The wind howled
a banshee's wail tearing at Abel as he fall downhill.
His body, a dying star in freefall, traced a luminous arc against the night sky, leaving a fleeting trail of shimmering energy.
Yet, amidst the chaos, a profound stillness reigned within him –
he was asleep.
A single word, a relentless echo in the caverns of his mind, jolted him awake:
"Weak."
The word echoed in his mind, a relentless predator stalking him through his dreams
"How will you ever survive in this world, Johan? You can't even walk for a damn minute!" A voice, laced with venom, ripped through the dream.
.Johan's eyelids fluttered open, heavy with a sleep born of exhaustion. His gaze landed on a man, a man whose unremarkable features should have been easily forgotten. But this man, Johan couldn't forget.
No, the memory burned in his soul.
The man's face contorted in a sneer. "What are you staring at? Angry? You have no right to be angry! I raised you, didn't I? I saved you! I fed your worthless existence, and this is how you repay me? With that insolent stare?"
A fist, calloused and unforgiving, collided with Johan's jaw.
The crack echoed in the cramped space, followed by a strangled groan that escaped Johan's lips.
The man barely acknowledged it, his gaze cold as he downed a swig from a bottle of beer.
"Weak,"
he spat, the word dripping with contempt.
"Weak, weak, weak. That's all you'll ever be."
The word echoed in the room, a relentless chorus.
Johan's eyes darted to the window, where the dilapidated house met the flickering streetlights.
A gust of frigid air whooshed in, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and forgotten dreams.
It was a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the room, a heat that wasn't just from the beer, but from the simmering rage within.
Johan's gaze pierced the inky black canvas of the night sky.
The stars, once a source of wonder, now mocked him with their cold, distant gleam.
Only one thought pulsed through his mind:
escape.
To flee this suffocating cage he dared to call home.
His body, a mere echo of strength, protested with every movement. Yet, fueled by a desperation hotter than the fever burning in his veins, he hoisted himself towards the window.
Each muscle screamed in agony, but the thought of his father's scorn proved a more potent fuel.
Finally, with a burst of adrenaline, he tumbled out of the window, gasping for air
The world, a tapestry of unfamiliar sights and sounds, overwhelmed him
Freedom.
The word tasted foreign on his tongue, yet a spark of exhilaration ignited within him.
He felt like a newborn colt, shaky and wobbly, taking his first steps into a vast and unknown world.
His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a counterpoint to the chilling terror that still clung to him like a shroud.
"Escape," he rasped, the word a desperate prayer on his raw lips.
He dragged himself forward, a marionette with severed strings. His limbs, leaden weights, protested with each shaky step. Animals scattered from his path, their skittish movements mirroring the fear that danced in his gut.
The ground rushed up to meet him as his body, finally spent, gave way. A ragged cough tore through him, escaping in a plume of cold air. His skin burned with fever, but exhaustion held him captive.
"Escape," he choked out, the single word a mantra against the encroaching darkness.
With a primal urge, he used the last vestiges of his strength to inch forward.
People hurried past, their eyes filled with cold indifference. Some, with a twist of their lips, offered a sneer, a weapon sharper than any blade.
He didn't care.
As long as he could put even a single inch of distance between himself and that suffocating hovel, that twisted version of a home, he would keep crawling.
But his body, a traitor in this desperate war, finally reached its limit.
No amount of will could coax a single muscle into obedience.
He was trapped, a prisoner in his own failing body.
He lay there, paralyzed, the taste of defeat metallic on his tongue. Yet, even in the face of his physical surrender, a spark of defiance flickered in his eyes.
He wouldn't let this be the end.
A single word escaped Johan's lips, a desperate plea swallowed by the night:
"Help..."
It was a wisp of smoke, a ghost of a sound, ignored by the hurried figures who streamed past. Invisible. Inert.
Was he already fading from existence?
"H-help me!" He rasped again, his voice raw with urgency.
This time, heads swiveled, eyes fell upon him. But those eyes held nothing – no pity, no concern, just a chilling emptiness.
He was a discarded scrap of humanity, invisible in their haste.
Then, a glimmer of hope.
A figure detached itself from the throng and approached him cautiously.
Relief washed over Johan, a frail warmth battling the icy grip of despair.
Finally, someone saw him! someone who might offer a hand!
The man knelt beside him, his face creased with a kind smile. Johan mustered a smile of his own, a flicker of trust igniting within him.
Fate, it seemed, had finally thrown him a lifeline.
But the glint in the man's hand shattered that fragile hope. A knife, cold and silver, materialized from his sleeve.
