the first time, he felt a shiver of fear. There was shouting in the distance. Men in red suits came running over the hill toward the man with the gun.
They were too late. He'd never heard a noise so loud. It was like an explosion. If cannons sounded like that, maybe he didn't want one. He covered his ears, but it was too late. He fell to the ground. There was another explosion. He trembled. What had happened to him? He didn't feel as if anything had happened to him.
He opened his eyes. The men in red suits stood over the man with the gun. A large, red puddle pooled around the man's body. He looked around. Elia. Elia was laying in a puddle, too. He rushed toward his friend. What was this game?
Elia wasn't playing a game. Red spread over Elia's white shirt.
"Elia?" His voice was small and scared.
Elia's tiny fingers clutched feebly in the air. "Daddy..."
"Elia?" He didn't understand what was happening. Elia didn't move or speak, but his eyes were open. He prodded at him, but nothing happened. Elia didn't sit up or laugh as though he'd played a masterful trick.
There was more shouting. He looked up. His vision blurred with tears. He couldn't see his father's face, but he knew his voice. He knew he was there. Elia's father screamed and fell to the ground beside him. He tried to prod him awake, too, but it didn't work. Elia's father clutched him to his chest and sobbed.
The scene spiraled wildly, as though he was spinning quickly round and round. He couldn't see his father. He couldn't see Elia's father. He could only see Elia, who seemed fixed in space, lying silent and still in a pool of thick, crimson blood....