Chapter 15: The Heart Of A Man

Chapter 15: The Heart Of A Man

As the man lifted his head, Mark saw him in a new light. He was no longer just a mysterious figure, but a young boy, likely no older than nineteen or twenty years old. Yet, something was off. The boy's eyes, which should have been bright and full of life, were instead glowing jet black, like two dark voids sucking in the light around them.

Mark's initial surprise gave way to horror as he took in the boy's face. His features, which should have been smooth and youthful, were now twisted and distorted, like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. The black eyes seemed to be sucking the very life out of his face, leaving behind a pale, gaunt complexion that made his skin look almost translucent.

The boy's gaze locked onto Mark's, and he felt a chill run down his spine. Those black eyes seemed to be boring into his soul, searching for something hidden deep within. Mark tried to look away, but he was transfixed, unable to tear his gaze away from the boy's haunting stare. He felt like he was staring into the abyss, and the abyss was staring back at him.

Sometime later, the young man's eyes returned to normal, and he went back to sitting in the same spot where he had been before. Mark, still trying to process what had just happened, looked down at his hands, searching for any visible changes. But there were none. He felt the same, yet somehow, he knew that something inside him had shifted.

Shaking off the feeling, Mark turned his attention back to the boy, who was now sitting calmly, his eyes fixed on the ground. Mark approached him cautiously, squatting down in front of him to observe him more closely.

The boy didn't seem to notice Mark's presence, his gaze still fixed on the ground. Mark studied his face, searching for any clues about what had just happened. The boy's features were no longer twisted, and his eyes had returned to normal. But there was something about him that seemed... different.

Mark's eyes locked onto the boy's, trying to see if he could sense anything unusual. The boy's gaze slowly lifted, and their eyes met. For a moment, they just stared at each other, Mark trying to read the boy's expression. Then the boy look down again.

Still fascinated by the boy's enigmatic presence, Mark decided to sit down in front of him, continuing his observation. The boy didn't flinch, didn't react, just kept staring at the ground. Mark waited for a while, then broke the silence.

"What's your name?" Mark asked with the most gentle voice he could mustered.

The boy didn't respond. Mark wasn't discouraged, though. He looked at the boy's massive frame and asked, "You look like one of the natives here. What did you do to end up imprisoned?"

Again, there was no reply. Mark tapped the boy's shoulder, asking again, this time a little louder, "What's your name?"

The boy's gaze slowly lifted, his eyes locking onto Mark's. For a moment, they just stared at each other, Mark searching for any hint of response. But, to Mark's surprise, there was non.

Then, the young man turned his back on Mark, his head hung low once more, as if trying to escape the confrontation. But Mark, overcome with a sudden surge of anger and frustration, strode up to him again, his footsteps echoing off the cold prison walls. This time, he slapped the back of the young man's head, the sound cracking through the air like a whip. "Why are you ignoring me for no reason?" Mark demanded, his voice low and menacing.

The young man's eyes flashed jet black, like two dark stars exploding in the darkness. With a swift, deadly motion, he sent a palm strike hurtling towards Mark's chest, the force of the blow like a sledgehammer. The impact was like a thunderclap, sending Mark flying across the room like a ragdoll tossed by an angry child. He crashed into the prison wall, the air knocked out of him, and then bounced back onto the cold, hard floor, gasping for breath.

The young man, as if terrified of what he had just done, quickly stood up and approached Mark, who was still lying on the floor gasping for air. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, his voice shaking with fear. "I just want to stay away from people so I won't hurt them. I'm very, very sorry." Tears started streaming down his face as he watched Mark struggle to catch his breath.

Mark, still clenching his chest, forced himself to stand up and reassure the young man. "I'm okay, I'm not hurt," he said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. "You need to calm down and stop acting like a kid." But the young man's expression only grew more desperate.

He examined Mark's body, his eyes scanning every inch for any sign of injury. After not seeing any blood or wounds, his expression relaxed considerably, replaced by a deep relief. But then, he started pleading again, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I promise I won't touch you or anyone again. But please, just leave me alone." His body shook with sobs, and Mark felt a pang of sympathy for the troubled young man.

"What happened to you?" Mark asked the young man, his curiosity piqued by the way he was behaving. Mark felt like there might be a story behind him, a very touching and sad story. But the young man remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground.

Undeterred, Mark walked over to him and sat down beside him. "The heart of a man is deeper than what you can think," Mark said, his voice filled with empathy. "Every man out there has his own story or past that they are trying very hard to forget. Did you know why they have it? That is because it is what makes us men. Even in the face of oppression, we are to remain unyielding and not give up, because we all have a purpose to fulfill."

Mark smiled wistfully and gazed at the prison's locked gate. "I learnt that from someone," he continued, "someone I'll never forget about in my entire life. Someone who taught me that no matter how dark the night may seem, there's always a glimmer of hope. And that hope is what makes us human."

The young man slowly lifted his head, his eyes locking onto Mark's. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, the young man looked away, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Mark put a hand on his shoulder, offering what little comfort he could.