SCARS OF THE NIGHT INCIDENT

❝

"The world is nothing but a shadowy labyrinth of riddles and gloom, a universe of unfathomable enigma and despair."

IN A STATE, a feminine voice could be heard speaking in the vast void. The disembodied voice spoke, seemingly talking to an invisible listener. Who he was conversing with and where their location was a mystery to him.

But the voice, within the utter stillness, seemed out so clear and real as if right before him.

Her voice was little more than a whisper in the ear and a hummingbird singing through the branches of small trees; that's all he could hear. The question, "Will he be alright?" would be asked by the unknown feminine voice, and echo on. To this, "Yes, he'll be alright," would come a response that sounded like from a man's voice.

"This is rest for only a few weeks, or a month," continued the man, 

"His wounds are not much severe or critical, for as per my observations, he is manageable."

When the woman sighed with relief after hearing that man's reply, footsteps would soon follow her voice. Very slowly, the man's eyes opened though blurry vision; all he could see was just an actual blurred silhouette looming above him, almost as if it were staring down on him. For a few seconds, he lingered unmoving, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light, trying to fathom the presence that was mysterious before him. 

"I knew this would happen." 

By what the woman said while looking down at the unconscious man, this is my fault indeed, she said to herself, her words ringing in the air, and the tone has guilt within it. As the reality of her words sunk into her knowing, she closed her eyes tightly, as if exposing herself to consequences of her action. 

Still, he was lying there, consciousness lost again, and had turned himself into a man who was possible to be awakened from within the curse. It was one she had brought upon herself. 

There was silence for the woman, her words being nothing but a whisper she spoke deep within herself: "If only I wouldn't have done it, mayhap, it could have been different?" she uttered those words again and again, as if a chant with all of its regrets. 

She was probably guilty and feeling mostly responsible. Most likely that she was feeling heavy now for the weight of the punishment that she would have to carry for that unfortunate decision. 

Grabbing a small basin filled with water, the woman sat beside the hospital bed and dampened a clean piece of cloth with the water. With such an attitude, she started wiping the young man's body with the water-dampened cloth for each of his wounds as if those were the marks of a mother on her child. 

With tender, almost loving strokes, she brushed dirt from his skin over his injuries, leaving him with just a suggestion of moisture on his body. 

She did this cautiously and tenderly, taking care that no extra pain was induced in him, as if handling her precious gem. As the lady was caring for the injured person, she prescribed medicines, as written by the doctors, to hasten his recovery and make it as easy as possible.

It was her fault that the incident happened after all, and she took it upon herself to help the young man toward recovery. Whatever care and concern she could muster was offered along with her very best wishes for the young man's complete recovery.

With life retreats from pain, the man lay still, his mind filled with illusions, and fragments of memories played in the back of his subconscious. Sweet and soothing though weak was the voice of another woman saying, "It's alright...I will always be there." And there he lay, still and quiet, listening to the comforting presence of that voice through all the uncertainty and helplessness. 

Within the dream, the man remembered ash-blond wavy hair adorning the woman. Her skin was ivory and the color of snow during Christmas time, and the lip color was red- bright red- a shade similar to that of an antique goblet containing the finest vintage red wine.

A crimson reminder of the bloody incident, so far buried in his memory amidst rises of rage and pain, stained the woman's memory, leaving deep prints in the fast-vanishing conscious mind. 

Illusions filled the ill man's subconscious, but as fragments of memories now came together, the woman somehow smiled until she stopped. At that point, the lovely, clear presence of sorrow began to crack and break into thousands of pieces, an image shattered within progressively establishing panes of glass. 

It was with memories, some of which contained beautiful moments with the woman, that dust particles fell, exiting into the wind and disappeared, only to leave behind this painful moment. 

As if one already stays up late into the night pondering, in that moment, darkness took over and became engulfed by the very fact that memories yet lost were eating at the man and spirit. In his mind-light, the gruesome cries of a child emerged and carved through the air.

"Why?" he cried from somewhere far behind;

"Why did she take the blade instead of you?!"

"CURSE YOU!" cursed the young boy, anguish in every word, each word pierced through the man's heart like an acid. The boy's face was telling the pain, tears falling after being held back for so long. The boy seemed to blame no one but the man who was frozen in the empty void of memories.

"The blame is on you for her death!" he continued, and his words reverberated off the walls of the man's mind as self-blame and guilt tore every bit apart.

Now everything is a nightmare; how they were unraveling will be another story, another terror of witness. "You don't even deserve that honorable recognition by our...FATHER!"  His charge became pretty personal, sent forth from the mouth of a young man filled with raw rage, whose heartache, rejection, and betrayal seemed to spur the chaos and confusion rending tissue between those two minds further. 

"Are you even suitable for this honorable name? You are nothing but an obstacle for my DREAMS!" He continued, his tone shifting towards disappointment, as if trying to crush the man's self-esteem even further.

"Let it have been you who died instead of her," the voice continued, adding with a dagger-sharp and painful finality his words.

The man gave his best shot to pretended to be tough and strong, pretending to be brave when in fact, he was easily toppled and brought down by all the illusions from his memory. In the darkness of unconsciousness, he shrieked and howled to himself for most of the day, blaming himself while tears dripped out loud as the sorrow so broke him that he encaged himself until the next day's dawn.

He murmured to himself through some tears, trying hard to get himself together, but the memory of pain and guilt lingered on. With every passing moment, he felt the pain in both body and soul when reality struck him about his wrongs.

"Forgive me... Mother."