Journals and Diaries

Chapter 3

"What is duty? The literal definition would be something that one is expected or required to do by moral or legal obligation. But should one only follow what is told or make one of their own?" -Jack

The last time he saw his father, he was seven. His mother had cried that day, for she knew that once a man was sent to war, chances of him coming back was as good as a horse that could fly. She hugged him, drenching his shirt with unrelenting tears. He didn't understand much, but he returned it, rubbing her back comfortably as how he remembered his father would often do.

It was true, only three years after, a man came upon their door, face full of sorrow and regret. He was their close neighbor, Kaidan, a messenger from the army. He understood by then, no words were needed for explanation. His mother fell to her knees, broken, sobbing uncontrollably. Kaidan tried to console her, but she wouldn't, couldn't, stop. That was the day he knew what it meant to take responsibility, as a son to his mother, and as a man to his family.

He studied hard, with the best effort that he could muster. He would then go home and assist his mother in anyway he could. Cleaning furniture, carrying heavy items, yard work, and even to cooking. He was still terrible and tend to mess up quite a bit, but it had been a long road of trials and errors, and he was proud of his progress. He wanted for her to be happy, he didn't want to see tears coming from those brilliantly blue and beautiful eyes anymore.

His aunt made sure to visit his mother every single weekend despite the two hours worth of driving. He liked her, even though her cooking skills were dreadful compared to his mother's. She really knew how to lift others' spirit, it was a nice sight when his mother actually smiled. It made him happy too. But whenever his mother's sister left, she became sad again, and so was he.

Then came a day for military drafting; all males above the age of sixteen were forced into service for at least five years. He wasn't too thrilled, he didn't want to leave his mother's side. What if she fell ill? What if she needed his assistance on carrying boxes? What if she started crying again? He loved her too much to go, he would rather die for her than his country. But the law was absolute.

She tried to stay strong, but her shoulders had betrayed her. Her eyes was not listening to her mind as her heart had taken control of her emotions. He was taller than her now by a good few inches. She buried her head into the crook of his neck, fingers gripping onto his shoulders, begging for him not to go. His arms were around her body, so tight as if he would never get another chance. He had promised, over and over again, that he would come back, no matter what.

When the final call came from the conductor, he reluctantly let her go against her will. He strapped the pack over his shoulders and made way for the train. When he looked back, she had her arms around her frame, she looked so vulnerable and broken. He hated himself. He shot his arm up into the air and waved, shouting his promise and that he would write. She looked at him with a sad expression, but managed to return a weak smile. His aunt was there too, she ran up giving him a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek.

He felt a small surge of confidence and gave the biggest grin he could to what could possibly the last time.

…

4 years later.

…

The vehicle made a jolt as it bumped on a pothole on the asphalt road. His eyes shot opened instantly bringing his body upward. He groaned and leaned back into the car seat, rubbing his eyes with one hand, killing sleep in the process. He smacked his lips and glanced out through the window to see a pleasant view and rolled down the glass.

People scattered in the streets doing their daily businesses, kids running about with a ball being passed around. Buildings ranging from small of large stretched from one end of the road to the other. Even more appeared when the jeep passed an intersection. The city was the same as he remembered it and a fond smile crept up onto his face. These were normal people, they were living, not fighting. The sky was blue and almost free of clouds, not gray and filled with smokes. Complete houses sheltered civilians, not crumbling buildings that hid snipers. The road was gray and hard, not mud and dirty. These were the sound of car horns and conversations, not artilleries and commands.

He took in the sight with hunger, the sound with bliss, and the smell with comfort. He couldn't wait for the food, the greatest work of art humans had ever created. He leaned his head back into the headrest and gave a sigh.

"Tired? Sore?" The driver asked him. He could see the man wearing a pair of shades through the rear-view mirror. Middle age, short black hair and in military uniform and a slightly baritone voice.

"No, just nostalgic," he replied.

"Ah I see, anyone waiting at home?"

"Just a caring mother."

"Think that she's worried?"

"Oh, definitely," he chuckled.

"How so?" The driver asked.

"I ah, haven't written anything back in two years."

"And how many have you been away?"

"About four."

The driver whistled.

"That's quite some time. So what happened to your arm?"

He looked down to his left arm. Instead of it being covered in the jacket sleeve, it was wrapped with white hard bandages and situated in a dark blue sling. He shrugged.

"Got shot, fell down and fractured it. Not that big of a deal, it'll heal in a month or so."

"I'd say that's a good thing that you got discharged, no longer have to deal with always ducking and covering."

"And the food, ugh, I swear the cook poured his sweats into the," he said and the driver guffawed.

