Chapter Twenty-Two: Anger

~~~~~~~{Memory Core 7 Start}~~~~~~~

It was a stormy evening from when I was four in our cramped, two-room hovel we called home. A single small candle, a pathetic reflection of the torches in the dungeon, struggled to keep the room lit against the encroaching shadows of nightfall.

A home where my father had knocked mother’s dinner off the rickety, wooden table, dust falling as the table shook. The leek and potato soup, smelling of warmth but not love, fell to the dirt floor, spilling in waves and generating mud in the sad excuse of a dirt floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” My father said, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t even budge from his seat. I swore I saw a ghost of a smile flicker at the corners of his mouth.

Mother was a flame, bursting with energy and heat, as she slammed a tiny fist against the table. More dust fell, her hand shook above the tabletop, and I covered my ears before the yelling started. Quick as a flash, an idea to stop the fight formed, and I moved my hands to my wooden bowl. I was about to offer my mother my meager half-portion to stave off her anger when my father moved first.

He slid his bowl toward her, his smile fully formed now. As Mother ate, I took small spoonfuls, tasting the salty yet sweet taste of the leeks and the hearty flavor of the potatoes; she began to eat with vigor, ignoring my father's soft cry, “What about my dinner?”

After eating, she grabbed the bowls from the table and the bowl off the ground and put them in a basin with other dishes. Mother gave Father the stink eye and pulled out the emergency rations of stale bread and moldy cheese from a dirty, grey cupboard hidden in a corner. Dinner was not so easily replaced.

My father had stood then, kicking back the chair. “I’m not eating that trash. Should have thrown it out weeks ago.” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. Four-year-old me fell forward from my chair and quickly hid underneath the seat. I could feel a hot trickle down my cheeks; I started rocking back and forth, hoping my parent's fight wouldn’t be a long one. I heard a crash, and—]

~~~~~~~{End Memory Core 7}~~~~~~~

As I came to, the room's darkness confused me. Crystal was as dim as I had ever seen her, and the torch was gone from my hands. I would’ve tried to fix the lighting situation, but the memory left me reeling as I focused instead on the sound of my father extending a fist against my mother. What? What happened? A meek father like that wouldn’t raise his fists, right? And the way anger radiated off my mother like a hot stove, refusing my father dinner until after she had eaten. If my parents were really like that, it was no wonder I had ended up here. I was shaken from my thoughts as a loud noise filled the room. I covered my ears but to no avail.

Crystal screamed in rage, and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I had forgotten that covering my ears didn’t work because her sound was in my mind, not the room. She started letting out a deep glow that grew steadily brighter.

[I’m still hurt by the way you treated me. It’s like you think I’m not even human.] The pain in her voice reached a crescendo, the light so bright I closed my eyes. The noise of her yell rose higher and higher and brought me to my knees.

The pain fought for control of my body drowning out all thoughts except a burning hatred for the cause of my pain. It was like an uncontrollable force wielding my body as a weapon, and I screamed back the worst thing I could have possibly said at that moment.

“What does it matter that you aren’t human? You are a talking, floating crystal! Stop complaining about it; the yelling is killing me.” I said these words with force and anger, digging my grave even deeper.

[Well, I never!] She spoke so loud I could feel something burst, and I swear I felt a trickle of blood down my face. The next moment Crystal's light disappeared, and then she did, too, and I was shrouded in darkness. It felt like the world was closing in on me, constricting me, making everything hollow; I reached out in the darkness, trying to find a torch, Crystal, or anything. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been relying on her and the benefits she gave me. If only I could see! That’s right, a torch! In my panic, my anger disappeared like a looted corpse.

“Hey, Crystal. Can I equip a torch in my left hand, please?” I waited a couple of seconds but got no response from her. “Hello? Crystal? I’m sorry about what I said. Please don’t do this. Crystal!” Fear and anger were trading places rapidly and I was uncertain what I should do. The battle ended though, as one emotion overtook the other.

I let out a scream, spittle flying, and my eyes flared so much I thought they would burst out of my skull. What was I supposed to do now? I couldn’t access my weapons, and I couldn’t see. “Crystal. Come on, I didn’t mean anything by what I said. You are amazing. I can’t survive without you.” Nothing.

A deep anger welled within me, and I pictured my father with his hand raised about to strike my mother. My fist curled, and I banged my fist against the wall in frustration. I was going to be stuck here forever. I hit the wall again. The pain felt good. It hit the wall again, and again, and again.

The pain in my hand built to a throbbing, radiating orb of agony that beat like a drum in line with my heart. I became lost in the pain, my thoughts and fears eclipsed by the sensation of the strikes. I only stopped when I felt a pop in my left hand, and an overwhelming scream of pain made me rear back, cradling the hand. The throbbing continued to intensify as a slick wetness trickled down my busted, broken hand. It wasn’t healing. The pain wasn’t going away.

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I needed Crystal back. I had died multiple times in three hours with her help; I wouldn’t make it three minutes without her. I couldn’t even equip the dagger I had found. I rocked back and forth like I did as a kid hiding under a chair; I couldn’t handle this. I wished I was at home. Anywhere but here would be preferable. I wasn’t supposed to be here in Penance. I was a thief. Thieves never got a shot at redemption. It was one of the seven deadly sins. Greed.

