To those who never give up and survive the impossible.
"Hell is empty and all the demons are here."
William Shakespeare
NATE USED TO HATE CEMETERIES. Everything in it bothered him. When he was a young child, the gray tone of the chipped tombstones of older graves and the long corridor of tombs, with remains stacked in rows three or four stories high, used to make him anxious.
Although the morbid figure of sculpted angels with deformed faces weren't inviting, it wasn't just because of a merely children's fear Nate didn't like cemeteries. It was also the air of sadness and the pungent odor of death. The morbidity and the endless crying. Even the silent walk to the chapel felt suffocating.
But there he was, wearing a cheap black suit whose sleeves barely fully covered his wrists, following the short line of close friends and family who couldn't hold back their tears of mourning.
Nate didn't fully understand what was happening. Losing someone at fifteen isn't that different from when you're an adult, but adults are more used to saying goodbye.
Still, death prevails as a distant and abstract concept. Nate didn't know what he felt, but he wished he wasn't there. As he turned his attention to the busy traffic on the other side of the park, without the courage to continue facing that depressing scene, Nate shuffled his feet without any desire to actually move, his body acting in an involuntary manner.
It was pathetic.
He should have been there at the front, next to his mother, but he couldn't. That was the first time they had seen each other since he had decided to live with his father, just over three years ago, far from his hometown and his mother's affection.
Due to the long period in which they were separated, not even the bond of mourning that connected them could be strong enough to make that situation less strange or uncomfortable. It was comical that the reunion between mother and son took place there, next to the remains of a corpse.
A cruel irony.
Since the incident, Nate has exerted all his strength and concentration to push away the memories that tortured him to the emptiest and most dismal corner of his mind. But forget That night would forever be a privilege that Nate would never have. The thoughts, as well as the fickleness of tomorrow, were impossible to control.
And the memories hit him once again, like an arrow.
"Nathaniel" someone called him, the memories snatched him away as soon as he heard his name. He stared at his own reflection in the hallway mirror.
As he slowly turned his head, his reflection remained still, examining him as if it had a life of its own. Suddenly, Nate jumps. The reflection opened its mouth, calling him. At least, that's what Nate thought he saw. Everything happened very quickly, lasting less than a second, as soon as his reflex returned to normal, responding to his movements.
"Nathaniel."
They called him once again. The voice was soft and welcoming, but it sounded loud, as if accompanied by a choir of voices that were just as beautiful and very well orchestrated. Nate turned to meet the call, but there was nothing to be seen. There was nothing to be heard.
There was no one.
But he continued to hear it, in the distance, the echo of voices moving away and mixing; Different timbres danced between the vowels and consonants, so that it was impossible to recognize who they belonged to or where they came from. After some time, the voice took shape and the darkness turned into light. Nate found himself so immersed that he had forgotten, for a moment, where he was. He had even forgotten who he was, or how to speak.
There was much more than just one person there, there were hundreds of thousands, their images flickered, enveloped by the fire of the abyss and, as if led by an out-of-sync beat, they danced with pleasure to the macabre music. Among the hearts and souls there, he recognized some of the lost looks. Your mother. Your father. Your friends. And even himself.
None of them would be saved.
Water fell from the sky, but the raindrops were not enough to clear the chaos.
As soon as the image became opaque, blurred. In one hand, a sword — which burned with flames — was wielded by a human figure with wings. The glow, as intense as the sun, enveloped him like a cloak. Like a snap, the images disappeared, and the fire had already spread throughout the house. The winged man disappeared, and a deep scream broke the barrier between the real and the unreal, calling Nate again and again.
Nate responded, shouting. He screamed. He screamed for his father, screamed for help. He was in the heart of the fire, and the flames spread as if they were hungry. The smell of carbon, metal and burning wood invaded his lungs. The hot air filled his nostrils and the succession of coughs became inevitable.
"NATHANIEL!" Another voice echoed amid the flames. Nate recognized it as his father's voice, but he didn't appear. Nate tripped over his own foot when he finally understood what was happening. There was only heat and fire everywhere, he would definitely die.
