It was dark.
Kieth's lifeless body lay motionless on the cold ground. His skin was discolored, a deep, sickly purple where his bones had been twisted and broken. Time was meaningless here—days, weeks, or perhaps longer had passed. Yet, to Kieth, every moment stretched into eternity.
Breathing felt like being stabbed by a million swords. His lungs barely expanded, each shallow gasp scraping like shattered glass against his ribs. He couldn't even scream; his vocal cords had been destroyed.
But why was he alive?
That question lingered in his fractured mind, unanswered. Deep down, he knew. It was Hannibal's cursed ability, a cruel gift that kept him from dying. He was trapped in this state, suffering in silence.
I'm in pain. I can't scream. My body won't move. Every bone is twisted, and my neck... I can't even see the ceiling. I want to cry.
Yet no tears came. His body betrayed him. Even the simplest act of release was denied.
It hurts. Someone... anyone... please help me.
But no one came. No one would. His mouth wouldn't form the words, his broken frame incapable of making a sound. Days blurred into weeks. Time dissolved into a continuous haze of agony. He couldn't move, couldn't die of thirst or hunger, not while the ability tethered him cruelly to life.
At first, there was no anger—only one desperate wish.
Let me die.
But death didn't come. Nothing could grant him that mercy.
He tried to count the days, but his mind slipped, his sense of time distorted by the darkness and pain. His face was turned toward the ground, his neck twisted grotesquely, while the rest of his body faced upward. He couldn't even glimpse his surroundings. He was forced to live in this prison of flesh and bone.
Left with no escape, no relief, his mind turned inward.
What did I do wrong?
Memories replayed endlessly in his mind. Every moment, every decision, every failure. He dissected his life piece by piece, questioning what led him here.
The weight of it was unbearable, yet he couldn't stop. The only thing he could do now was remember.
"He hit me first!" Kieth sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he wailed in front of the teacher.
The teacher sighed, her expression stern but not unkind. "Come on, Kieth. You're a boy... you can't cry like this."
"But... it hurts..." he whimpered, his voice shaky and small.
She gave a weak smile. "Your dad will pick you up soon. Just wait here."
Moments later, the door opened, and his father walked in.
"Hey, champ," his dad said, kneeling down to Kieth's level. "What's all this? Why are you crying?" He gently wiped Kieth's tear-streaked face before scooping him up into his arms.
"Bran hit me..." Kieth sniffled, still clutching his side.
"Don't worry," his dad said warmly, carrying him out of the room. "I'll talk to his parents. But first, how about we grab some ice cream?"
Kieth nodded, the promise of strawberry ice cream—his favorite—lifting his spirits.
They walked to the shop, the name long forgotten in Kieth's memories, but the feeling of holding his dad's hand and the taste of the sweet treat remained vivid.
"Dad... do you cry?" Kieth asked suddenly, his small voice curious.
His father glanced down at him, a bit surprised by the question. "What's up with that, kiddo?"
"I mean... I've never seen you cry."
His dad chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a warm smile.
"And... our teacher said boys shouldn't cry," Kieth added hesitantly, unsure if he should have brought it up.
His dad stopped walking and crouched down so they were face-to-face. His father had a soft beard and always wore a brown coat, his favorite. His kind eyes gazed at Kieth with gentle understanding.
"Is that so? Well, next time you see your teacher, you can tell her she's wrong," he said with a grin.
"Boys can cry?" Kieth asked, tilting his head.
"Of course they can," his dad said firmly. "Crying is just what happens when you're sad or hurt. It's how we express our feelings. And you know what? It shows that you feel something—and that means you're human. Do you know who doesn't cry?"
"You?" Kieth guessed, wide-eyed.
His dad burst into laughter before ruffling his hair. "No, even I cry. A lot, actually. When I was your age, I cried so much more than you do. Compared to me back then, you're incredibly brave."
"I'm brave?" Kieth asked, blinking in surprise.
"Absolutely," his dad replied, standing back up and carrying Kieth as they walked toward home. "Sure, some boys cry less, but that doesn't mean they don't cry. Sometimes it's been so long since they cried, their tears dried up."
"Tears can dry?" Kieth asked, frowning in confusion.
"Yep," his dad said with a nod. "When someone's gone through so much sadness or pain that they stop feeling it, it's like their tears dry up."
"Is that good?"
"No," his dad said seriously. "No, it's not good. You have to know when you're in pain. If you don't, it can be too late to do anything about it."
They reached home, and his dad knocked on the door. Kieth's mother answered, her warm smile lighting up the doorway. Her soft brown hair framed her face as she bent down to greet her son.
"There's my good boy," she said, scooping Kieth up and kissing his cheek.
Kieth giggled, the earlier pain and sadness already fading away in the comfort of his parents's love.
"Now go change your clothes," his mom said cheerfully. "I made your favorite snacks."
"Okay!" Kieth hopped down and ran toward his room, his small feet echoing in the hallway.
