"You haven't eaten," a voice had whispered next to Alarick who was holding a spear close to his chest. He suddenly opened his eyes only to find his father sitting across from him.
Every delicacy that could be found was on the table starring at him. "Father?" Alarick Lwazi had questioned out loud, surprised to find his father in the same room with him. Why would he be surprised anyway?
"You haven't touched your food," The man simply told him. A small smile rested lightly on his face, like it usually did. A few lines had been drawn on his forehead as proof of how stressed he could be. He had always been like that, Alarick Lwazi's father, stressing as if the whole world rested on his shoulders.
"I'm not hungry," Lwazi found his voice seconds later, only being able to mouth those few words. As if on cue, his stomach grumbled as proof of hunger. His father had chuckled at this lightly. "Eat," he commanded as he pushed a bowl of food to the boys side.
Lwazi had started nitpicking at the food as he wondered why he couldn't find it in him to take in any of the delicacies in front of him.
"You are tired," his father had pointed out rather sharply. Sympathy lacing his voice lightly.
"I am?" The young man had questioned back, wondering if he really was.
He never paid attention to himself, really. All he ever did was do what was expected of him. Maybe he was tired, but he could never really know because he never really paid attention to the signs.
"You are, boy," his father chuckled more, as if he found amusement at his son's lack of care to himself.
"I don't know if I am tired, father." he said. Honesty was Alarick Lwazi's strongest point. He never lied but only said what was really on his mind. "But I guess, with everything going on, I must be," he continued to admit.
"You are," the father told him simply, pointing his finger at him, as his nudged the boy on the chest playfully.
"I cannot allow myself to be, now, can I?" Lwazi asked the man simply.
"If you keep going like that, you might just end up dying of a heart disease," the man now laughed at his son as if he really was amused. Maybe he was, or maybe he could only hide his dying heart with laughter.
"That would not be so bad, now, would it? Everyone is aught to die, the only difference that stands between the living and the dead is time," he picked the food infront of him and tried to chew the last bits of the chicken. Something about him and his father having a meal felt surreal, as if it could not really be that way. "Just like you and I," he had finally said.
"I knew your mind would not be affected," his father had said. "It was affected, but something about us being here together feels like a dream, driving me to believe it is one."
"Having you as my son was not in vain," the man had smiled at the boy with adoration and love. He had missed most of Alarick Lwazi's life, and to find that he had turned out to be so strong-willed made him proud as a father.
"Do you miss me?" he had later asked.
"Should I?" The young boy had questioned in a rather very confused tone.
"It has been long since we've seen each other, you must miss me. Do you not? I do." The father found this rather strange. How had Alarick Lwazi's Uncles and grandfather raised him?
"What can missing you do for me? You will still remain dead,"
"It breaks my heart to see how stone hearted you've turned." The man had raised himself from the table and started walking to a nearby window. "You used to be such a caring child.." The old man thought out loudly as he wondered what much could have changed.
"Would you rather I cry every night and wish for your return? You are dead, even if I pray to the highest ruling God, he cannot bring you back." Alarick Lwazi's voice was starting to quiver. He was getting frustrated and angry.
"It is not that I wish to see you sad, but you have closed your heart from the rest of the world and yourself included!" The man had turned from the window with all his might to give Alarick the darkest glare. How could a child who used to be so emotionally mature turn into such a cold being?
"So I could survive! How could you not understand?" Fists had already been bawled, and the boy was trying hard not to turn into a fireball. He was frustrated and mostly annoyed to be blamed and judged by his father.
"So you'd rather not live?" The old man had turned from the window, and travelled threading steps to his son who seemed similar to a timed bomb.
"Live? What more can I do so I can live? Ever since I was born all I have known is train, fight and kill. When would I find the time to live?" The boy took five steps back as he saw his father was threading near
When his deceased father heard such painful words, he felt as though he had been struck by a lightening. Stuck in the same place, his heart was being shuttered into a million pieces, "What has your grandfather been teaching you?" he finally found his voice and managed to ask.
"That it is with great honour that I was born in his and your name. That my nobility is my greatest blessing, and to honour you, I must live up to my title. Do what you would have done if you were still alive." Alarick was suddenly embarrassed to admit these. But he could hear his grandfather's voice at the back of his head as he told his father these. As if his grandfather was behind him, or next to him, he cast his eyes away, in embarrassment, suddenly feeling small.
"Alarick, it is my greatest honour to have had you. Not the other way around. The only title you should live up to is your freedom." The man found his feet again and found himself standing right next to his son as he said these. He had been holding him by his arms as if he wished to embrace him.
"Your freedom, son. You should live up to your freedom." He whispered these in the most cautious voice as if he was almost begging the child to listen to him.
For once, other than anger, at that moment, Alarick showed something greater than his sorrow, "Father," he whispered. "Do you think I am allowed of freedom?" he looked away, embarrassed to have someone see him at this weakest point. "And to live? Do you think I am worthy?"