When Gods Cry

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

It was a beautiful melody, one that would reach deep into the listener's soul and warm it. Yet the young boy felt nothing but boredom when he played the melody on his marimba. He hated playing the song, but he knew he had to so that he could appease his father. Even though it was late into the night, he continued to play the melody until his fingers could play it exactly as his father played it. He didn't practice playing the song because he wanted to, but because he had to.

His great grandfather, Leme, had been the greatest singer to have ever sang. His songs moved crowds, his words spoke to anyone who heard him sing and his rhythm stuck on anyone who heard it. It was said that the gods themselves would come down from their realm just to hear him play. He made people fall in love, made others know that they were in love while at the same time making them cry and laugh. He made people appreciate life itself as he was that great of singer. And people had expected his son to be as good as him.

His grandfather from a young age had wanted to be a philosopher, but with his father's brilliance in singing, the people had expected him to be just as good as his father. But nobody could be as good as the greatest singer to ever live, even his son. He had grown up trying to sing like his father and even though he was not nearly as good as his father, the people still loved hearing someone sing his father's songs. When his son was born, he made him pick up the marimba at the young age of three so that he wouldn't struggle like he did. He knew that even though his son wasn't a good singer, he would have to sing for the people who longed to hear the beautiful melodies made by their dead forefather. He knew how to play the songs, but he never loved playing them because he couldn't be as good as his grandfather. And when his son was born, he gave him the marimba so that he could play like his great grandfather.

The boy was named Leme, after his great grandfather and he was expected to be as good as his great grandfather. The boy did everything he could to be as good, but there was no way he could be as brilliant as the Leme before him. Luckily, the people didn't seem to notice and if they did, they didn't care, so long as they heard the songs. All they saw was a family blessed by the gods to sing beautiful melodies and not what it truly was, descendants of a great man who could never be greater than him.

Leme played the melody once again on the marimba as he sung his great grandfather's words. When he got older, he would change the words as they were slowly becoming ancient that the people could hardly relate with them. He saw how his father struggled to remember the words and he didn't want that to happen to him. He knew he couldn't fight the fate his family had and he was going to embrace it. Hopefully, he would be half as good as his great grandfather.

As he finished playing the melody, he heard footsteps from outside. It had to be his father returning home drunk. He stopped playing as many times, his father had beaten and told him the brutal truth about him and music, he will never be good enough. His father's words always hurt and the next day, his father would be back to his senses and apologize. Somehow, Leme always thought his true father was the drunk one as when sober, he was always sad. Would it be his fate? Would he be like his father and his grandfather, men never to surpass the greatness of the man before them?

He quickly rushed to his bed and closed his eyes as he waited for sleep to take over. He faked a snore so that his father would leave him alone. He listened as the door to the house creaked as his father walked in. Leme's trained ears quickly picked up that there were many footsteps and it couldn't be one person. Had his father brought back a prostitute? Again?

Even as a child, he knew that his father was not a good father. Luckily, it only made him more determined to be nothing like his father and not follow in his footsteps. He listened but something was strange about the footsteps, they were not staggering meaning father wasn't drunk and he had brought a prostitute knowing what he was really doing. He imagined his mother crying, complaining and somehow blaming Leme for his father's misdoings. Leme couldn't wait to finally grow up and be free from his parents. He fantasized it so often while knowing it was something a child should never do. The footsteps became louder as they went up the stairs until finally, they stopped. However, from outside, Leme heard his father's drunken singing.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes with the realization that it wasn't his father in the house. He got up from the bed and moved out of the room, curious to see who it was. The first thing he saw was an arrow pointed at him. Before Leme could react, the arrow was released and a sharp pain shot from his chest. His vision became blurry as his breathing became heavy. Another arrow pierced his chest and he fell on the ground, the arrow that had protruded out of his back making it uncomfortable to lie on the floor. Every breath he took was painful and he whizzed as breathed in and out.

He heard heavy footsteps walk to his parents' sleeping quarters. It was followed by his mother's scream. As he lay looking up, his vision becoming more and more blurry, he saw his mother appear above him, her throat cut as she held it with her hand trying to stop the bleeding. Blood slipped through her fingers and fell on Leme's face. An Amathu man appeared above wielding a blade and he mercilessly chopped Leme's mother's head off. He then turned towards Leme who had tears in his eyes.

'Please... don't kill me. I am just a child.' He pleaded making the man to grin. With a lion's headdress on him, he looked like a savage animal he always believed the Amathu were.

'You won't be the first child to die.' The man spoke in a low and deep voice. As a singer, Leme could decipher what emotions the man felt. There was anger and pain.

From a distance, he heard his father cry out in drunken pain. Leme knew he wasn't going to survive it, but he had at least attempted to plead for his life. He raised his head and looked at the Amathu. Leme had never thought he would die in such a way. He thought he was safe from the savageness of the Amathu. He thought he would die old and happy, but life had only scoffed at his thoughts and led him into a fate of cruel murder.

The Amathu raised his blade and then brought it down on Leme's neck. His head rolled, it's eyes showed the surprise he had felt when death took him. But as his eyes closed, the reflection of a black guard moving towards the Amathu showed on his eyes. They were going to pay, all of them.