I lay on the ground, surrounded by five hazy figures. As they converged, the world I knew and loved dissolved into chaos, threatening everything I held dear. Dread seeped into my bones, making my heart throb with unbearable pain and anguish.
As the figures approached, their blurry faces snapped into focus, filling me with a mix of awe and terror. Yet, in the face of impending doom, I felt an inexplicable urge to laugh. It wasn't the absurdity of my situation that amused me, but its crushing inevitability. I laughed uncontrollably, tears streaming down my cheeks as I mourned the loss of loved ones, unfulfilled dreams, and my mortality.
This manic laughter marked the beginning of my descent into loneliness, as I resigned myself to my fate. But at that moment, I also found a strange, tranquil peace.
Opening my eyes slowly, I recalled the dream I had just experienced with surprising clarity. The details were as vivid and enthralling as reality, and I made a conscious effort to push them to the back of my mind.
I took in my surroundings, the termite-infested wooden ceiling, with patches of rust-colored paint barely visible. I strained my tired body to sit upright on the bed. This feeling of weakness was becoming all too familiar, a consequence of my recurring dream that left me feeling as though I had engaged in agonizing labor a day prior.
I looked around the unfamiliar yet fairly furnished room. A wooden table stood in front of me, and opposite the table, hung a human-shaped mirror. When I first saw it, I was awestruck by this large object. It was puzzling how a human could possess such skills, and I couldn't imagine how long it would take to hone them. I had seen mirrors before, but none of such magnitude, inquisitive design, and craft. Unfortunately, after a few days of living here, I had grown accustomed to its presence.
We, humans, are funny creatures; we adapt to most situations that we are in. Recalling what happened just a few days ago, I walked towards the window. I saw the usual sight of strongly built men toiling the soil, caring for crops, and using huge, strange machinery that produced a lot of noise; there were no women or children in sight. Shifting my gaze from the surroundings, and far into the distance. There, I spot a huge, round-shaped, gargantuan wall towering over everything else in this beautiful land with lush trees and breathtaking plants.
New unpleasant thoughts began to bubble up in my mind causing my heart to turn and my head to swirl. I fell to the ground panting, as I clenched my chest. My hand was quivering, my breath shaky, knees to my chest, cradling my legs. Olav was gone; the towering walls that would inevitably catch anyone's eye in this strange place were my home, at least it was.
What could I have done better? Would things have improved if I said different words and taken different actions? These were the questions that I have been asking myself these past couple of days, and it's the answers I have been trying to be oblivious to. There was nothing I could have done that would have made a difference.
Why did he betray me? Is this because of his unyielding sense of inferiority? Ahhh! The beautiful, the charismatic, the loved Viessa. Could his actions have been influenced by her? Having the girl he had loved all his life to not only reject your feelings but to be crazy over your brother instead.
Could it be because he sensed the indifference I felt towards her, or did he think that I was pitying him by not chasing after her? After all, he isn't one to behave rationally.
I forcibly halted my train of thought, recognizing the destructive pattern that had led me to this point. Assuming others were stupid had landed me in this predicament. Deep down, I knew that couldn't be the reason for his betrayal. What transpired between us was too significant to be driven by petty motivations.
Yet, I was deceiving myself once again. He had confessed his true feelings to me himself. The hatred he harbored ran too deep. Our confrontation was inevitable. But none of that mattered to me now. All I craved was his companionship. He was my blood, my last living relative, the only one I had left.
Forcing myself off the ground, I walked towards the human-sized window. There I saw him, familiar yet foreign. I have always considered myself better-looking than most, but the reflection before me was inhumanly beautiful to the point of being ugly. Adding insult to injury, not only my face had changed, but also my hair. It transformed from a greyish-black to pure white, like fresh snow. Then I noticed my eyes—the distinct light green eyes typical of people from Olav had vanished, replaced by deep black pupils that swirled relentlessly. If it weren't for the barely visible sword marks and a large reddish-brown patch on the left side of my abdomen which was left by Felix, I wouldn't have been able to recognize myself. Thinking back to that incident, I realize just how lucky I am to still be alive.
