|Student To The Rebel
Author: Ireland Ranger PM
Drone Doherty was born in Ireland. When he is sent to St. Enda's school to get a better education, his life changes. His teacher is none other then Padraig Pearse, an Irish rebel. Drone learns more then just reading and writing. He learns the meaning of sacrifice and love of country. He learns that there are things worth dying for, like freedom. Rated T for future violence.Rated: Fiction T - English - Friendship - Words: 828 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 06-06-12 - id: 3029740
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
He was born into the beautiful world of Ireland, a world that was crumbling. The British had been marching up and down his home street since before he was born. They were like no other people he could recall to mind. They acted like the spawn of hell and the typical attitude towards him and his family, no, the entire Irish nation, was demeaning.
It wasn't rare to hear of another father or brother being locked away in the cold cells of British prisons or hanged for 'treason'. It was even perhaps more common to hear of people being forced from their homes because they could not pay their landlords. Yet this had all been going on for about 700 years. This was all old news. Drone was used to this.
He sat there, alone, gazing out his bedroom window, thinking about things he couldn't fix. Things that no single person was able to fix. Sighing, he went back to the drawing he was working on. His mind was so consumed within his thoughts that he did not hear his mother enter.
"Drone?" She said, nearly tripping over a pile a books as she came in. "What in heaven?-Drone Doherty, you pick these books up this instant! I nearly broke my neck!"
The brown-headed lad jumped from his desk to the floor, collecting the books into his arms.
"I'm sorry, Mum." He said, raising his green eyes to meet hers. "I was just working on something."
"Yes, I can only imagine what." His mother said sternly, walking over to his desk and picking up his drawing. "And how is your homework? Oh, Drone! Why can't you focus on what's important? What would your father say?"
"Not like he'd care any." Drone toned glumly. "He's off fighting for his medals again."
"Don't speak of your father in such a way, young man!" Mrs. Doherty waved her finger at her son and put his drawing on the desk once again, accidentally knocking another paper off.
"What's this?" She asked, scooping from the floor.
"Wait Mum-" Drone tried to grab the paper from his mother's grip, only for her to wave it away, scanning its content.
She looked up and her son, with glaring brown eyes.
"What, may I ask is this?" She demanded.
Drone gulped a little and sighed.
His mother read the paper aloud, glancing at him between words.
"Question 1: Who was the King of England in the beginning of the fifteenth century?
Answer: Don't know and don't really know why I should bloody well care….
Question 2: Who was this King's wife?
Answer: All the Queens were hags to me….
Question 3: What is this King known for?
Answer:- Drone what is this?"
The boy shrugged and carefully placed his books on the shelf in his room.
"I'm sick of reading aboutEngland, Mum. It's all Father ever talks about and it's all I read it school."
"Do you even know the answers?" His mother demanded.
"Sure." Drone replied. "The King was Henry VII...or Henry VIII..."
His mother slammed the paper down on the desk and put his hands on her hips.
"No, you don't. I tell you, boy, you spend too much time drawing and reading! What do you hope to accomplish in the world if you won't study?"
"Let me tell you something, Drone." Mrs. Doherty said, her voice rising. "You have one week to fix this problem of yours or I'll find a cure for you. Firstly, I want you to pack up those books and drawings of yours and shore them away. Secondly," She slammed a finger into Drone's history homework. "I want you to get an A on this paper, and the report your teacher said you were to do last week. If you don't, you'll be having more work to do about this house."
"Please, Mum." Drone said pleadingly. "It's not that I don't want to..."
His mother paid him no heed, stomping to the open door of his room and gripping the handle.
"Why can't you be like you're brother?" She sighed, walking out.
Drone watched his mother leave, closing the door behind her. Anger filled his eyes.
"Because I'm not my brother." He replied to no one. He glanced down at the drawing he had been working on. The elegantly sketched harp drained his anger and he sat down, taking the paper in his hands.
"Someday...someday I'll find some one who cares about this country the way I do." He glanced out his window to watch the people stroll by in their daily tasks. "I wonder how many of those people would be willing to..." He stopped in his thoughts.
Sighing he put the picture aside and began to redo his homework.