Shengrui Shao, Period 1, 5/23/22

 Modern Mythology 2022

*RUMBLE* The sound of rumbling thunder echoed through the small village. 

It was a dark and dreary night. The massive downpour of rain beat down on the ramshackled village huts. The dark angry rainclouds hung overhead, blocking the light from the moon. *RUMBLE*

The thunderstorm showed no signs of relenting, its fierce, powerful rain and gales tearing at this humble village. The cobbled path through the village was devoid of stragglers and the houses: devoid of activity. That is, all except one. One small house, smaller than all the rest, at the outskirts of the village, a light shone through the tiny window, a bright yellow light, the only sign of activity in this cold, dead night.

And in this tiny shack, a miracle was about to occur…

“Hold on, my dear! Hold on!” A deep voice called. “Don’t give up! Don’t give up!!”

The room inside the hut was small, cramped. Pots and pans lined the wall to the left of the doorway, over a small blackened stovetop. On the right of the door was a cabinet, and on top of the cabinet, a small candle flickered dangerously, ready to extinguish at a moment's notice. Directly opposite the entrance was the bed, a hard, wooden bench with a thin blanket strewn to the side. A man was kneeling on the side of the bed, huddling over a figure lying on the bed.

“Ahh!” The woman screamed in pain, her voice jagged, her breathing uneven. “H-how much longer? Geralt…”

The man gripped her hands tightly. “Yes? What is it? What is it, honey?”

“G-geralt….” The woman squeezed out in between breaths. “I-if I don’t make it… Ah! If I don’t make it… Promise me… P-promise me!”

“Promise you what dear? I’ll promise you anything! You’ll be okay! Just push! Push please!” Geralt hysterically yelled.

“P-promise you’ll take care of him.” She muttered before leaning her head back in pain. “Ahh! I feel it, he’s coming! He’s coming! Geralt! Promise me!”

“I promise! I promise!” Geralt wrapped his hands around the woman’s, gripping onto them hard. He stared at her skinny frame, shaking with every contraction. His eyes widened as he saw a head begin to emerge. “Dear, push! Push! You’re almost there! You’re almost there!”

The woman screamed in pain. Her mind was solely focused on one task, making sure her son was born into the world. Her mind was blank, and the lightning hot flashes of pain were brighter in her vision than any of the lightning striking down outside the hut. She pushed, using every ounce of strength she had left in her, pushing herself to the very limit of her being, until she heard a cry.

“Waaah!” The sound of a baby wailing could be heard against the backdrop of the rainfall.

It was this wail that finally allowed the woman to relax. She opened her eyes, looking at her dear husband. Clutched within his hands, wrapped in a thin blanket, was a tiny, tiny baby.

She lifted her arm, as if to touch her child. However, before lifting it far, her arm fell, hitting the bed with a dull thud. She couldn’t move her arms. She had no feeling in her limbs. She could slowly feel herself drifting off. However, she knew she couldn’t yet.

“Geralt…” She muttered, her voice barely over a whisper now.

The husband quickly responded, his entire body trembling. “Dear, y-you did it! You actually did it! It’s actually a boy too! It’s actually a boy!”

“Geralt–Remember what you promised… Hope–his name.” She whispered.

Geralt nodded before inching closer to his wife. “Look dear! Look at him. This is our child–our child!!”

Their eyes met and without even saying anything, a silent message was passed. Geralt felt a cold chill spread throughout his body. His voice trembled as he whispered. “N-no…”

With the last bit of her strength, she looked deeply into his eyes, the eyes of the man whom she loved with all her heart. If only… If only she was able to stay with him. If only she could raise their child together. Oh, how her heart craved for this, how deeply she ached knowing her child would grow up without a mother. She longed to be able to live for longer. Just a year, two years longer! But no. This was it for her. Staring straight into the eyes of her beloved, her heart told more words than her mouth could speak. With the last of her strength, she curled her lips into a melancholic smile.

‘Grow up, son. Grow up to become big and strong. You’ll carry on my dreams! You’ll be a good man and live a good life! All the things that mother wasn’t able to try in this life, you can try them for me. You’ll be the kindling that grows into a burning fire, one that will fill the entire world with your warmth! Your mother is sorry she can’t be with you. Your mother is sorry… Please, Hope. Forgive me. Forgive me for not being able to be there for you…’

Five Years Later…

“Father? I’m home!” A bright young voice calls. Pushing open the door of the small hut on the edge of the village, the young child is greeted by the sight of bottles. Bottles littered the floor, emptied, broken, and in disarray. Laying slumped over on the bed was a man. In his right hand was a large bottle of wine, and his head was hung low. His appearance was disheveled, beard untrimmed, hands dirty.

Seeing his father slumped over on the bed, the child pauses. Slowly, he bends down, picking up the bottles one by one in his tiny hands. One by one, he stacks them in the corner of the hut. He bent down, picking up the broken shards of glass.

