Redemption Song | Levi & Eren

Final Chapter 27: Redemption Song

      His arm stung. The cigarette burn marking his skin left a hot red wound. He wanted to scratch at it but knew it was best not to. The child had limited medical knowledge after patching up his uncle for years and knew it best to leave the injury to heal.

The pain remained powerful, poking tears from the boys' eyes as he traversed through the night.

He'd abandoned his bed at his uncle's house. The uncle, just as he suspected, had already passed out in his chair with a beer bottle fallen from his grip and his hat residing on the chair behind him.

He'd crept out the backdoor since the front door squeaked when opened. The boy kept his hand curled around his sleeve where the burn lay underneath.

His shoes pounded against the damp grass. The young child travelled along the field, heading toward a forest of tall trees and fallen leaves. The winter weather threatened to snow as the days passed. It would coat the poor neighbourhood in a white blanket.

If snow did arrive, their footprints would jeopardise their secret meetup point. They weren't childish enough to call it a den.

He passed by the foremost tree, entering the enclosed space of large trunks and littered discoloured leaves. The top layer of wet leaves squelched under his shoes, combining with the noticeable crunch of dry leaves beneath.

They camouflaged the snake-like roots stemming from the tree trunks. The boy had memorised the path long along, allowing him to navigate the trail perfectly in the dark. As per usual, the area was silent.

In the shroud of darkness, their commandeered base went disguised in black, but the boy rediscovered it. His hand extended outwards and was greeted by mossy concrete further hiding its appearance.

The boy walked beside the wall, using it to guide him. He located a wooden material. The large barrier, still wet from the rain, felt slimy on his fingertips.

The child moved to its opposite side, finding the handle with ease. He pulled back the door, struggling to heave its heavy weight. He succeeded as he'd done multiple times in the past.

He stepped into the even darker environment, treating it like a second home. It was, after all, better than living with his remaining family.

A cardboard packet of lighters met him behind the door. He lifted the box to chest level. He pulled back the drawer, retrieving a wooden stick amongst its comrades. He swiped it against the side of the box, bringing a small yellow fire to life.

He used it to light lanterns one by one. The black metal boxes sat on the floor, the ceiling housed no hooks to hang them on and the boys lacked the supplies and funds to make such a function.

The single occupant flickered out the match with the swish of his wrist. He tossed the matchbox back to the ground, expertly chucking it in the confined space between the door and the wall.

The concrete walls and boarded-up gaps for windows provided minimal heat. The boy crouched and held his hands against a lantern for warmth.

They weren't sure if the structure was an abandoned bunker or bomb shelter. Either way, they'd made it their own. No one else knew of the building. It became an escape for them.

An escape from the hellhole they were too young to run away from. An escape from the abuse and violence. Together, they hid from the cruel world outside the flimsy ancient door.

The familiar sound of crunching soggy leaves reached his ears. He'd left the door open instead of closing it. It meant the final visitor knew they were expected. It meant the boy didn't have to exert more energy in shutting the door only to have it opened later.