Blind panic fueled my flight. Darkness pressed in, a suffocating blanket, offering no landmarks, no solace. My breath hitched in ragged gasps, each inhale a desperate prayer for direction, for meaning, for something to break the suffocating void. Then, a flicker. A fragile, hopeful spark in the oppressive black. A light.
I surged forward, fueled by a desperate need, a primal instinct to reach it. As I drew closer, two figures materialized in the growing illumination. Familiar shapes, etched in my memory, filled with a love I thought lost.
"Mama? Papa?" The question escaped my lips, a choked whisper at first, then a desperate cry. "Mama! Papa!"
Their faces, bathed in the ethereal glow, were etched with a bittersweet tenderness. They smiled, a smile that reached their eyes, yet held a depth of sorrow that mirrored the icy ache in my own heart. Why? Why did this reunion feel like a farewell? Why did joy war with such profound, gut-wrenching sadness?
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, they turned their backs, their forms silhouetted against the fragile light. And then, they walked away, receding into the endless darkness, leaving me alone once more in the suffocating void. The emptiness that followed felt vast and echoing, a chasm opening in my very soul.
I don't understand, why would they leave me behind? The question clawed at me, a raw, unanswered wound as I reach my left hand hoping to reach them, refusing to accept and refusing to understand.
I woke with a gasp, tears streaming down my face, the phantom ache of loss echoing in my chest. The warmth of my bed, the familiar sounds of the morning, offered little comfort against the lingering chill of that impossible, heartbreaking goodbye. The sobs came in shuddering waves, each one a physical blow. My chest ached, my throat constricted. The lingering image of their retreating backs, their sorrowful smiles, burned into my mind.
The thought lingered, a persistent, unwelcome guest. "It's just a dream, Liora," I whispered, trying to soothe the turmoil within. But the raw ache in my heart refused to be silenced. It felt too real, too visceral, too deeply felt to be dismissed as mere fantasy. The lingering sadness, the crushing weight of loss, felt utterly, terrifyingly real.
I wiped my tears, the rough fabric of my pajamas scratching against my skin. The familiar comfort of my bunny slippers grounded me slightly as I made my bed, the crisp cotton sheets a small counterpoint to the turmoil inside. Looking out the window, I saw Papa in the backyard, a blur of controlled motion as he practiced his swordsmanship. Since I'd told him and Mama about the images flashing in my mind, his training had become relentless, brutal. He pushed himself to the limit, his self-criticism a sharp, cutting blade.
Even at night, sometimes, I'd see him, his form silhouetted against the moonlit lawn, the shink of his sword a mournful sound in the quiet night. I'd seen him cry, silent tears tracing paths through the grime on his face. I didn't understand why, but seeing his pain, his self-inflicted wounds, hurt me more than words could say.
"Liora, breakfast is ready. You'll be late for school, sleepyhead." Mama's voice, soft but firm, broke through my reverie. She leaned against my door, her eyes full of concern.
"Mama," I said, "Why is Papa training so hard?" My question was simple, but it carried the weight of unspoken fears.curiosity.
"Nothing sweetheart, Papa just want to practice his swordsmanship so that he can teach you better." Mama said as she walks towards me and pat my head. "Let's go my brave knight. We need to get you ready for school."
Mama took my hand, her touch strangely hesitant, as we walked towards the dining area. They're hiding something. I felt it in the air, a palpable tension. Their smiles, even now, held that undercurrent of sadness. I didn't understand what it meant, but something had irrevocably changed between Mama and Papa.
"Mama?" I broke the silence as we walked. "Yes, sweety?" she replied, her voice a little too bright. "Can we eat together?" I asked, the need to be close to them overwhelming. "But we're always together when we eat, sweetheart," she answered with a forced chuckle.
I don't know what happened, but the dam broke. I started to cry uncontrollably, the sobs wracking my body. "I want us to eat together, Mama!" I cried, the words a desperate plea for connection, for reassurance in the face of an unspoken fear.
Mama stopped, her usual calm demeanor shattered. Her hand tightened on mine, her knuckles white. "Why is my sweety suddenly throwing morning tantrums?" she said, her voice strained, while wiping my tears. The rough texture of her fingers against my skin felt strangely alien. I suddenly hear hurried footsteps going up the stairs. "What's wrong, Amelia?" Papa's voice, usually resonant and strong, was laced with concern.
"Our sweetheart is throwing her morning tantrums." she said in a gentle voice, forcing a calmness that didn't quite reach her eyes as she continues to caress my head. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" Papa asked, his voice soft but his touch hesitant as his hand reached for my right cheek and wiped my tears. The faint coppery scent clung to his hand.
"I… I had a dream," I sobbed, the words catching in my throat. "A bad dream… about you both… leaving me." The memory of their retreating figures, their sorrowful smiles, felt as real as the rough texture of Mama's skirt against my cheek. The fear was a crushing weight in my chest.
Mama and Papa exchanged a look, a silent communication that spoke volumes of unspoken fear. Mama pulled me close, but her embrace lacked its usual warmth. It was stiff, almost hesitant.
"It was just a dream, sweetheart," Mama said, her voice strained. The words felt hollow, unconvincing, even to her. Papa knelt beside us, his hand resting on my back, but his touch was hesitant, almost afraid.
"It was a bad dream, Liora," Papa added, his voice low and strained. He forced a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. The familiar warmth and comfort I usually found in their presence were absent, replaced by a chilling uncertainty.