"Been there, seen it, definitely don't want to again," the man chuckled. "Got diarrhea for a whole week my first month in boot camp. Well here we are."

The off-road vehicle was pulled up next to a building that was all too familiar to him. A few things had changed, there were flowers blooming now, red aligned with white and yellow spread along the porch. The tree in the front yard was as green as one could get. The spring season was really a beautiful time.

"Home sweet home, Private," the driver said and turned around to look at him. "A son shouldn't keep his mother waiting."

"Yeah," he nodded and unlatched the door. The moment his foot touched the ground, a gust of wind blew by, sending a cool and fresh feeling. He reached in for the backpack and strapped it over the right should. Closing the door he started trekking to the house, he turned around to face the driver.

"Thanks for the ride Sarge."

"Godspeed, Private," the driver returned a well-known gesture.

He saluted and watched as the jeep drove away. He took in a deep breath and let it out before walking to the porch. Step by step he went and stopped in front of the brown door. He pressed the bell.

Buzzzz!

There were shuffling noise at first and then he heard footsteps. It was getting louder and his heart started beating hastily. Straightened his shoulders, he eyed as the door creaked from the old wood.

A pair of eyes peeked out from behind, they were blue, the same as his mother's. But the hair was different, it was strawberry blonde instead. The woman opened the door all the way and gasped.

He smiled.

"Hi aunty."

Tears swelled up from her eyes and she threw her arms around his neck for a rigid embrace. He wasted no time hugging back with his injured arm out of the way.

"I can't believe you're back," she wailed, clamping her hands together that it almost hurt.

"Well, surprise," he said sheepishly.

She released him and held her hands on his face.

"She'll be so happy."

Then she saw his arm and her eyes widened.

"What happen-"

"Anna? Who's at the door?" A voice came from within, one that he had not heard in the past four dreadful years.

His aunt Anna snapped up and suddenly grinned as she called back.

"Why don't you come and see for yourself Elsa."

There were footsteps again, but this time less pronounced than Anna's, these were more gentle. He waited with baited breath when a figure came out from inside the kitchen. When she saw him, she froze in mid step, her eyes grew as wide as they could. She gapped as if she was seeing a ghost.

"Jack..."

He felt a nudge from his aunt before walking up to his mother. She could only stare at him as he came closer. He looked at her and wrapped his right arm around his mother drawing her closer. Slowly he felt her trembling arms behind his back. He heard a few hitches from her.

"Shhh, it's okay mum, I'm here now."

Her grip tightened and she broke out into weeps. His front was feeling hot as her tears ran down freely. He began patting her back as she cried.

"It's okay, I won't go anywhere again," he tried to console her, but he was in joy knowing that his mother was still healthy and well.

"Wh-when I didn't get your letters tw-two years ago, I thought that," she choked while speaking. "I th-thought that you were-"

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything back, it was so hectic out there."

He pulled back and looked down at her. She had aged, wrinkles had started to show, but she was still beautiful as he remembered.

"Don't worry mum, I'm home now," he smiled.

She grabbed his head and pulled down planting her lips on his forehead. He closed his eyes bathing in the comfort his mother was providing. He had missed this, she always did when she's proud of him, and it made him grinned like a little child.

Released from the kiss, she traced her hands around his cheeks, eyes still watering.

"My baby's home, my little boy is home."

He put a hand over hers.

"Yes mum, I'm home."

She took a look at his arm and was shocked.

"What happened to you?"

"Don't worry, it'll heal."

"And you're so skinny now, you haven't skipping meals have you young man?"

He replied sheepishly.

"The army's food is kind of terrible."

"No excuses, I will go make you lunch right now and you better eat them all," she demanded.

"But mum, I just got home."

"Not one more word. You're looking like a walking fishbone," she pulled his ear into the kitchen.

"Ow ow ow, mum!"

He could hear his aunt's joyous laughter from the background. He didn't care about the slight pain as he was so happy. This was home, not a battlefield. He was now back at his abode, no longer sleeping in dark bunkers. His military life was now a thing of the past, he looked forward to the future.

She had been taking care of him ever since he came into the world, now it was his job to do the same until she leave it. It's a duty given to him when he was born, and also one he assigned himself as a son to his mother.

Author's Note: okay, so this started as a snippet for my own original story, but I decided to make it into a short one-shot for fun. Hopefully you guys liked it. I always thought that it's rare seeing a mother and son relationship, so I went with this. I didn't really want to make a romance and I have always preferred a familial one, finger-crossed that it's good enough. Also this is something for you guys to read while I continue working on Sky Clock and the next part to the detective story.

To my little annoying virtual sister MischievousRose: Just give me like...6 months! That's half from what I asked last time!

-May the Fortress be with You.