Liam

Noah lay motionless in bed, staring at the ceiling as the morning sun streamed through his window. He couldn't shake the weight of what Maiya had said. The words "lost cause" echoed in his mind, louder and louder until he wanted to scream.

It wasn't until his stomach grumbled that he forced himself out of bed. When he glanced at the clock, it was already 11 a.m. School had started hours ago, but no one in the house had bothered to wake him.

He dragged himself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. His reflection in the mirror looked as empty as he felt—dark circles under his eyes, messy hair, hollow cheeks. He looked away quickly and brushed his teeth without much care.

When he made his way downstairs, the house was silent. Michael was at his elementary school. Henry was at his high school. His dad was at work, and his mom? Who knew?

The only sign of life was a plate of cold leftover toast and scrambled eggs on the counter. He ate in silence, the food tasteless in his mouth. Afterward, he sat in the living room, turning on the TV. He flipped through channels aimlessly, not paying attention to any of it.

Two hours passed like this, and he realized he couldn't sit still anymore. He needed to get out of the house.

---

Noah went back to his room, grabbing his sketchbook and a small pouch of pencils. His room was still a mess—papers torn and scattered across the floor, broken bits of graphite and charcoal everywhere. He glanced around, sighed, and muttered, "I'll deal with it later."

Heading outside, he decided to walk to clear his mind. As he walked, he thought about Maiya and how everything had gone wrong. He wanted to talk to her, to explain, but the fear of Henry loomed over him like a dark cloud.

He passed the park near his house without even noticing, lost in his thoughts. By the time he realized, he was far beyond it. Instead of turning back, he decided to head to a quieter park he had been to once before. It was about an hour's walk, but the solitude it offered was worth it.

---

The journey felt strangely long but gave Noah a chance to observe the world around him.

He passed a small playground where children were playing tag, their laughter ringing out in the warm air. A group of teenagers sped past him on bikes, their carefree voices and banter carrying on the wind.

Further down the street, he saw a young mother pushing her toddler on a swing, her face glowing with joy. A father walked by, his little girl perched on his shoulders, her tiny hands holding on to his head as she giggled at the clouds above.

Noah's chest tightened. He had never experienced anything like that. No loving parents. No carefree childhood. Just endless loneliness, arguments, and insults.

He kicked a pebble on the sidewalk, watching it bounce and skitter away. The only thought repeating in his mind was: "Why couldn't I have been born into a family like that?"

---

Finally, after an hour of walking, he reached the park. It was quiet, with a large lake in the center surrounded by trees. Ducks floated lazily on the water, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

Noah found a shady spot under a large tree near the lake. He sat down, pulling out his sketchbook and pencils. The peace and quiet helped calm him, at least a little.

He opened his sketchbook and began to draw.

At first, he started sketching a happy family of five—a mother, a father, and three children playing together. The parents were holding hands with their kids, everyone smiling and carefree. But as he worked on it, a wave of frustration hit him.

"This is bullshit," he muttered under his breath.

He tore the page from his sketchbook, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it aside. He didn't want to draw fantasies. He wanted to draw something real, something that reflected how he actually felt.

He flipped to a fresh page and started again, this time sketching a lone knight resting under a tree.

The knight's armor was battered, with dents and scratches covering its surface. His cape was tattered and bloodstained, and his helmet sat discarded beside him. A heavy sword was planted in the ground nearby, its blade dull and nicked.

The knight's face was weary, his eyes half-closed as if he were too tired to move. His hands, scarred and trembling, rested on his knees. In the background, a battlefield stretched out—a wasteland of broken weapons, shattered shields, and lifeless bodies. Smoke curled into the dark, stormy sky, casting an ominous shadow over everything.

Noah poured all his emotions into the drawing—the exhaustion, the pain, the hopelessness. This wasn't a victorious knight or a heroic figure. This was someone who had fought too hard for too long and had nothing left to give.

Suddenly, a voice startled him.

A man coming out from a bush

"Dude, this is f**king awesome!"

Noah nearly jumped out of his skin, his pencil slipping from his fingers. He turned around to see a boy around Henry's age grinning at him, holding up the drawing.

The boy had messy, unkempt hair and wore a slightly wrinkled hoodie. His smile was wide, his eyes filled with excitement.

"What—who are you?" Noah stammered, getting to his feet.

The boy ignored the question, still staring at the sketch. "Did you draw this? This is insane! Like, seriously, this is so good!"

Noah blinked, unsure how to respond.

The boy looked up at him, still grinning. "Dude, it's awesome."