The sky split open, a magnificent burst of purple electricity streaking across the heavens. It crackled and danced, illuminating the dreary grey clouds that hung low, while the rain cascaded in torrents, beating relentlessly upon the earth. The once neatly trimmed rows of grass swayed violently in the bitter winds, as if bowing before a malevolent force.

Oliver, a mere twelve years old, stood resolute before the looming mounds of rocks. His wavy brown hair clung to his face, soaked by the relentless onslaught of wind and rain. Squinting his eyes, he peered deeply into the cryptic symbols etched into the weathered stones.

His fingers traced a path along his face, a wince escaping his lips as the rain stung the fresh wounds that remained despite the absence of bandages. The doctors claimed they would fade with time, but the scars would endure, constant reminders of past ordeals that had left their mark upon his tender body. Yet, his fingertips paused, fixating on one particular scar.

The blur of crimson lights, the cacophony of hurried footsteps, and the acrid scent of smoke flooded his senses. Anguish contorted his features, his teeth grinding together as the haunting memory consumed him. He forced his eyes open, only to be confronted by the desolate expanse of the graveyard—the final resting place of his mother and father.

The earth above his mother's grave still lay bare, waiting for the grass to grow and conceal the fresh soil. In stark contrast, dying flowers adorned his father's plot, a somber tableau amidst the vibrant blooms that adorned his mother's resting place. Fidgeting with his collar, he removed the crimson tie that his grandmother had meticulously fastened around his throat. What was he supposed to do now? Pay his respects?

But how? His grandmother and grandfather had urged him to find solace in his mother's spirit and embrace the grieving process. How could he accomplish such a task? Her laughter echoed in his ears, her radiant smile etched in his mind's eye, a bittersweet presence that accompanied him through the lonely nights. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the raindrops, while snot dribbled from his nose.

His heart pounded in his chest, a relentless rhythm that matched the turmoil within him. What lay ahead for him now? His grandparents were already struggling to make ends meet, and now they had him to care for. His gaze returned to the grave, his fingers tightening into fists, as if seeking some semblance of control.

His mother had been his shield, his guiding light. How could he navigate this treacherous world without her? He closed his eyes, shutting out the cruel laughter of his peers at school. Tomorrow, he would see them again, carrying on with their lives, seemingly untouched by his loss. His grandparents believed he had friends, people who cared about him and his well-being.

A swell of anger bubbled up from the depths of his belly, a searing resentment. "They don't know a damn thing," he spat, his words muddled by tears. The relentless beatings, the relentless taunts—they haunted his every waking moment. His eyes squeezed shut as he recalled that fateful day when Hunter rallied all the boys on their team for a merciless game of dodgeball. The teacher, barely paying attention, had allowed it to happen—a merciless 1-versus-12 showdown.

The pain resurfaced, as fresh and raw as it had been in the nurse's office afterward. His gaze wavered, remembering how he had fibbed to the principal, claiming it was his own idea, that he had been trying to impress others. And through the narrow crack in the door, he had glimpsed Hunter's malevolent eyes, daring him to expose the truth to the oblivious teachers.

Oliver slumped down, emitting a frustrated groan, and huddled into himself, drawing his knees close to his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around his body, fixating his gaze on the black inscriptions etched into the gravestone—his mother's name, Marina Windsor.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into the smooth velvet of his suit, as he practiced the technique his mother had taught him. A moment of meditation amidst the turmoil. "If you ever feel overwhelmed, take a deep breath, as many as you need, to regain your strength," her voice echoed in his mind, gentle and soothing, just as she had held his hand and tended to his wounds, no matter how trivial.

He tried to conjure her words, the softness of her voice, the unwavering presence that had been his anchor. Inhaling deeply, he focused on steadying himself. Hunter, his grandparents, the uncertain days ahead—they receded to the background. His mind drifted, fixing upon the swaying blades of grass that danced and contorted under the assault of the harsh wind.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

That was the present. That was what he needed to cling to. In his father's teachings lay his solace. Don't allow yourself to be consumed by the crashing waves of catastrophe and fear. Focus on the here and now.

Releasing a garbled breath, slower this time, he felt the tension melt away, seeping from his body. Opening his eyes after a few moments, he found the blades of grass still undulating, and the future didn't seem as daunting in that instant. It would come, inevitably, but for now, it didn't gnaw at him.