"But… but you won't leave me, right?" I asked, my voice trembling. The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread.
Mama and Papa hesitated, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange. The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air, a suffocating weight. They couldn't lie, not anymore. The chilling premonition Liora had experienced in Chapter Two had irrevocably changed everything.
"Sweetheart," Mama began, her voice choked with emotion, "we… we love you more than words can say. But… things are… complicated." She couldn't bring herself to utter the words that hung between them – the words that spoke of impending danger, of a future they couldn't prevent.
Papa swallowed hard, his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored my own. "We'll always be with you, in spirit, Liora," he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. The words were a desperate attempt at reassurance, a feeble attempt to offer comfort in the face of an impending tragedy. The lie felt heavy, a burden they both carried. The coppery scent clung to them both, a constant reminder of the chilling premonition. The weight of the unspoken truth hung heavy in the air, replacing the usual warmth of their comforting presence with a chilling uncertainty. The breakfast they had prepared felt tasteless, the familiar routine now a cruel reminder of the impending change. The fear, once a whisper in the darkness, had become a deafening roar.
"Our sweet Liora," Mama kissed my forehead, the touch surprisingly cold. "When you get back after school we'll talk about it and we'll buy you lots of snacks you can eat as we discuss your dream. How's that sound?" she continued, forcing a bright tone that didn't quite reach her eyes. The forced cheerfulness felt brittle and thin.
"Really?" I asked, my voice still trembling. Mama happily nodded as a response, but the forced smile didn't quite reach her eyes. The forced cheerfulness felt brittle and thin. "But take it slowly," Papa said, his voice strained, "Your cheeks might go puffy," he teased, a weak attempt at levity. The words felt hollow and unconvincing.
"Mama oh!" I giggled, a fragile sound in the face of the overwhelming fear.
"Nathan," Mama scolded him, her voice sharper than usual. "What?" was the only thing Papa responded, his voice tight with suppressed emotion.
"Bleh!" I stuck my tongue out playfully, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.
"Why you little…" Papa chuckled, a strained, weak sound. He reached out and ruffled my hair, but his touch was hesitant, almost afraid. The coppery scent lingered on his hand.
The forced lightness felt brittle, a thin veneer over the underlying fear that hung heavy in the air. The unspoken truth remained, a chilling premonition that cast a long shadow over our seemingly normal morning. The promise of snacks felt hollow, a feeble attempt to distract from the looming darkness. The fear, once a whisper, had become a deafening roar. I knew, with a child's intuition, that something terrible was coming. And despite their attempts at reassurance, I felt the cold grip of dread tighten around my heart.
The worn leather of my school bag dug into my shoulder as I settled into the backseat, the crisp pages of my textbook already open. The familiar hum of Papa's old car filled the space, a comforting drone against the rising sun. Then, a flash of crimson. A house, blurred through the car window, but the red was unmistakable – a stain blooming across the glass, a violent splash against the pale stucco. The front door hung broken, splintered wood gaping like a jagged mouth. Police, their uniforms dark against the morning light, stood clustered on the lawn, their faces grim and serious. And on the rooftop… something moved. A dark shape, indistinct, but undeniably there.
"Papa?" My voice was barely a whisper, swallowed by the engine's hum.
"Yes, Sweetheart?" His voice was steady, his eyes fixed on the road, but I saw the tightening of his jaw in the rearview mirror.
"There's something… on the rooftop." My heart hammered against my ribs.
"What is it you see?" His tone was calm, but the question held a sharp edge.
"I don't know," I breathed, my gaze glued to the house. "But it's… watching." The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread. The smell of exhaust fumes suddenly felt sharp and acrid, the usual comforting scent of Papa's car now tainted with the underlying metallic tang of fear.
"Maybe it's just your imagination, sweetheart," Papa said gently, his voice a soothing balm against the rising panic. "Maybe your eyes are still adjusting to the light." But even as he spoke, I knew, with a chilling certainty, that what I saw was real. The dark shape on the rooftop remained, a silent, watchful presence against the backdrop of the broken house and the grim faces of the police below.
The wrought-iron gate of the school loomed before me, its intricate curls a stark contrast to the lump forming in my throat. I leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Papa's cheek, the rough stubble a familiar comfort against my skin. "See you later, my brave little knight," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. I stared, mesmerized by the way the sunlight glinted off his glasses, the familiar lines etched around his eyes deepening as he smiled. But the smile couldn't quite mask the sadness I sensed, a subtle tremor in his hand as he brushed a stray strand of hair from my face. Saying goodbye felt like tearing a piece of my heart away; a physical ache bloomed in my chest, a heavy weight settling there, constricting my breath. The warmth welling in my eyes threatened to spill over, blurring the image of his receding car, the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams trailing in its wake. Why this pain? Why this suffocating weight, this desperate longing? The silence that followed his departure felt deafening, amplifying the emptiness that echoed in my chest.
The bell rang, marking the start of the flag ceremony. Yet... I'm still standing outside looking at the direction where Papa's car went. The direction of our home.
'Why didn't I say I love them?' I thought to myself. An echoing, deafening, yet silent thoughts that lingered inside my head.
"Are you okay Liora?" a voice broke through the silence of my surrounding. It was Armina, a grade 6 student, just like me, my bestfriend. "Lost in thought again are we? Flag ceremony's about to start," she added and smiled.
She held my hand and said "Let's go. The gate will be closing soon."
"Y-yeah," I said and follow her lead.
To be continued...