Johan's blood ran cold. Recognition dawned in his terrified eyes.
This wasn't a savior, it was a predator!
"A- a knife!" Terror choked Johan's voice. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"No... don't… don't come closer!" he shrieked, his voice a strangled cry. His body, a leaden weight, refused to obey his frantic commands.
"No, no," the man soothed, the smile never leaving his lips. "Just relax. As long as you cooperate, there won't be any trouble."
It seems that Fate really had a cruel sense of humor.
Tears welled in Johan's eyes, blurring his vision. Fear choked his every breath. He could only nod, a pathetic display of submission.
The man's hands, rough and calloused, ran over Johan's body, a predator searching for prey. Disappointment flickered across his face when he found nothing.
"Tsk. Worthless." The word was a curse, laced with contempt.
A kick landed on Johan's side, sending a jolt of pain through his already battered body. A choked sob escaped his lips, the only sound daring to break the chilling silence.
The man spat on the ground and turned to leave.
Johan lay there, alone once more, tears mingling with the grime on his face. The taste of betrayal was bitter, a cruel aftertaste to the fleeting hope he had dared to grasp.
A warm shadow fell over Johan. A frail hand, gnarled with age, covered his shivering form.
An old man, his face etched with the lines of a hard life, peered down at him. His teeth were yellow and uneven, his hair a mess of unkempt white strands.
"Poor little fella," the man muttered, his voice raspy. "Where's your family, son? Lost, are you?"
Johan could barely speak. "N-no," he croaked. "I… I don't have any…"
The old man's gaze softened. "Is that so?" He rummaged through his ragged pockets and pulled out a crumpled note. "Here, take this. Get yourself something warm to eat and a place to rest your bones."
Johan's heart, a cold, leaden weight in his chest, fluttered for the first time that night. "But what about you?"
The old man chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Don't you worry about me, son. This city's my home, such as it is. Now take this and get yourself outta here."
With newfound strength, fueled by the old man's kindness, Johan dragged himself towards the brightly lit glow of an internet cafe across the street. He spent the next few nights there, the artificial light a poor substitute for sunlight, but the warmth chased away the biting chill from his bones. He started to grasp the wonders of the computer
A portal to a world beyond his pathetic little life
a place he now dared called 'Home'
His haven was short-lived. When his meager funds ran out. Eventually, the cafe owner, weary of his presence, kicked him out.
Back on the streets, he was a beggar once more,
his pleas for food...
water...
a job...
swallowed by the uncaring roar of the cit
Then, a voice pierced through the fog of despair. "Work, kid?"
Johan, a flicker of hope rekindled in his eyes, rasped, "Yes! Anything!"
The work was brutal, demanding a strength his body simply didn't possess. Within hours, he was crumpled on the floor, another failure echoing in his head:
"weak,"
the word echoed in his mind, a cruel refrain.
Suddenly, the scene fractured
the world fast-forwarding like a broken projector.
"Weak! Weak! Weak!"
The word crashed over him, relentless and cruel
"Weak,"
it taunted, each repetition blurring the lines between past and present.
He found himself in a carriage, a trapped animal.
Soldiers, their faces grim with determination, fought valiantly, their lives flickering out one by one. Blood spattered, and with it, the word:
"Weak."
The last soldier, a giant with a scarred face, fell, his sacrifice a futile shield against the tide.
The old man, his once kind eyes clouded with determination, met the same fate
all sacrificed, their lives extinguished
to protect his own weakness.
"Weak"
the word hunted him, a relentless predator.
"Weak, Weak,Weak, Weak, Weak,WeakWeak, Weak,Weak, Weak, Weak,WeakWeak, Weak,Weak, Weak, Weak,WeakWeak, Weak,Weak, Weak, Weak,WeakWeak, Weak,Weak, Weak, Weak,WeakWeak, Weak,Weak, Weak, Weak,WeakWeak, Weak,Weak, Weak, Weak,WeakWeak, Weak,Weak, Weak, Weak,Weak,Weak, Weak,Weak, Weak, Weak"
"WEAK"
But amidst the despair, a thought surfaced.
What if?
What if just a sliver of strength could have changed the course of his life?
Could have saved those who dared to protect him?
What if?
What if?
What if...
With a newfound purpose
Abel's eyes snapped open
A single tear rolled down his cheek, not of despair, but of resolve.
"Since you've given me a chance,"
he whispered, a newfound strength and anger resonating in his voice,
"I will rise, like a phoenix from the flames. Just like you said."