Deciding to leave my room, I walked back to my bed and grabbed the shirt given to me by that woman. After a while of trying not to look depressed, I glanced away from the mirror, came out of the room, and headed towards the stairs.
They were stained with a reddish-brown hue, each step making the damp wood bend and creak loudly, forcing me to further hasten my steps. The handrails, like most of the things in this place, had me intrigued when I first came here, but are crude in design compared to those of other buildings. Nevertheless, they would have been considered unique in Olav.
Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, I arrived at the living room. There, a metallic table was surrounded by two chairs, and across the room, quite a distance away from the entrance to the kitchen, an armchair sat, all not nearly large enough to accommodate an adult, and yet the woman sat on it looking comfortable.
Carefully raising the pencil away from the paper placed on her lap, she glanced up at me and gave me her signature gleaming smile. "You look terrible, dear; you didn't come back late, did you?"
Forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes, I nodded.
For the past couple of days, I have been preying on her by eating her food, wearing her dead son's clothes, and sleeping comfortably in her home. I manage the guilt by telling myself how much I need a place to stay, and how bad she would feel when I tell her that I am not her son.
Turning her face from me, her voice soft "You shouldn't do this to yourself". The sunglasses obscuring her face didn't reveal much but the tone was disheartening.
"Sorry," I said, my voice coming out barely audible. "I'll be back early" Which was the only thing I could say and the least I could do. Causing her to worry wouldn't make my deeds any better.
On the table, there was a bunch of clothes clumped together. Going through them, I picked out a pair of socks, which gave me an intense struggle to put on; after all, wearing socks while standing isn't a walk in the park. Slipping on her dead son's shoes, I walked towards the door.
"I'll get the food, " I said casually while trying to hurry out, not wanting a reply.
"Don't forget to wear your gloves; today's a bit chilly," she said, not glancing up from her drawing.
Awkwardly, I went back to the clothes pile, and after going through it once again, I took out a pair of thick white gloves and stepped out of the house.
A strong gale of wind made my outgrown curly hair, which draped over my shoulders and reached my waist, fluttering around, blocking my face entirely. Gently, I adjusted it, removing some strands that found a way to my lips and my eyes, and put them underneath my shirt. I didn't want to return to get a hairknot; avoiding a conversation with that poor woman would be worth it.
Strolling past the fields, greeting the farmers whose faces had become familiar, I walked towards a black gate that had a sign next to it that read 'Anthony estate.'
Entering the gate, I walked absent-mindedly into a row of houses. Men and a few women wearing strange attires were seemingly preparing to go where they traded. Children wearing identical clothing run around, excited, and without a sense of responsibility. Every day, they go to a place of knowledge called a school. This left me bewildered, life here was easy compared to the difficult life in Olav, where children their age and older either fight for a place at the old house or those lucky enough to become apprentices go to their various master's workplaces and help them out, in return, learn their trade secrets.
These children remind me a lot of Felix. His aloof and caring demeanor, his overly social personality, his mischievous grin and gentle smile.
Of course, not every one of these children was extroverted like he was, but it's refreshing to see that people were always the same, Olav or not.
As I stood there, a child, probably nine years old, collided with me. His black curly hair obscured his facial features.
"Sorry," he muttered, his gaze drifting upward to try to meet mine.
I smiled warmly. "No harm done."
"You're pretty," he blurted. Catching me completely off guard.
Trying not to let it show, I pluck a jasmine from the ground which I gently tucked behind his ear. "Flowers are more than just pretty, don't you think"
His cheeks flushed red, ears turning pink. "You're Funny," he exclaimed, giggling.
Ruffling his hair with my palm, I pointed in the direction of his friends, who were diligently waiting and gave him a soft nudge.
I raised my chin ever so slightly and took long strides. I avoided both the gaze of the women and men as both either looked at me with envy, lust, or awe. I didn't put it out heart afteralI I did look different from them and was much more better looking. But nothing had changed. All these stares shouldn't make me get flustered. I was used to this, so why was I feeling different? Undoubtedly, there was a strong emotion emerging from my heart.
The conversation with the boy must have stirred something within me. Was it the nostalgic feeling of Olav? Is that why I feel this way? Yes, there was a lot of Felix in that boy, but that is not it.
