A Silent World

Chapter 3

The world dissolves into chaos.

Cheering turns to screams. One second his mother and father are there, and the next they are gone, swallowed by the sea of people.

A hand shoves him from behind, and he is falling. The wheelchair handle slips from his grasp, and he hits the asphalt with a thump. His elbow and knee sting as he struggles to get himself to his feet. The flurried movement of feet can be seen all around him, trampling on his fingers. Feet dash past him, the tip of the Nikes catching his chin. His head whips backwards, falling back onto the asphalt. He feels his vision blur, his world tilting as he struggles to get to his feet again.

"Abel.." Leo calls out his brother's name.

The name brings him clarity – a sense of panic rushes over him, adrenaline pumping through his body as he frantically looks around for his brother.

A glimpse of copper hair. That's all it takes for Leo to pick out his brother in the crowd.

His brother's face is panic-stricken. He doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what is going on. Between flashes of panic, Abel manages to pick out words of the screaming people.

Bomb. Run. Police.

Abel knows he should run. He should wheel the chair away as fast as possible. But what about Leo? Where is his brother?

He swivels his head around, meeting a pair of hazel eyes. An exact copy of his.

The brothers make eye contact, and Leo rushes forward, hand outstretched.

But then Abel's chair tips forward.

Abel attempts to rebalance himself with his arms, but it is too late. The chair tips him forward onto the rough asphalt.

His mouth opens in silent agony arm hits the ground awkwardly. Something cracks.

Around him, the stampede continues. Feet meet his stomach, trample over his toes. A sole squashes his cheek, his face, pressing his head into the ground.

Abel struggles to get up. He wills his useless legs to move, to no avail.

Stop. He wants to say.

Help me.

It hurts.

Blood pools beneath his head, a vibrant colour against the dark grey road.

No one listens.

His vision blurs, and everything goes dark.

—

Leo screams.

He screams as his brother falls, pushed forward by a protestor.

He screams at the people running toward him, begging them to help his brother – begging them to stop and listen. They push past him, heedless to his desperate cries.

He screams as he struggles helplessly against the sea of people pushing him back. Shoulders knock against his, elbows jabbing into his ribs. A knuckle meets his face. A trickle of red runs from his nose.

His legs are heavy, and he is so, so angry. Help him, he wants to scream.

Why is no one listening?

He lets out a strangled cry as he watches feet trample over his brother.

Selfish yells echo all around him. The crowd surging forward, driven by violent shoving and repeated shouts to move out of the way.

He hears a scream escape someone's throat, only to realise that the one screaming is him.

Reaching his brother, his screams dissolve into cries as he cradles his brother's lifeless body in his arms. Red stains the pavement, blooming from his brother's copper strands. His hand comes away sticky with blood.

His parents are nowhere to be seen – having run off in panic to save themselves.

Around them, countless others have fallen. Pulled into the abyss of the selfish crowd, their motionless bodies unable to rest in peace as footfalls continue to rain down.

Leo looks around helplessly, and he realises he is powerless, absolutely powerless to do anything.

Make a difference in the world?

Bullshit.

Campaign for a cause we believe in?

More bullshit.

He has no say in a world where no one listens. As long as the world remains in this state, he will never be able to do anything.

His hands shake with fury, anger directed at the world. In that helpless moment, he sees the truth of the world for what it really is.

And he wishes he could burn it to the ground.

—

Leo startles awake, a copper tang filling his mouth. Blood. His mind flashes back to his brother – the red on asphalt as life bled out of him. A calloused hand touches his shoulder, a pair concerned eyes meeting his own. His mother. And next to her, his father.

The action is almost reflexive, as Leo immediately puts distance between himself and his parents. His mother's hand slides off his shoulder as he moves out of reach. Something, an emotion, flashes across her eyes. Hurt? For a moment, he almost believes it – he wants to believe it. That his mother is still the person he believed her to be, someone who would do anything for her kids.

He is not naive enough to believe in that fairytale.

His parents stare pensively back at him, as if trying to decipher his strange behaviour. For a moment, he fears that they can see right through him – his horror and disgust at their actions.

His father's next words send a shiver up his spine.

"I'll go get us lunch."

The air smells of disinfectant, the scent of antiseptic piercing his nostrils. The air is stilll against his skin, as if there is no other movement in the room – as if he is the only living thing.

How could they be so calm?

"Your son just died!" He wants to scream, "And he's never coming back!"

Hollow, motionless, inhumane eyes stare back at him. Their stare is unwavering, absent of remorse for the child they abandoned. At that moment, he knows.

He knows that whatever is in front of him is not his parents. They are monsters.

He looks down at his hands, the ghost of warm blood as it pooled between his hands still present.

And he is but another of them.