Back to present day...
The shift finally ended, and I shuffled through the dimly lit corridors of the underground hallway, my body heavy with exhaustion. The air was thick with the stagnant scent of sweat and metal, mingling with an unshakeable sense of despair that seemed to permeate every corner. Each step echoed hollowly off the concrete walls, a relentless reminder of the grim existence I was trapped in—a life of ceaseless labor and numbing routine.
Approaching the door to our cramped quarters in the E Wing, I could already sense the tension that awaited me inside. The distant hum of machinery provided a dull backdrop to the noticeable silence that enveloped our home. With a heavy heart, I inserted the key into the lock and turned it with a click, pushing open the door to face my mother sitting solemnly on the edge of the worn mattress.
"How was your shift?" Her voice, though soft, carried an undertone of strained patience as she glanced up at me.
I dropped my bag wearily, the weight of it hitting the floor with a dull thud. I handed her the crumpled food coupon, its edges worn and frayed from repeated use. "Same as always," I muttered, my voice tinged with bitterness. "Just like tomorrow will be."
She accepted the coupon with a sigh, her fingers brushing against mine briefly. There was a moment of tense silence, tense toxic atmosphere with unspoken words and buried emotions. "You know, Keinan," she started hesitantly, her gaze avoiding mine, "if you had been more careful, Ethan..."
The accusation hung heavy in the air, cutting through to me like a knife. My mother's words trailed off, but the weight of her implication lingered—a silent indictment of my role in Ethan's tragic death. sadness surged within me, but before I could respond, she looked away, her face was written all over with a mask of resignation.
"We'll manage," she murmured softly, as her voice changed to a strained tone with weariness, the weight of our shared burden noticeable in the dimly lit room. Yet beneath her calm façade, I sensed an undercurrent of simmering resentment, a quiet accusation hanging unspoken between us like a heavy fog.
Later that night, as I lay down on the cold, unforgiving mattress, silent tears streamed down my cheeks, mingling with stifled sobs that escaped my throat in quiet gasps. The darkness closed in around me, enveloping me in a cocoon of despair and loneliness. Each breath felt heavy with sorrow, each heartbeat a painful reminder of the void Ethan had left behind, a void that seemed to stretch infinitely into the unfathomable depths of my soul.
As the night deepened, chaos erupted with my father's stumbling drunk as he returned home, his presence announced by the acrid scent of alcohol that clung to him like a second skin. His slurred shouts pierced the air, demanding my presence. I began to tremble uncontrollably upon hearing his voice, I rushed toward the door to lock it, before I went to the corner seeking refuge in the farthest corner of the room. With hands pressed tightly against my ears, I rocked back and forth, trying desperate to drown out the tumultuous world I was living in.
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In that moment, I began to close my eyes, shutting out my harsh reality. In my mind, I conjured a tranquil place far removed from the turmoil—a vision of emerald-green fields under a serene sky, where gentle breezes whispered through the leaves and the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers. It was a fleeting refuge, a brief respite from the storm that raged both within and around me.
But my father's relentless pounding on the door shattered my fleeting peace. His accusations sliced through the air like jagged knives, each word laden with bitter resentment. "Because of you, Ethan died! Why couldn't it have been you instead?" His words lashed out with brutal force, each one stabbing into my already shattered heart.
"Dad, please stop," I pleaded, my voice choked with tears, barely audible amidst his belligerent tirades. Tears streamed down my face unchecked, a silent testament to the anguish I felt. "I'm sorry," I repeated, the words falling like a feeble shield against his onslaught.
His fists hammered against the door with a violence that reverberated through the walls, the sound echoing like thunder in the confined space of our small home. His drunken rage escalated, his kicks adding to the cacophony of chaos that enveloped me. His slurred threats hung in the air, mingling with the unsettling whispers in the recesses of my mind.
"They all hate you, hihihi" it hissed, its tone dripping with malice. "They blame you because you are weak! Weak little boy, oh no daddy going to beat you up again, will Ethan come save you this time little boy? No. He is dead! And it all because of you!"
The voice, haunting and malevolent, first whispered its curse on that fateful day. It was a day seared into my memory by the eerie absence of recollection, a blankness that seemed to mock the horrors whispered among the townsfolk. They spoke of a curse, of misfortune befalling those who dared draw near, their fearful glances confirming the whispered rumors.
As my heart raced, pressed against the door in a futile attempt to ward off the storm within and without, tears blurred my vision. Guilt and fear intertwined, a suffocating weight that threatened to crush my spirit. Outside, my father's enraged threats mingled with the sinister whispers in my mind, weaving a cacophony of torment that threatened to drown me in despair.
Amid this turmoil, each attempt to recall that pivotal day was met with searing pain, as if my mind recoiled from memories too terrible to bear.
With each passing day, I clung to a fragile hope, steeling myself against the malevolent whispers and the weight of my own guilt. Though the journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, I resolved to confront the mysteries that bound to me, to uncover the truth buried beneath layers of fear and doubt.
As the night deepened, casting long shadows that danced like specters through the dimly lit room, I sat up and regained my composure. The path to redemption would be arduous, but I was determined to face it, to defy the curse that sought to define my existence and reclaim the life that had been stolen from me.