His eyes were closing again when a man with wings appeared ahead, shining even brighter than the flames that licked the boards and walls of his old room. At that moment, Nate thought he was no longer among the living.
Wrong.
There he was, safe and sound. And he breathed.
"I'm sorry for your loss…" someone said, and Nate woke up from his momentary trance, he had to blink a few times to remember where he was.
"You're Nathaniel, right? My name is Lilian. I'm a friend of your mother's. I met your father once…"
She fell silent.
The silence prolonged. Nate didn't know how to respond, especially because he still hadn't gotten used to comforting strangers about his father's death. What should he say? You don't feel as much as I do. He wasn't even that nice. You don't even look sad. Nate couldn't say such things.
Lilian was a woman with a round, pink face, who Nate would certainly remember if he had ever seen the woman. She smiled at him like someone waking up hearing birdsong.
His hair was red and intense like fire and seemed to flicker in the sunlight, choppy and treacherous. The eyes, however, conveyed tranquility and peace; They were blue like the waters of the Pacific Ocean. She didn't look much older than him, but it was impossible to say for sure.
"Yes," he finally replied, nodding cordially. "I'm Nate. Hmm… Thank you for coming, my mother surely will be pleased. She must be next to Aunt Antonine…"
"Why are you back here alone?"
Lilian interrupted him, her eyebrow arched. She kept her posture straight and her shrewd gaze inspected Nate cautiously.
"Are you okay?"
Nate considered just ignoring her and walking away, but the intense vibration that connected them made him hesitate for a few minutes, freezing him in place.
He turned his attention to the line of people who disappeared behind the sculptures of angels, some praying and others looking at the sky. Nate fixed his attention on his mother, who was leading the group of people to his father's grave. Nate couldn't see from that far away, but I can tell that there were no tears in Clarice's eyes and that would have eased Nate's conscience a lot about leaving her alone. But the anchor of guilt weighed heavy on his chest.
The mother's flowing blonde hair thrashed as the wind dictated. The fabric of the black clothes followed the same movement. Clarisse seemed to glide. The coolness of the breeze on his face gave him a feeling of peace and lightness. From afar, Nate envied her. Her features were firm, as were her steps and he knew that his mother had twice his strength and courage. She was like an impenetrable wall, strong enough to withstand anything.
"No." He stared at her. "Yes… I mean, I'm right here, yes, thank you! My mother is better at saying goodbye than I am," he replied, showing a shy smile. Nate then slid one of his hands into his pants pocket and brought the silver canteen to his mouth, feeling the hot liquid go down his already numb throat.
"What do you think you're doing?" he shouted, when Lilian picked up the bottle and spilled the rest of the liquid on the gravel floor.
"I came here to pay my respects, but I don't think this is soda, kid." Lilian smiled. "Would your father be happy to see you drown in alcohol, Nathaniel? "
"It's Nate." he corrected, his brow furrowed. "And you don't know anything about me or my father." Looking back at the crowd of friends and family, Nate met his mother's round, worry-filled eyes.
Excellent.
"You're right, but I know what it's like to lose someone," she returned the empty drink bottle to Nate.
The first moment their fingers touched, an ice-colored spark flashed in the boy's eyes and a dull crack echoed near his ears. Nate saw the light disappear, the shadows enveloped him like a cloak and, in the center of the darkness, the symbols repeated themselves before his eyes. A dead serpent, blood and wings as black as a raven's. The images floated, blurry.
Suddenly, as if he were struggling against the waters of a current, he felt the air violently invade his lungs, and the light gradually resurfaced, sending any trace of darkness far away. Nate managed to catch a glimpse of Lilian's worried face, the apple trees, the people dressed in black in the distance, and the various granite tombstones.
What had just happened?
"I need to leave."
He managed to say as soon as he fully remembered his senses.
"Just get out of my way."
"Wait! Nate!" Lilian shouted, but the boy had already run away, disappearing behind the shadowed trees.