Sure, these people share the same appearance with us from inside the walls, but I have not had any sense of belonging to Olav for a long time. So why do I feel this way? It was a sense of accomplishment that I had never felt before. Looking at the vague silhouette of Olav, I let out a gasp, I was free.
I obsessed my whole damn life to get here; I didn't care for love, didn't care for friends, didn't even consider a future there, so why should I feel sad. Why would doubts be lingering in me?
Hendrickson l didn't help me, he couldn't care less about me. Did he expect gratitude and unending groveling after making me his apprentice? Who would care about the floral shop? He didn't care about it either. Why would I care about such useless things when your whole life has been a lie... When there is freedom in sight.
He could always leave. After all, he wasn't born there. Only staying to fulfill his twisted goals, whatever it was. Oh, how happy I was when I foiled his plans. The look of melancholic agony distorting his usually stoic face made me the happiest person in that hellish nightmare. Unfortunately, he refused to go without a last laugh; Oh! How good he got me; I never saw it coming. That, I guess, was the first seed of doubt planted in Felix and what made everything come apart...
I gritted my teeth and vowed to myself never to be held back by the past. From a small jug to a full sprint, my eyes became watery as tears flowed down my cheek. Who could have known the taste of freedom was so sweet?
I used to feel overshadowed by my peers, struggling to keep up with them physically. But now, I no longer need to concern myself with such. As I ponder the vast expanse of my potential, the wind rushes past me, its gentle caress a soothing balm for my skin. Adventure, knowledge, wealth – I crave it all. I yearn to experience every sensation, to explore every horizon. The world, once a daunting challenge, now feels like an exhilarating playground.
As I gazed toward the kitchen, its familiarity beckoned me. I slowed my pace, dabbing away tears, and exchanged a brief greeting with fellow acquaintances I'd met over the past few days. My attention then shifted to the imposing glass structure looming before me.
Upon entering the kitchen, I was surprised by the chaos. It was usually a peaceful place, but now it was noisy and crazy. Staff members in aprons were rushing up and down the stairs. Water was splashed all over the floor, and cleaners were trying to mop it up. But it was hard for them to keep up with all the people coming in for food. The kitchen felt urgent and stressful, which was very different from its usual calm atmosphere.
As I watched, a procession of young women, each balancing a pale on her head, filed into the kitchen, inadvertently adding to the puddles on the floor. Curious, I glanced to my left and spotted the source of the commotion: a cluster of women gathered around a tree, where a well was nestled. My gaze lingered, and I felt a pang of guilt. The same people who toiled to prepare my meals were now burdened with the arduous task of fetching water.
Without hesitation, I picked up a nearby bucket and joined the procession, making my way toward the well. The simple act of lending a hand felt like the right thing to do.
As I got closer, something strange was unveiled before me. I stopped, my heart beating ever so slowly as my mind went blank.
A girl was drawing water from the well. She wore a simple, plain dress with water drenching the fabric, which exposed her amazing figure. Her blonde and long, lustrous hair was tied, revealing her face resembling one made by a perfectionist obsessed with elegance and purity. The sunlight penetrated through the tree leaves shining onto her face as it reflected the light. Her lips were pursed as she clenched perfectly white teeth. Her pale skin and gentle face that reeked of femininity were in full concentration as she used all her strength to fetch the water.
I backed away slowly, hesitant to make a sound in the chaotic environment. My mind was reeling. My head spun, refusing to accept the truth my eyes were witnessing. Fear crept in, its icy grip suffocating me. I turned and ran, my feet pounding the ground faster than I ever thought possible.
"No, no, no," I muttered, voice shaking, mind racing. "How is she alive?"
Viessa should be dead. There is absolutely no way anyone other than me survived. It is simply not possible unless... My eyes widened in shock, how could I have overlooked something so damn obvious. She must have been outside the walls when...when it happened.
A sickening realization dawned on me, my thoughts spiraled into despair. What would I say when she asked about her family? Her friends? My twin, Felix, who'd been infatuated with her? What would happen when I tell her they are all dead...because of me?