Splitter- English Version

13. The dead whisper

A single tear rolled down Hiccup's cheek. With a soft splash, it hit the dusty ground. He had underestimated Viggo. He's a bloody sociopath. Provoking him was far more dangerous than he'd anticipated. But in his defense: He hadn't eaten in days, and he hadn't been given water for the last three days. He had at least hoped that Viggo would feel something for him, but he had probably been wrong and his action had more than overstepped the mark. The tendon is now broken and can no longer be tightened. By Thor, what had he done to deserve this? He swallowed hard. His throat burned where Viggo had squeezed it. It was an unbearable feeling and he had the constant urge to run his hands over his maltreated skin. But that wasn't possible, he remembered darkly. He pulled gently on the ropes that held him in place, but just like hours before, they didn't move an inch. They only cut deeper and deeper into his skin. His whole body ached, itched and burned at the same time. Cold sweat stood on his forehead and he knew that these were the side effects of dehydration. Just 72 hours ago, he had hoped he wouldn't have to go through this hell again so soon. But what had he expected? That everything would be fine? Would he get out of this alive? Hardly. What a disappointment. He was a failure. Shit. His thoughts were like a chain carousel. They spun higher, further, clanking constantly and announcing new visitors who wouldn't leave him and his peace of mind alone. He was spinning in circles and the merry-go-round would not stop unless he actively resisted it. He compulsively tried to think of brighter days. Especially of more carefree times, even if these memories were few and far between. His thoughts flitted to his mother. The merry-go-round in his head could not have chosen a sadder topic. Great, he remarked sarcastically. He didn't really have a clear picture of his mother. He could only remember her large, shimmering green and intelligent eyes. Every now and then, an image flashed through his mind of his small hands touching her silky, long red hair. And sometimes he felt her hugging him or giving him a kiss on the cheek. If only she were here. If only she could tell him that everything would be all right. "She's dead, Hiccup." a rough voice echoed from the depths of his memory. It was his father's voice. That evening, his father had shown him Berk. He regularly asked about his mother, but it was only that evening that Haudrauf found the courage to talk about her. Hiccup had asked his father why he couldn't just marry a new mom. He had replied that he would never feel the same way about another woman as he did about his mother. "Love is a gain, but if you lose it, that's the worst thing that will ever happen to you, Hiccup. Be careful who you give your heart to." That was the last and only time they had spoken about his mother. How pathetic. Anger boiled up inside Hiccup. His father wasn't as strong as everyone thought. Maybe things would have been different if he had protected his mother. Just like he'd sworn to do in his wedding vows. He let her die. He was a cruel man. Hiccup was now screaming, "How could you! How could you do this to me! You let her die!!!". The scream turned into a pitiful croak and then he wept bitterly. Without a single tear falling to the ground.