The Mafia Empire

"If a life is mediocre, it is better to die!"

"I will learn, Father. I know you have your wisdom, but I want to leave here and vture out. I can repair shoes, and I can fix umbrellas. These are skills that can sustain me in the city. I can dure hardship, Father. I won't ask for pay—just a place to live.

I believe someone will hire a fool like me."

Every week, a cart would pass through this place called Clover Town, but to board it, one needed money.

In the Kesma family, aside from Mr. Kesma, no one had much money—not ev Mason, the ninete-year-old eldest son, and certainly not Julian, who came after him.

"Are you sure you want to leave? Leave me, your mother, and your brothers and sisters?" Mr. Kesma's tone grew stern. For a part born and raised in the countryside, the hardest thing to bear was a child's ignorance in rejecting good inttions and defying their will.

Julian was silt for a momt, th stood up and removed his belt—a strong leather strap covered in a thick layer of grime. He placed it on the table, took off his shirt, and lay down on the floor.

"If you wish to carry out family discipline, th please do it before I leave!" Julian declared firmly. "Because I've made my first, and most important, decision in life—I'm going to the city."

"Ev if I get hurt or die in the city, it will be on the path I chose. I respect and love you. You gave me life, but I hope that, at least once in my life, I can take control of my own future!"

In the d, Mr. Kesma didn't pick up the belt. He smoked two cigarettes in a row, his eyes occasionally drifting toward his childr. Though he wasn't well-educated or particularly wise, life had giv him the wisdom every human gains over time. Wh one puppy leaves the d, the others will soon want to follow.

Julian may not have realized it yet, but his decision was changing not just himself, but also his siblings.

It was a silt night. No one felt like talking, each pondering Julian's impding departure.

At dawn, Mr. Kesma sat at the table outside the kitch. Beside him was a small tin box he had once brought back from a trip to the city. It had once be filled with filtered cigarettes, which Mr. Kesma had treasured. Later...

it seemed that by the next New Year, wh he oped the box, he found the cigarettes were covered in mold.

Regrettably, he had laid them out in the sun, hoping to save them, but it proved pointless.

Since th, the little tin box had become his container for important things, hidd beath the third wood plank under his bed.

Yes, everyone in the family knew where he hid things, but he still believed no one else did.

Knowing today would be his last day in this decaying countryside, as he set off to build a future in the big city, Julian hadn't slept all night. Yet in the morning, he was full of ergy. He wore his light lin suspders and a pale blue canvas shirt—worn thin from many washes—typical of the countryside. He had cleaned himself up and was filled with hope for the future.

"Father!"

Julian greeted his father, and Mr. Kesma motioned for him to sit down. Once Julian sat, his father pushed the cup aside, picked up the small tin box, hesitated for a momt, and finally handed it to Julian.

"There's twty dollars inside. That should be ough to last you at least three months in the city. After that, you'll have two choices: either make something of yourself or return here starving." He patted Julian's shoulder hard and squeezed tightly, causing Julian to wince in pain. "Remember, you're a son of the Kesma family.

Whether or not you can ever become like those respectable m, don't forget you always have a way back."

"No matter wh, we'll always welcome you home!"

Julian could hardly believe the normally stern and serious man, who always seemed so rigid, could say something so emotional. His nose tingled, and he nodded firmly. "I understand. If I ever return, it won't be because I've failed and am coming back in shame. I'll return with flowers lining the streets and people playing music, welcoming the return of a king!"

Mr. Kesma chuckled and slapped the back of Julian's head. "Get going, boy, and stop playing with words."

Without saying goodbye to the rest of the family, the two of them left the house in silce, walking to the edge of the small town. After waiting for about half an hour, an old, clumsy-looking bus with sixte wheels slowly approached. A few people were already aboard, but most of the seats were still empty.

As the bus came to a stop, Mr. Kesma suddly pulled Julian into a tight embrace, slapping his back as if trying to etch the momt into his memory. "Go on, go. The fledgling must leave the nest and live on its own. I can't give you a privileged life, but I won't stop you from soaring high!"

Julian took a deep breath, looking at his father's wrinkled face and the graying hair that had begun to thin. His eyes misted over. Without another word, he boarded the bus, choosing a seat by the window. As the bus rumbled down the bumpy road, Julian watched his father's reluctant gaze fade into the distance, as he left behind the town that had raised him for sixte years.