Who knew I had been this close to a panic attack for the entire time? Not sure what to do, I let myself fall to the ground. My body, both physically and emotionally spent, clattered to the ground with a rocky thud. I cradled my damaged arm, the instant healing gone with Crystal’s disappearance. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. This isn’t… I know I messed up. My few scattered memories filled me with guilt I had no frame of reference for. But did I truly deserve this?

The pressure in my eyes finally lessened, and I blinked them a few times as I tried to clear the tears. I had never felt this alone. How was I going to get myself out of this mess?

As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I saw them, the rats. Their corpses still sparkled, generating the only light in the room. Maybe I could still loot things. The small bit of hope lit a spark. Crystal may have abandoned me, and I probably deserved it. But I still had a chance to get as far as possible with this run. I could at least scout out the second floor for information, and make headway for future runs. I didn’t know my health, and I had no way to get to my stored weapons. And I had broken my left hand… However, I knew I could do something. I could make progress.

I could feel my heart beating faster, and my face started getting red from the heat. Even though my earlier memory of my parents made me question who I was, I had a partial answer ready. “I will not be like my father.” I only had one image of him, but the emotion was so strong it could block out everything else. “I will not be my father.” All that got me was shame and a broken hand.

Based on that single memory, and the one of my father tasking me with buying his escapes, both of my parents were awful, and if my only chance to do better was here in Penance, I would take it. I shook my head to clear the thoughts, set a grin on my face, and waved my hand through the rats. I felt my hand slide against something sharp. In the dim light, I could barely make out a glint of silver reflecting the dim light of the rats, and then it vanished.

The dice rolled, clattering against the stone floor as the light faded. They were still here, and I could still interact with everything except what Crystal did for me. Gold and rat meat fell from the sky like raindrops, tinkling as they fell. A small pile of gold coins clinked around my feet, and I hurried to pick them up. The coins felt slimy, covered in fresh blood from the sinewy rat meat.

Now what? What was I supposed to do with the coins and the rat meat? I had no way to carry them. Think. Think. Think! My left hand was ruined, my greaves didn’t have pockets, and I couldn’t even take off my shoes and use them to carry things as if they were sandals. Wait. Shoes. Clothing. Helm. The thoughts came to me rapid fire, less than a second passing between each word.

I never knew how my thoughts jumped from A to B to Z, but I always surprised myself when they did. Shoes and pockets weren’t the only clothing with space to carry stuff. Hats had plenty of space and what was a leather helmet but a skin-tight hat.

I sighed and took off the leather helm I was wearing. I could hold them in the helmet and leave them by the door whenever I entered a new room to have my working arm free from attacks. My left arm throbbed helpfully reminding me of its uselessness. It would make more sense to leave the stuff altogether, but a part of me felt that would be admitting defeat.

I left the room and immediately noticed something was off. No, Crystal reminding me that I should go back and pick things up. There was no title card announcing the location I was in. I should have realized that was Crystal’s doing. Yet another way she was helping me, and I never even noticed. I wanted to kick myself. I had been so self-centered, so thoughtless, and for almost no reason other than Crystal didn’t have a body. What a dumb thing to focus on.

I shook my head and finally took stock of the room; just like earlier, the Giant rats were doing bizarre things. There was an entire circus set up. Trapeze wires. A cannon. Flaming rings. The three giant rats were performing a circus routine. I closed my eyes and then blinked a few times, and then shut my eyes. I really needed to talk to Rattigan again, I get that it was their form of entertainment, but it was unsettling. When I opened them, everything was gone. And only two rats were remaining. And a crate.

My head started to hurt, which was odd because I hadn’t had a headache since coming to the dungeon. Nothing here made sense, and it was all my fault. I could feel my frustration with my earlier actions rising, the consequences compounding, building to an explosive peak. And then I remembered the dagger. It was lost in the darkness in that previous room.

My tendency to forget things was going to get me killed. My father was like that, always forgetting things, making excuses, and always messing up. Even though I only had the two snippets of memory, I had so many details about the shame my father brought me. The shame I felt from being so much like him.

Using my rage as fuel, I decided to work it out on a productive target this time. I struck forward and slammed my non-broken fist down on the head of the rat, squishing its mouth against the stone-shattering its teeth. My right hand came away bloody as a dice bounced behind me.

I stared at the other soon-to-be victim, frozen in fear, the reflection of the lone torch in the room flickering in its eyes. A rage like no other I had felt before consumed me, worse even than the all-consuming fire that ruined my left arm.

I tried to focus on my thoughts about not being like my father, but the thoughts were soon eradicated. I couldn’t see, I couldn't think. All my being focused on my rage. Before the other rat could glance at his dead friend, I started punching the last rat with my right fist without pausing as dice rolled behind me. And I didn’t stop. As the rat squealed its last breath, I kept pounding and slamming my hand down. My hand was a bloody mess. I looked through the cracks in my finger and saw only a puddle where the rat had once been. My other arm hung loosely at my side, the hand still throbbing.

What is happening to me?