His parents exchanged a smile, talking quietly as they watched their son run off. The house was filled with warmth, and for Kieth, those sort of memories where the happiest he would ever hold onto
The memory shifted again. Kieth sat at his desk, staring at the bright red marks on his exam results. He had failed—again.
His parents didn't yell or punish him. They just smiled gently, telling him, "It's okay, Kieth. Do better next time." Their kindness didn't feel reassuring, though. Instead, it made him feel hollow.
He couldn't help but think, Do they just not care anymore? Are they so used to this?
He hated the thought, even though deep down, he knew it wasn't true.
Kieth wanted to live up to their expectations, to make them proud. But no matter how hard he tried, he felt like he was falling short. When he finally brought home better scores, they were overjoyed, showering him with praise.
"Great job, Kieth!" his mom said, pulling him into a warm hug. His dad patted his back with a proud smile.
"I'll make something special tonight," his dad said, already heading for the kitchen.
"Yes! I love your food!" Kieth exclaimed, his smile wide for the first time in days.
His mom playfully flicked his forehead. "What? Are you saying my food isn't good?"
"Dad just doesn't cook as often. It's like treasure," Kieth scratched his head, laughing nervously.
The house was filled with laughter and warmth, but in the back of his mind, Kieth couldn't let go of his self-doubt. Looking at his classmates, who seemed leagues ahead of him, he felt like a failure.
They deserve a better son, he thought bitterly. I'm just holding them back.
Even on his good days, the guilt lingered. His parents had sacrificed so much for him, yet he felt he couldn't repay them.
That night, as he sat with his mom, the conversation drifted back to his results. She smiled at him, proud and loving.
"I knew you could do it," she said, her voice soft and encouraging.
Kieth laughed nervously. "Yeah, well... if I hadn't, I probably would've just jumped."
It was a joke—he meant it to be one, at least. But when he looked at his mother, her expression was deadly serious. She didn't smile.
Instead, she slapped him.
The sting on his cheek surprised him more than the slap itself. He touched his face, looking at her in shock.
"Don't... ever say something like that again," she said, her voice trembling with anger and fear.
"It was just a joke, Mom," Kieth tried to explain, his voice faltering.
"I don't care!" she snapped, her eyes welling with tears. "Don't ever say that! So what if you didn't get good marks? You can do better next time! Why would you even think about giving up on your life? Instead of facing your problems, you'd just give up? That's not okay, Kieth!"
Her voice broke, and the sight of her tears made his chest tighten with guilt.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Her anger softened, but the pain in her eyes lingered. She pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly.
Kieth didn't know what to say. He didn't understand why she cared so much. Why do you love me? he thought. I'm a failure. I'm a burden. Why does it matter so much to you?
But he already knew the answer. His parents loved him—unconditionally. No matter how hard life became, they always supported him.
They were the kind of people who stopped when he fell, who picked him up even if it meant being left behind by others. They never left him behind.
Lying broken in the darkness, Kieth's heart ached as he remembered their love. He thought of his parents, wondering how they were now.
Are they grieving me? Are they mourning the son they raised for 17 years?
The realization hit him like a blade. The brilliant blue of the otherworld, which he had once thought of as freedom, now felt suffocatingly red.
Even if he hated the world he left, there had been one place in it where he belonged.
Home.
Home wasn't just a building. It was the safe haven his parents created with their love and sacrifices. A place where he was always welcome, no matter how much he stumbled or failed.
I want to go back, tears forming in his eyes. I want to feel their hands again. I want to hear them say it's okay.
The longing for home burned deep within him, sharper than any physical pain.
I'm not brave, Dad, his father's words echoing in his mind. You're brave. You and Mom are brave. You made that cruel world livable. You gave me a place where I could feel safe and loved.
He wanted to return, to apologize, to be a better son who didn't take life for granted. He wanted to tell them he had been wrong.
I'm sorry, his chest aching with regret. I was so, so wrong.
But the void around him remained silent, offering no answers. Only the echoes of his longing and regret lingered in the oppressive darkness.
Maybe he deserved this.
Maybe it wasn't anyone's fault but his own. Maybe the gods punished him for something he didn't understand.
Even so, Kieth begged. He begged for months, silent cries echoing in his mind, pleading for help. But no one came.
He wished for death.
The fear he once felt at the thought of dying was gone now, replaced by an unbearable longing. Death wasn't frightening anymore—it was mercy.
It hurt so much. Every breath was hell. He couldn't move, couldn't even lift his hands to wipe the tears that slid down his face.
More than anything, he wanted to cry properly, to scream out his pain, to sob until his chest ached. But his body wouldn't let him.
He just wanted to hug his parents again.
Mom… Dad… please… help me… please. It hurts. I can't take it anymore.
The words echoed in his broken mind, over and over.
Dad… please… help…
Tears welled in his eyes again, the only sign of the agony consuming him. They slipped silently down his face, warm against his cold skin.
Mom… Dad…
Then he heard it—a voice.
"Dad?"
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, sound reached his ears.
It was faint, almost hesitant, and yet it shattered the oppressive silence that had consumed him.
"Dad?"
The voice came again, clearer now.
It was a small voice, the voice of a little girl.
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