Flares in the Dark

1.07 | a boy of fire

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WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND THE MENTION OF DEATH.
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FATE HAD PLAYED THEM WELL. It was another punishment in the form of the ultimate lesson; meddle with fate, dare to hope, try to get away from what's due for you, and fate will splinter you into a thousand pieces on the ground.

The drunk man now stood before them, his eyes unfocused and a broken bottle clutched in his hand like a lifeline. Time was rushing by the two boys as they prayed and prayed for the seconds leading to their doom to slow down, slow down just for a moment.

But it was relentless, it was merciless, it was ruthless. Time kept rushing by them, kept rushing the man, kept rushing the impending moment so it could enjoy listening to the shattering of that single moment of peace in which everyone was immobilised, which became more fragile and easier to shatter with each rushing nanosecond.

The drunk man opened his mouth, "Walton." Letters tumbled over each other and fear crushed Walter's heart, "You brat, can't even let me sleep?" The man took a few steps in their direction, the boys hurtled themselves back.

Fear clogged the room, yet the man didn't stop. His words seemed to wrap around Walter and Liam like a noose, "Feeding on my money like a fucking leech!" The man advanced towards them steadily, slowly tightening his noose. He wasn't looking at Walter when he said the next words. His gaze was blank, not seeing anything except the scene playing out in front of his eyes, "You'll fucking pay for this you bastard. What kind of a son behaves like you? What kind of a son is so stupid? Tell me, Weston, what kind of a son are you?"

The man walked even closer. His footsteps echoed through the house with the broken memories. The broken memories were everywhere, in the shattered bottles, the cigarette ash on the floor, the cracked dishes in the sink. In the silver necklace on the man's neck, so similar to Liam's heartbroken one.

Liam could see all those memories clearly now that he paid attention to them. He felt paying attention to the small details delayed time, however little it was, not realising that it was still rushing and that he could never prolong the inevitable.

He saw a framed picture of a south Asian woman adorned on the wall. He saw the pain and the persistence on that hardened face which was trying to smile, holding a small boy in her arms. He saw the yellowing bruise on her hand which she may not have realised was there, or had forgotten to hide. Maybe she had given up on it altogether.

He saw the death certificate of a person whose name had been scratched out laminated and hung on the wall. Looking at it more closely, he could distinguish the letters female written on the space given for gender. He saw the reason for the woman's death- suicide.

The letters tumbled over themselves again till they changed their shape, till they rearranged themselves into the truth which screeched out like a siren from the piece of laminated paper. Liam read them again. The reason for her death was the man standing in front of him now, the man and his hands and his mouth. The pain he had inflicted, the hurt he caused, the fear he thrived on.

The son the woman had abandoned stood beside him, looking at the death certificate too. Whispering almost incoherent sentences on a loop, "Meri mummi." A silent tear ripped his face at the seams, "Meri mummi thi voh. Pyaari mummi meri-" Walter looked at him, ripped face and drowning eyes, "-chali gayi."

The inebriated man had stopped too. He stopped to listen to Walter's whispered words, thrown out into the air like devastating bombs, meant to cause destruction, but destroyed even before they touched the ground. His face shone with satisfaction just for a moment, and Liam felt his insides withering.