1. Mana
"Mana? Can we get some food soon? Please?" seven-year-old Allen Walker inquired to his adoptive father, Mana Walker as they sauntered hand-in-hand on the dirt road approaching the large capital city of London. His grey-blue eyes were earnest and wide. "I'm really, really hungry. So, so hungry I could eat thiiissss muuuch!" Allen spread his arms as far apart as he could reach and grinned.
Mana laughed wholeheartedly. "But don't you always eat that much, Allen?" He smoothed over the boy's longish mass of unkempt brown hair.
"Well . . . yes," Allen admitted. Then his cute, childish features lit up. "It's always better when you eat with me, Mana! Can you do that? Tonight?"
Mana scratched his forehead. "I'm not sure, Allen. Practice runs late tonight." Mana was a traveling clown. He had a show almost every night, so he rarely had time to eat a meal with his son.
In truth, Mana didn't enjoy his silly career, not especially. However, the pay was fair, and he never got the same thrill of filling the hearts of foolish children with joy. It made the dark and dreary Earth seem less gloomy, having children with gay and innocent souls throughout it. Just like Allen, who he knew must fullfill his duty to God and become, someday, one of them. An-
"Mana!" Allen called.
Mana turned around. There was Allen, fallen on the road behind him. Mana had been lost in thought and hadn't noticed the child stumble.
"Get up, Allen. Keep walking."
"O- okay," Allen said, scrambling to his feet. He was brushing off his knees when he heard rattling above him. He looked up in time to see a carrige rushing toward him.
"ALLEN!" He heard Mana yell. He couldn't move. He was imobile, frozen in place by the means of fear.
The veichle didn't halt.
Before he could emit a scream, Allen felt hands on his back, forcing him off the road. His body hit the roadside, and he cried out in alarm, but he wasn't severely injured. He was alive, panting, hearing, seeing.
As for Mana . . .
"MANA!!" Allen shouted. He ran to Mana's side. Mana lay sprawled, a pool of blood forming around him.
"MANA!"
"Uh . . . Allen," Mana murmured.
"Oh, Mana, don't die! Please don't die! You got hit because of me! I'm sorry, just please-"
Mana Walker used the last of his stregnth to grasp Allen's gloved left wrist. He knew what was under the thick fabric- a twisted, unmoving deformity of an arm that would certainly cast Allen as an outsider if it was exposed. It was the reason why his parents had abandoned him, the reason for his cruel fate, and partly the reason why Mana had taken in the boy as a small toddler. Because no one else would have.
"Allen, listen to me," Mana said firmly. "Until life runs out of you, keep walking. Keep walking until the day you die!"
"Mana! Don't go!" Tears streamed down the child's dirty face.
"Keep . . . Walking . . ."
Mana's grip loosened, and he died.
Allen sobbed. "Mana! Don't leave me! I need you!"
Mana was still, his body limp, but Allen didn't want to believe that he was dead. He couldn't be, not Mana, the most kindest and loving and sweetest person he'd ever known. Who could he go to now?
Allen had never seen death before. It frightened him. He hated it. He wanted to get rid of it. He thought God was just the meanest person in the universe to take Mana away from him. Mana didn't deserve to die. He was the best dad in the world.
And now he was gone. Allen didn't know what to do. All he could do was stare impassively at the setting sun sinking lower and lower into the horizon, its rays casting a glare overlooking the bustling evening streets of the near city of London.
He did not care about anything. All he wanted was for Mana to be back . . . and for that, he'd do anything. Anything at all.
Allen had no idea how simple that would be, to gain back his father's life. Nor did he know that all gains in life had consequences.