The curry tasted awful.

Morbus could barely get another bite down. Yet, he pushed the fork into his mouth and tried to suppress the disgusting sensation on his tongue.

Taste is nothing more than the interpretation of electrical signals in your brain. Don’t be fooled.

Across from him at the kitchen table sat his father. He didn’t seem to have any trouble with the lentil curry. Still, he didn’t look good. His short black hair, sticking out in all directions, resembled a swarm of needles piercing his scalp. His glasses were crooked on his nose, and his forehead was marked with deep wrinkles. Behind the edge of his glasses, Morbus could just make out his father’s dull, gray eyes.

Morbus tried to lift the mood a bit. He scooped up another forkful and raised it to his mouth.

“Delicious,” he lied.

His father raised one eyebrow.

“...Mr. Horatio,” Morbus added quickly.

Without saying a word, Horatio continued eating.

Morbus forced himself to finish his meal. He was genuinely hungry, and that video from the morning had made him appreciate that there was food on the table.

When his father was done eating, he finally spoke, his voice heavy as though bearing the weight of the world.

“I’ll do the dishes.”

He stood up, the silver half-amulet around his neck swinging as he moved.

Morbus nodded. “Then I’ll get back to my homework,” he said. He stood up, walked to his room, and closed the door.

Homework time.

He sat down at his desk and opened his physics book. Just a few more exercises to go. He grabbed his formula sheet and got to work.

Concentrating was difficult: his mind kept drifting to Mora, with whom he had spent practically the whole afternoon talking. Explosions of excitement bloomed deep in his belly.

I never thought someone could be this amazing.

It took him nearly two hours to finish his homework. On a normal day, it would only take less than half so long. But then, on a normal day, you don’t experience crazy moments like this.

He changed into his pajamas and got into bed. It was already half past nine.

But not before I write down this evening so I won’t forget what I’ve learned tomorrow.

He pulled the notebook from under his pillow and wrote down the entire evening. Although it wasn’t much except for dinner and homework.

At least I’ll remember everything about her, he thought with a thin smile while recalling Mora’s face again in his minds eye. He pulled the covers over himself and fell asleep immediately, a sense of happiness warming him as he drifted off.

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But the sleep didn’t last long.

Ten minutes after he had dozed off, someone entered the room.

Shit.

A memory awoke in his mind. Pieces of forgotten memories surfaced, and along with them, the feelings they stirred up grew more vivid.

His father stood there, silhouetted against the hallway light. He took a few steps forward.

“Morbus.” His voice was dark and menacing.

His memories continued flooding back, replaying past events he’d completely forgotten.

I’ve been through this before. Déjà vu?

Morbus sat up in bed. He saw his father pull something from his pocket.

Double shit.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Morbus recognized the object all too well.

His father’s pocket knife held more than just foldable tools. One of them was in fact—

There it is!

His father pressed a button, and a long, steel pin with a rounded, red-glowing tip extended from the handle.

“How was school?” Father Horatio stepped closer. A twisted smile appeared on his face.

Morbus knew exactly what was coming.

Stay calm. Don’t provoke him.

“Good,” Morbus replied. “We had—”

“No, how,” his father interrupted, moving closer until he was standing at the foot of the bed. “Did it make you happy?”

Morbus swallowed, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin.

What now?

But it was too late. As Horatio shouted “ANSWER ME!” into his face, he shoved the pocket knife forward, and the searing hot pin pressed against Morbus’s chest, letting out a hiss.

“AAH!”

The pain was unbearable. It wasn’t just at the point of contact; his entire body seemed to relive this torment. Memories of previous burns exploded in his mind, like a fuse setting off a stick of dynamite. His chest clenched, and he collapsed backward onto the bed. His father sat on the edge.

“Good,” he said with satisfaction. “Feel it.” He licked his lips. “Admit it, school was miserable.”

“No!” Morbus protested. His father brought the pin down again.

“AAH!”

“What was it then, Morbus?”

Tears streamed down his face. His voice shattered as he begged for his life. “Please, s-stop, father—”

“AAAAH!”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” His voice thundered like a jet engine. “It’s Mr. Horatio,” he said through clenched teeth. “How many times have I told you I don’t want to hear ‘dad,’ ‘father,’ or even my first name? Is that clear?”

Morbus’s voice was barely audible. “Y-y-yes, M-mr. Horatio,” he managed to exclaim.

His father laughed coldly, a heartless, chilling sound.

“Good, Morbus. You know the drill. Turn around.”

No, not again.

But he had little choice.

“DO WHAT I SAY!” Horatio roared while bringing the burning tip to his chest again.

“AEWH!” Morbus's cries had transformed into incoherent sounds. Quickly, he rolled over so that he lay on his stomach, his back exposed.

I wonder how many burns I have by now.

Horatio grinned, clearly savoring his power. “Listen,” he began.

Here we go.

Horatio’s voice took on the tone of a cult leader performing a ritual, pressing the burning steel pin in his back with every sentence. “Our world is a hell, with Aquinox as the only one remaining stronghold above the water. Here, everyone is happy. But happiness is fundamentally wrong. Being happy blinds you to others’ pain. Therefore happiness creates inequality.”

He leaned close, whispering into Morbus’s ear. “You were happy today, weren’t you, Morbus? I could tell. It was all in your actions, the way you looked, how you moved, the pitch of your voice. So you enjoy inequality. The safety inside the Walls while others suffer outside. You take pleasure in this hell, like everyone else here.” He straightened back up. “The people before the disaster would be amazed at how good we have it. They would...”

Morbus let his father’s words drift in one ear and out the other. Every stab sent new jolts through his body, so intense he could no longer scream; his nerves were overloaded.

It was as if he were falling into a bottomless pit, an endless descent into pain. Falling, falling, without end. As he fell, it grew hotter and hotter. The heat became unbearable, and though his body should have given out, it kept going. His skin scorched black, his lungs roasted, his organs charred and withered, his heart exploded. Yet his nerves continued to relay trauma signals to his brain.

Forever.

Time lost meaning. Space vanished entirely. The further he fell, the more unbearable it felt to be alive in a body that had already died. A prisoner of his own mind.

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Somewhere at the bottom of the pit, rhythmic hissing sounds echoed.

“...disappointed in you.”

He opened his eyes.

“You are not allowed to be happy.”

That smell...

“You are fundamentally flawed and useless.”

How long was I gone?

“I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!”

The bed creaked, footsteps left the room, and the door slammed shut.

It was dead silent.

Morbus tried to feel his body, but immediately he was overwhelmed by the burn wounds. He tried to scream, but his throat only permitted a high, croaky rasp. His body was broken.

Father is right.

He didn’t know what was worse. The physical pain or the emotional trauma.

I can’t be happy.

He tried to sit straight up on the bed, in vain. He couldn’t even move his muscles.

I need to suffer.

Instead he rolled out of bed to his desk, screaming in agony. His arm had just the amount of strength to get up. In the drawer he felt for his pencil case, and grabbed his compass.

Got it.

He removed the cap and put the point on his hand. He went deeper and deeper, until blood spilled out. The feeling was strange. Horrible, but also unburdening.

Oh, the pain. Finally justice.

He made a second hole. And a third. His brain screemed for more and more. Until deep in the night he continued.