Cyrus Mathews was in a situation like many other kid in Venice, like any other person really. They’d either been orphaned or lost someone they loved close to them, be it friends or. Cyrus had just lost his parents to a building collapse, a bomb having destroyed the first layer they and many others were in. Cyrus himself was only at the ripe age of twelve when this had happened and it had nearly destroyed him.
He missed his parents and he wished every day that they were still around and that the bomb had not gone off in the building. He wished they stayed at home with him. Safe from all harm. Wishing did nothing for Cyrus, he slowly realized
Now this story isn't about his childhood. This story takes place some years further when Cyrus first met Anna Monroe and when Venice started to go downhill completely. This is about when Cyrus became death itself...sort of.
“Cyrus you better not still be sleeping!” a voice called from above the man’s room. Cyrus groaned, rolling over in his bed and shoving the sheets from his body. The cold welcomed him as he slowly pushed himself up and yawned. “Cyrus Matthews did you hear me!?” the voice called again.
“Yeah, yeah old lady I'm not deaf!” he snapped back, faintly mumbling to himself as he fully climbed out of bed and changed his clothes. If he had the choice he wouldn't bother washing the sleep from his eyes, but with Joyce Cullinan in the house he really had no choice. Once he’d finished making himself look decent he quickly rushed up stairs and stood still in the doorway.
“Took you long enough.” Joyce teased as she set the table. “You mind finishing with the oatmeal for me Cyrus?” she asked, her voice old, soft almost. Cyrus replied with a nod and moved to the large pot on the stove, slowly stirring it. “You woke late again. How are you ever going to get things done if you keep sleeping in?”
He shrugged, “Maybe I should look into afternoon jobs rather than morning ones.”
“You know we already have someone running the afternoon jobs Cyrus. I gave you the morning ones because you seemed so enthusiastic about them when you first moved in.”
“That was before I got only three hours of sleep a night.” Cyrus huffed, “Why are we making so much of this oatmeal again?”
“Some of the other kids are meant to come by in a few. I’m not going to starve then Cyrus. They're thin enough as it is.”
“To be fair they actually have family or friends to feed them.”
“And some of them don't.” Joyce places the rest of the plates down and looked to Cyrus with worry, “What's eating at you today dear?”
Cyrus placed the mixing spoon down and shut the stove off. “Does it really matter?” he softly asked. “Really its...it's nothing.”
“I worry about you dear. A child your age shouldn't be this grumpy at eleven in the afternoon.”
“Morning actually. And I’m fifteen. I’m not a child.” Cyrus lifted the pot off the stove and set it down on the table. “What time are they getting here?”
“Should be soon. You go on and finish those mornings jobs. I’ll finish up here dear.” Joyce smiled, slowly pushing Cyrus out the door.
Cyrus wanted to protest against it but at this point he really wanted to do anything but stay in the home. He grabbed his coat and quickly made his way outside into the cold breeze of the city. The city wasn't the best place to live and Cyrus himself honestly thought about making his way to one of the safe zones near it but he really didn't want to leave Joyce behind. She was kind to him, only mother figure he currently had. He didn't want to lose that.
The morning went by slow for him. He bought the groceries and grabbed some water for back home, making his way back he’d decided he’d take a shortcut. Cyrus didn’t take this path often but he felt this way was best if he wanted to see the people coming over and talk with them. It wasn't dark so luckily no one came out and hurt him on his way there. When Cyrus opened the door he was welcomed but light fits of laughter. Quietly he walked into the kitchen, listening in on the conversation as he put everything away.
“Really Joyce you are far too nice to me.”
“Well you are going to be future mayor of the city Henry.”
“That doesn't mean anything Joyce. I would still consider you a close friend.”
“And I’d consider you a part of this family dear. You best make time for us to talk when you are mayor. Don't you forget to visit.”
“Right. Well I must be going. It was lovely seeing you.” the man, Henry, stood up and made his way to the door, “I’ll try and come by later this week.”
“You be safe Henry.” Joyce gave him a hug and lead him to the door, quietly watching as he left. “You know you could have talked to him Cyrus.”
“Who? The future mayor? Oh no I’d end up ruining his ego if I did that.” Cyrus snorted, “Isn't he one of the wealthy kids? Shouldn't have to feed him.”
“Cyrus Matthews!” Joyce snapped. Cyrus flinched at the tone of her voice. “You do not disrespect that man do you understand? He's trying his best to make the city better.”
“Sure. Better for all the rich assholes that live within the city. He probably doesn't think once about people like us!”
“He cares for everyone Cyrus! He isn't like most of the wealthy. He has a friend, miss Anna Monroe, she's just like us and I know they'll make this city better together when the time comes."
“Or maybe they'll fuck us all over and we'll all be blown up and dead because one city with two “good” people isn't going to stop anything from happening!”
“Cyrus!” before Joyce was able to say much more Cyrus shoved past her, quickly making his way to his room downstairs and slamming the door behind him.