He straightened himself, brushing off the dust from his pants and shirt, his fingers tracing the indents of his mother's name on the grave. "Goodbye, Mama," he whispered softly, then turned away, ensuring that the flowers remained upright, basking in the sunlight.

Taking a deep breath, he faced his approaching grandparents, their hair graying and slicked back from the rain, their weary eyes fixed upon his youthful frame. A smile graced their lips, even as his grandmother assisted his grandfather up the hill.

"Have you found peace, Oliver?" his grandfather inquired, his voice weathered and dry.

His grandmother shook her head, a disapproving scowl etched on her face. "Peace? The boy just lost his mother. He's just a child, and..."

"He needs to understand that she's gone. Physically, yes, but her spirit remains, within him, within all of us," his grandfather interjected, his voice breaking through Oliver's fog of distraction. His gaze locked onto the old man, listening intently.

"Your mother, my daughter, was the last of your immediate family, aside from us. It may seem small, inconsequential even, but I want you to know that you are never truly alone. Seek out friends, seek out family. That's what life is about," the old man gestured expansively, his arm spanning the valley and beyond.

Oliver shook his head, struggling to grasp the full meaning behind his grandfather's words. He was certain it was time for his medication, but...

"Do you think Grandpa Dan is losing it?" Oliver queried, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But let me tell you something, Oliver... your grandmother, your mother, and I are your family. Your mother may be gone, but a part of her lives on within you."

Oliver straightened up, his gaze meeting his grandfather's. "What do you mean?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

The old man chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the intensifying downpour that drummed against them. He flung his arm forward, a gambler tossing his ace onto the table. "I mean your hair, your eyes... that's just aesthetics," he chuckled once more. "But your heart, it's pure like your mother's. And you're smart too. That doesn't come from your Dogface father who just followed orders. I've said it before, Lisa, if our girl hadn't gotten herself knocked up, she could've become a scientist or..."

His grandmother interrupted with a sharp thwack to his head. "Don't say such things in front of the boy! You don't want him to..."

Oliver interjected, attempting to piece it all together. His fingers ran through his damp hair as his grandparents listened attentively. "So you're saying that although my mother is gone, she lives on in me because I carry a part of her within myself?"

His grandfather smirked, satisfied with Oliver's understanding. "Smart boy. Now let's head home," he said, guiding Oliver forward. Yet...

His grandfather's firm hand gripped Oliver's shoulder, spinning him around to meet his gaze. Their eyes locked, an unspoken bond forming between them. "Our family may be smaller now, but never forget that blood doesn't define a family. It's the people who have proven time and time again that they'll be there for you when you need them. But remember, it goes both ways. Family is defined by those who would lay down their lives for you... and you, in turn, would do the same for them."

His grandfather's words struck Oliver like an electric surge coursing through him, igniting a surge of newfound clarity. They filled the air with a burst of potent energy, bathing them in a harsh light. Yet, Oliver had been alone for so long, lacking a true friend. Sure, there was Aidan, but he wasn't the kind of friend his grandfather was talking about. Aidan would hang out with him, share common interests in TV shows and video games, but he never stood up for Oliver against Hunter. Sure, he would tag along, but it was Hunter who tormented him.

Still, his grandfather's words resonated within him. Find those who would die for you... and be willing to do the same for them. He couldn't fathom such a friendship, such camaraderie. "That's what we learned in the army. That's how I met your uncle..."

"Enough with the war stories. It's freezing out here," his grandmother interjected, shivering as she cast a glance toward Oliver. "How about we grab some pizza on the way back?"

Oliver's eyes gleamed like a lantern suddenly charged with power as the young boy took hold of his grandfather's hand. They descended the sloping terrain, making their way back to the car, and set off to get some pizza.

As they drove, Oliver made plans in his mind to return in another week, to replace the flowers adorning his mother's grave. But those plans would never come to fruition. Many things in Oliver's life, in this world at least, would remain unfulfilled.

Oliver cast one final glance at his mother's grave, a bittersweet farewell escaping his lips. Little did he know, it would be the last time he laid eyes on her earthly resting place. Unbeknownst to him, this farewell held a weight far beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals.

And as the young boy giggled and reveled in the comfort of his seat inside his grandparents' car, his grandfather's voice resonated with joy, weaving tales of extraordinary men and women safeguarding the innocent. Oliver's eyes sparkled with wonder and admiration, unaware of the impending twist of fate. For soon, he would be thrust into a destiny of immense proportions, surpassing the boundaries of their wildest imaginations.