The End of a Dream

CONTENT WARNING: The following chapter contains implicit mentions to sexual violence, which may trigger memories or cause discomfort to the audience. Proceed with caution to your heart.

It had been happening since years ago, when Charlie Campbell had already forgotten his previous good deeds.

In a time when, far from a metropolis’ center, inside a land of a noveau riche in South America, there lived in a beige modern mansion two family members and their servants, depending on the point of view.

If asked to the youngster, he would say there were a myriad of members more in their family, and they all were servants of each other. To him, for the world’s purpose, every being in it was equally valuable in every way. Not a single life had a meaning less or more important than another. Just different values.

“As said by a famous Brazillian philosopher, ‘the apple’s value doesn’t cancel the grape’s value’,” Young Reis explained to the person on the other end of the line with a hint of enthusiasm he got on when he talked about his ideas.

“You’re crazy,” reacted the other man, maybe frustrated. The latter had been timid on the start, and barely audible. Young Reis’ had payed close attention, sometimes even breathed slower to listen and understand, but after thirty minutes or so of conversation, the other’s voice sounded higher and perfectly audible as then, with hints of regained confidence, and revealed the fresh tone of a man who just entered his twenties. “They despise me to their guts. I am a pure idiot,” his tone saddened by each word. “I can barely boil an egg without burning the water...”

This anonymous and apparently young man had made a free call seeking words of comfort from an emotional listening support line. He had finally found the guts to call, and the first worker he talked to was a stranger of mild voice and quite animated spirit named ‘Sil’. After finding the other so clearly eager to listen and help, he eased his worries slowly, letting on more and more of the motives he called and what he wanted to convey.

Besides ready to help, Reis’ still owned a human sensitivity, and needed to understand further this person’s aggressiveness towards themself. “... To whom?” Sil broke through his own freeze, grasping onto the sense of desperation it emerged within him. “I hear it as if you’re giving up... is it- is that how you’re feeling?” Why do you give up? Why do you give up on yourself?, he thought, but didn’t pronounce.

Increasing sobs of the anonymous confirmed his guess, and cascaded towards the rounded ears of the Reis’ teen, although they were secluded from his surroundings by the headphones. He adjusted the mic to closer to his mouth, and breathed in to prepare himself to listen, or to speak more at any moment.

For the meantime, he listened carefully to the other’s sobs, looking at the laptop before him as mere scenario, his real attention at every sound on the call.

His chest warmed and mourned along that person’s cries, and his eyes twitched with the forming tears. His silence was the action of respect and welcome he mustered, then offered to their feelings.

“My stepfather comes to my room every night...! And my mom doesn’t do anything!!...” Their lungs hitched at every sob. “Do you know whuat she tolld me? She told me I was lying! Lwying! Whow else will cware about me?!?” The sobs and shouting muffled into a mixed phrase that–

Young Reis scratched his fingertips on the wooden table a bit as he closed his fists. Where was an answer to that then? Could there ever be one?

“I am a fool... I am a complete fool!! I’m not even deserving of being called a man!!... I am not... a man anymore... Where can I live... I have not a penny of pride left...!” the anonymous shouted.

Young Reis’ inhaled some hope. “What about your friends?” he suggested with a hint of ‘help me’ desperation.

He huffed. “Friends? Would you trust anyone who calls you ‘faggot’ after you tell them someone you don’t like does you something you hate?!... I’m no more than a faggot to them!! They told me I’m gay if I like it and let him come every time...!! They don’t understand!!! Aaaahhh!!”

Young Reis pushed the mic further away then breathed in deeply. And out. He controlled his breathing back to deep and slower, trying to calm the itching on his arms and the contraction on his belly muscles.

“Fuckers! Fuckers!!” The other man cursed and sobbed as he let every pain he hid roll down through his tears, snorts and voice. How could there be a way out? His existence was only meaningful to that purpose? He didn’t want that! He didn’t ask for that life! He didn’t want that life! And what could that guy do about it? It was starting to seem meaningless to talk to him. What was the purpose of it all? To lessen his burden? Would things stop though?

“I had hope you could help me,” the anonymous continued, bitter as a medicine, and angry. “But you can’t even help me! You are all useless pieces of shite! Useless! I can’t stand to be here anymore. My life is meaningless and I do want to kill myself. Maybe you should think about stopping this-”

“You’re in pain...” Young Reis said suddenly on the other end of the line.

It was like he lit a fire. “But of course!! What the hell did you think I was feeling like?! You really are all stupid fools!!” And his curses and complaints continued endless, as the pain he had been feeling for so long.

Young Reis listened endlessly as well. His silence allowed more to be expressed, and also sordid details he wouldn’t have bared anywhere else if not for the sake of serving for this person’s well being in some way.

The more than fifteen minute speech after that trigger was turned came to an end and silence eventually.

At the end, the question that started everything was brought up again, “Why would I want to live if my life is meaningless for me?”

The listener breathed in again. “Do you want to know what I have to say?” Reis needed to say something. He had something to say, ‘but only with your permission’, he implied.

After a minute or so of sobbing in silence, the quiet ‘tell me’ came almost unheard, if not for the headphones that covered him from the world’s noise.

So he answered, in his usual mild voice, “If there weren’t people like you willing to let this work of mine come to life, I wouldn’t feel helpful or useful to the world. Because you’re so brave to talk out your feelings to me and every other worker who puts their hearts at risk here, I feel so grateful to be important to you. You allow me to feel into your existence... and it makes my own existence important when you share your world with me. I feel worthy by your allowance... That is your importance to me now.”

A heartfelt share full of his gentleness when touching another soul. Young Reis smiled, expecting that it would come across to him.

“... You’re really crazy.” The other stated before ending the call.

Silvio Reis didn’t know what to do then. Was there something wrong in what he said? Or wasn’t that person prepared to listen to some kindness? It wasn’t the first time.

He shook his head either way, then logged out of the voluntary listening app for trained volunteers. This had been an extra time, his shift had ended an hour ago.

‘I try to understand everyone, but no one tries to understand me’, Young ‘Master’ Reis thought to himself, shaking his head. He felt a bit misunderstood at times. He didn’t know it was the price to pay when being a bit further explained in the emotional and psychological fields than most of the population. Although little, in practice, that difference came big on day to day life.

Young Reis’ headphones were plucked out of his head forcefully, his straight blue black hair being pulled together, then it fell back a bit ruffled around his face. His eyes darted up to see who did it as he turned his rotary chair around...

His headphones were held tight in a strong hand with visible blue veins. The charming maturity, and gray-browned hair of the old man in a suit before him, were characteristically his dad’s. That stern look, though, shaded all the charm and liveliness he could have glowed naturally. Before he realized, his son, again, had returned to doing this stupid children’s play!

“Have you disobeyed me, Silvio Reis?” His sarcastic tone darkened the boy’s faint hope in explaining himself. “When? When did you start this again?”