The Making of a Heartbroken Boy | ✔️

CHAPTER 10

A hand grasped his collar and he was ripped from the grasp of his dream. Ivan rolled to face the guard but was still jerked to stand in his cell. He barely stretched before he was being led away from the concrete, passing the bars with a side glance and short-lived frown.

Then, it hit him. Today was his execution day. The last day of his life - he really hoped it was worth it. He let his head fall as they walked down the halls. The footsteps thudded in the back of his mind like a headache, and he closed his eyes against the bright lights of the hall.

He just hoped that Ali wouldn't be there, that he would stay home and make it easy for him.

***

Ali ran down the halls, sure he was late.

He ran a hand through his hair as he sprinted, finally catching up with a small audience there to watch. He wouldn't have missed it for his life.

And despite his anger, he silently prayed Amadi would come too, if only for someone to hold during the execution.

Ivan's doing this for me, Ali thought, coming through the doorway.

Guilt struck him hard, but he kept his tears at bay. He would be strong. Besides, he had one last chance to save him.

He took a seat in the second row, despite being one of the 4 people there. The rest of which sat silently in the back row, spectating.

A man appeared at the front of the room, at some wooden dias, releasing an 'ahem' into the microphone to catch everyone's attention. Ali's mind flashed back to when he was no more than twelve years old.

His mother held his hand tightly. He had the distant memory of being called in from the farms - swiftly zig-zagging through the trees. Tears streamed down her face. Ali was forced to watch as they slipped the rope around the man's neck, and mother let out a wail. She covered Ali's eyes and his world went dark as the creaky squeak sounded and shutters banged.

"Father!" He screamed, ripping his Mother's fingers from his eyes.

"No!"

Amadi blinked, then the eight-year-old began to echo his Mother's wails, screaming in unison as they untied the hanging body and the room's occupants filed out the large double doors at the back.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, but Ali swiped them away. I did this for you, Father. All for you.

Ali snapped his eyes open, the room the same as it was fifteen years ago. The same benches. The same dias. The same tears sliding down his manly cheeks. The same executioner, the same black bag laying on the same wooden lever. The exact same hurt. He swatted at his tears, letting his eyes dry.

But another person.

Yet he meant the same to Ali.

He massaged his eyes to disguise the wiping of his tears and took one more glance around the room, but his eyes caught those of another standing in the doorway.

The boy made his way towards Ali and instantly, Ali turned back to the front, where the man at the dias was awkwardly re-reading his script in the silence.

"Ali," someone whispered from behind. Ali whipped his head around and was face to face with the boy. With Amadi.

"You can't do this alone."

"But I sure as hell can't do it with you, either," Ali susurrated.

"I didn't know what you meant to him. I didn't know -"