TOO YOUNG TO BE SO SAD(ECCEDENTESIAST)

EIGHT

Reflecting back to when I was three years old, I can still vividly recall how my father used to dart around the room with me firmly clinging to his broad back. My laughter echoed through the house, while my mother's distant scolding from her study went unheard by us. We were inseparable, except at bedtime when he'd weave enchanting bedtime tales. He embodied the ideal dad, the one everyone admired – constantly striving to keep me happy, with a smile on my face and a steady supply of candies. My sorrows became his, my tears his Achilles'  heel, my smiles his source of strength, and my laughter his cherished melody.

He embodied the very essence of "HOME."

These once-joyful memories, later tinged with pain, turned into a haunting nightmare I desperately wanted to forget. My younger self clung to the hope that he would return someday, fully aware of his mistakes, seeking forgiveness with tears in his eyes and merciful words on his lips. I yearned for him to transform into the kind of father I could proudly share with my imaginary friends.

But the heartbroken me harbored a different wish – to see him suffer, to become the most wretched being on Earth. Forgiveness and forgetting were no longer options, and my once-optimistic hopes had withered away. There were no divine interventions, no fairy godmothers to rescue me from this personal horror. Belief in such notions? Well, that ship had sailed.

With my debts settled, I had more funds to allocate to Izzy, an attempt to bury the memories that had tormented her for months. These memories had forced me to tread lightly around her, and I resented myself for letting her share in my pain.

I strolled down my usual street, hustling to make my daily earnings. The summer breeze accompanied me, creating a pleasant atmosphere. My tune matched the rhythm of the wind. At the next stop, where I typically sold my last bag, I encountered the dark and narrow alley, infamous as the most perilous corner in the southside. A loud thud erupted from my far right, instantly putting me on high alert.

I chose to ignore it but quickened my pace. The thud repeated, this time accompanied by a painful groan. I recognized it as the result of some naive soul crossing paths with the local gangsters. I dared not interfere if I valued my life. A chill ran down my spine as a cold breeze brushed past me, and I noticed a group of men chasing after it, firing shots into the air. I sprinted to the next corner and sought refuge among the buildings.

It was necessary. Despite my involvement in sales, I had never grown accustomed to guns and violence; it still sent shivers down my spine.

After what felt like an eternity, I emerged from my hiding spot. I navigated through the labyrinthine streets, desperately searching for an exit from this chaotic urban jungle, running around the makeshift circus.

Growing frustrated, I decided to make one more loop around the circle.

Finally, I spotted a gate.

I passed through it, only to be confronted by a trio of imposing figures – real tough guys. The first man appeared as if he'd wrestled his whole life, boasting a grizzled beard and an air of confidence. The second one, riddled with scars, looked like he had spent more time in prison than the others. The third, although seemingly less intimidating, still possessed an eerie aura that sent shivers down my spine.

In that moment, I realized I had made a grave mistake.

"Hey, this your territory?" White beard asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"N-n-no," I stammered, my throat dry.

"N-n-nah," Cuts mocked, while the others burst into laughter. The minion approached me and forcibly relieved me of my backpack. He emptied its contents onto the cold ground, and my hard-earned cash spilled out. They exchanged glances and chuckled with a sense of triumph.