“Ow!” The child yelped before biting his tongue. He glanced over at his sleeping father anxiously, only breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that his father was still sound asleep. Glancing at his finger, he saw a streak of red. Sucking at the cut, he carried on with his task.

After cleaning up the floor, he walked over to his father, slowly prying the bottle out of his hands. Setting it on the floor, the young boy sat down in the corner of the room before opening up a book that laid to the side. There he sat, quietly reading.

An unknown amount of time later, the man on the bed stirred. He shook his head, allowing his messy, long hair to scatter all around his face. Looking around the room, he saw the bottles of wine stacked neatly in the corner, the swept up shards of glass, and the little boy reading a book in the opposite corner.

Slowly, he sat up, causing the bed to creak under his weight. The boy looked up. “Father! I cleaned up th-”

Suddenly, the boy felt a searing pain on his head as he felt himself collapse against the floor. Looking up, his heart shudders in fear as he sees his father leering over him. 

“Where’s the bottle?” The man roars.

The child was confused. “B-bottle? What bottle?”

“The wine! The wine bottle!” The man shouts loudly. The man balls his fists, raising them into the air. The child cowers, raising his tiny arms to protect his head.

Before the man could hit the child again, a voice shouts. “Geralt! What are you doing? Don’t touch Hope!”

A woman rushes into the hut, putting herself between the father and son. “Are you insane? Is this how Anne would have wanted you to treat her son?”

“Anne? Don’t mention Anne to me!” Geralt roars. “If it wasn’t for this demon! This child!” He points toward Hope. “If it wasn’t for him! Anne would still– Anne… would still be here…”

Geralt trembles, his voice cracking as his emotions overwhelmed him. “It’s all his fault! It’s all his fault!”

“Do you have any idea how wrong you are? Do you know what an exceptional child your son is? He beat a bunch of kids 5 years older than him in a spelling bee at the local school! He’s such a kind, wonderful young boy!”

Geralt shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t! Anne will never come back! No matter how great Hope is!”

The woman shook her head before looking at Hope. “Hope, you can come live with Aunty if you want. Aunty will take care of you.”

Five Years Later…

A sickly cough echoes through the small rundown hut. On the bed lay a young ten year old boy. His hair was unkempt, the clothes on his body were ragged, his complexion was pale, and all over his body were bruises that were black and purple.

“Father…” The young boy muttered.

At his bedside sat a weather worn man. His features were  austere, hardened with wrinkles and black marks. His uncut hair was slicked back in a ponytail, out of his way. His hands were rough and calloused, yet at this time, they held onto the hands of the young boy lying in the bed. 

“Hope… Hope! I’m sorry. Father is sorry.” The man gripped onto his son’s hand tightly. “It’s all my fault. Oh, why did I drink? Why did I drown out the pain with alcohol? How could I hit my own son?”

“Cough, cough.” Hope’s phlegm filled cough tore at the heart of the father. “I… Father, maybe this is for the best.”

“If I was never born… If I never existed… Then…” Hope’s voice was fading, gradually getting softer. “Then, would mother still be alive?”

“No! No! Your mother’s death wasn’t your fault! I shouldn’t have said that–I shouldn’t have blamed it on you. Anne dying was an accident… It was just an accident that had nothing to do with you.” The father shouted maniacally. “Please, Hope, hang on. Father will get a doctor! Father will find you a doctor! No matter what I have to do, I’ll make sure you live!”

Hope smiled, his young childish face lifted into a beaming smile. He looked right at his father. “Father? Was I a good son?”

Slowly, the father shook his head. “N-no… Don’t leave me. What will I do? Who will I have left?”

The father’s eyes were going red from regret. Why didn’t he take care of his son? Why was he so blinded by the death of his wife? What happened to his promise? Didn’t he promise? Why? Why??

“Take care of yourself, father… Hope is going to go to sleep for a little…” With a lifeless thud, Hope’s hand hit the worn wood bed.

The father stared blankly, with a singular thought running through his head. “I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son!”

He jolted up, digging his dirty nails into his head. “He’s dead! He’s dead! My own son, dead by my hands! Anne! Oh, Anne! What have I done! Ten years after you died on this very bed, I killed my son, who now lies where your body once laid!”

His right hand balls into a fist, punching himself atop his skull. “The child I helped you deliver into this world! The child I witnessed birth with my own two eyes! I killed him! I witnessed his first breath and his last! And yet, those were the only breaths I cared about! Everything in between! I didn’t– I didn’t care!”

His eyes darted around the room furiously before spotting something in the edge of his vision. He stumbled toward it, fumbling as his two hands gripped the object.

“H-Hope… Don’t be afraid. Daddy is sorry. Daddy is so sorry. I’ll repay you. For everything I couldn’t give you. Just wait for me.” He raises the object to his neck.

“Wait for m–” His words were cut off by a fresh streak of red, splashing against the brown walls of the hut.

*Clang* As the knife hit the floor, a lifeless body fell too, hitting the cold surface of the hut with a dull thud.

Geralt stared at the hard wood bed, his eyes filled with the cruel note of despair. “Wait… For me…”