Chapter 4-Broken Shells

Just as soon as the light appeared, it was gone, much like my Father. Here one minute, and gone the next. Once presumed dead, found alive, and killed right in front of me.

Punctuating the silence like a thorn that has embedded itself next to a knife in one's back, the soft click of Father's cuffs detaching from the ceiling can be heard. Another solemn reminder that he is dead, and for good this time.

The ebb and flow of time seem to cease and halt, acknowledging the loss that I have endured twice over for a single man. All the sounds and smells slow their painful dance, and each segment of reality is more pronounced than the last. Each aspect stands apart from all the others, crisp and clear in the sorrow and pain that it brings.

The metallic smell of freshly-spilled blood travels through the air, and the soft rustle of a draft on hair is heard as his broken body plummets towards the ground. Presumably, it is a broken and withered shell of the glorious man that once inhabited it; the man who helped me take my first steps, taught me how to shift, pulled me from the fires of the Burning, taught me the ways of the telekenetics, and cared for me when few others would.

"You can do it, son!"

"But I don't even know what muscle I should be using!"

"Hehe. Neither did I. And that's because it's not a muscle. You need to feel it. Imagine yourself as a human. Imagine what it would feel like. It's a feeling, not a movement. Does that help?"

"Yeah! Hey, I got it!"

"Yeah! I'm so proud of you, son."

"Thanks, Dad! I love you so so sosososo much!"

"I love you too, Eniepe. Even if I'm not always with you, I will always love you."

This broken shell of a hero now plummets towards the ground, with only the smell of blood, the whistle of the air through his fur, and my silent tears to signify his end. No cries from the depths, no howl of the pack, no pyre of light. No salute to a fallen hero is given, just the silent tears of a lonely pup.

After what feels like an eternity, I hear the soft thud of his corpse hitting the cold stone ground, accompanied by the crack of his bones. Shortly after, all is silent, except for the drip of blood from where he once hung in the same suspended position that I now find myself in. I can only pray that I join him soon.

This broken shell has no grave, marked or unmarked. This broken shell only has a dark cave, in which the rats sleep, for him to finally rest.

I don't even know if he recognized me. All I know is that I managed to recognize him, even after all these years. These painful years.

How fate, or destiny, or whatever hates me, can be so cruel... I have no idea. To lose one's hero, find them after years of suffering, only to lose them again in the blink of an eye... And he can't come back now. He's gone. My hero, my mentor, my Father, is now dead and rotting with the rats.

Alone.

In the dark.

With nothing but the sound of the steady dripping of blood and tears.

And then time resumes its demented dance, moving as swiftly as it once had. Swirling and twirling, it continues to pass as if nothing had happened. As if no one cared, which must have been true in a sense. For I alone cared, and I am as close to no one as one can be. I, too, am a shattered shell. The only difference is that I still draw breath, however shallow, and however short a time I am cursed to continue. What I would give to breathe deeply in the presence of my family. Or rather, wouldn't give. A much shorter list, surely, and one I have yet to make. For all I know, I would give anything. But I won't know until I come to the edge, make a choice, and follow it through.

But nothing remains of the joyful pup I once was. The Burning and deaths of my parents, my heroes, took that away from me. Now I am a telekenetic shifter, locked in a dungeon with the rotting corpse of my Father, and no company but the chittering rats.

I really hate my life.

And the blasted Etiord.

But I cannot sway to good or evil. I must stay on the narrow path.

Ej en engiolé'm sap ed Ecnim Nimehc

(Ehj en en-gee-oh-lay-em sap ed Eck-nim Nim-eck)

(I will not stray from the Narrow Path).

The only true path is the Narrow Path; all others are a lie, a fabrication of reality.

I will stay true to the Narrow Path. For Father. For Mother. For everyone.

This broken shell will not fall to either the left or the right. Up? Maybe. Maybe I will see family again. Though in all likelihood, I will go down. But until then, I remain with nothing but the steady drip of blood, rats, and another broken shell to keep me company.

Two broken shells, rotting in the dark, 'till the demons above and below deem that the time has come to meet pain once more.

"Hmph!"

As if it ever stopped.