Pain of the Past (a Preminger fanfiction)

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Winter came like a thief in the night. It stole the warmth from the ground and the sun from the air and settled the land in a blanket of gray. Ice killed off the crops and animals perished from both starvation and the cold. In less than a week, the nation was in crisis.

What food was left was rationed by the monarchy and by way of nature, the peasants found themselves battling starvation like never before.

On one night when the wind was particularly loud and the air particularly brittle, Preminger sat huddled in blankets by the fire side while his father paced about the room, always returning to the window where he looked onward in distain.

"The crop," he muttered to himself again and again. "We'll die without the crop."

Preminger watched his father with quiet eyes, fear slowly twisting at the strings of his heart. He did not fully understand the dire situation, the horrendous political situation that had left him and his father scrapping at the bottom of the chain, but he saw his fathers distress and that made him afraid. His father was a steady man, hard working and optimistic. He never bowed to fate but rather shaped his own future and for that, Preminger admired him. However, inevitably, there were some things beyond his control and this appeared to be one of those things.

"Father," Preminger spoke after he could watch his father pace no longer. "Sit by the fire, you'll catch the cold."

His father gave him a gentle smile though his eyes were clouded with worry. Still, he joined his son on the ground before the hearth.

"We'll get out of this." He said, and there was strength in his weak voice. "The king will come to his senses, he'll give us what is due."

"Why hasn't he yet?"

His father sighed, running an exasperated hand through his peppered hair. "Well, thats just the way it is. The monarchy, the rich, they don't care about us because they don't understand us. Like stick with like and so they support each other. We're just collateral damage."

Preminger was quiet as he thought about this. His small brow furrowed in concentration — this new concept troubled him.

"But father, what makes us different than them? We all need food, don't we? What makes us different?"

His father looked at him sadly, watching before him as the world robbed the innocence of life from his only son. "I don't know, Preminger. I wish I could answer you. People are strange and they can be cruel." He paused to cough and then, seeing the contorted expression on the boy's face, he put on a smile.

"It wont always be like this. You are destined for greatness, Preminger. I look at you and I see so much more than a peasants son. You are smart, you're resourceful, and you have a compassionate heart. That is rare in this world, and so remember this: don't let the hardships of life take that away from you. They will try, but you have to be better than them, for all of our sakes."

"How?" Preminger asked. Now faced with this dark reality, the great future his father had long reminded him of seemed impossibly bleak. "How can one person change that?"

"You have heart," his father assured him. "You have passion, and that will carry you far past the boundaries of logic and reason." He coughed again; there was a heaviness settling on his chest and a pain tugging at his gut. Dismissing it, he reached forward and grabbed Preminger's shoulder.

"You can do it, Preminger. But don't do it alone. Don't underestimate the value of having those you can trust. And never forget, I am always here with you."

Preminger's eyes grew and the fire danced in his iris's. His father ruffled his hair and stood, picking the boy up along with his nest of blankets. Together they made their way up stairs. For the fourth time that week, it escaped Preminger's notice that his father had not eaten.