Shades of the Past
by Kellnoa's Sorrow
Chapter I
Affliction of the Wicked
There was a particularly ominous feel to the air that day. In place of the fiery evening sun, masses of billowing dark clouds, interrupted by the occasional flash of lightning and thunder soon after, reigned in its stead. From the northern Angean Sea, just beyond the forested cliffs of northern Westarim, came strong ocean breezes, tainted with the aromoa of sweet ocean salt, that howled as they weaved themselves between the densely populated trees in an effort to reach the interior lands beyond the forest edge. Along with the wind, there also came an autumn chill that would cause most people to shiver before drawing their clothes closer to their bodies, teasingly reminding them that summer was long over and winter not far off.
Though it had just begun to pour, the young boy felt indifferent to it, putting forth no effort to shield himself from the rain or wind. Instead, he stood there amongst the stormy chaos, dangerously close to the edge of a cliff that led to a rocky beach far below, with strong waves that washed against the shore in a broken rythm. The only thing he did was continually twirl the single flower that lay between two of his fingers. With a blank expression masking the emotions he felt, his sad eyes were focused on the dark shape before him.
In front of him stood a towering oak tree, dark and slick with the pellets of rain that continually bombarded it. The gold and red autumn leaves, awesome and vibrant in the sun, seemed dull and dead in the darkness of the clouds, eerily shaking in the wind in protest. In lieu of the storm, the tree gave off an air of death, perfect for its service as a natural tombstone for the coffin that was entwined within its roots deep in the earth.
Despite the presence of a coffin, he knew that it was completely empty, save for the single photograph of his late older brother. His body was located elsewhere, most likely at the bottom of the sea where he had perished. His death had occured two years earlier, but the events of that day were crystal clear in the mind of the younger sibling left behind.
The boy had loved his brother very much, as they used to be very close despite the three year age difference. And in some ways, he still did. However, he also housed a deep hatred for what his brother had done to both himself and his family. His brother's death had shaken his family to no end, and two years later they still hadn't fully recovered from their loss. Their mother still cried, especially late at night, when she suspected everyone else was asleep, or appeared to be. Their younger sister had occasional nightmares, though that didn't stop her from trying to be optimistic for her family. Their father, since then, had tried to stay strong and provide a pillar of support for his family, but it was apparent in his eyes that even he couldn't escape the effects of the tragedy.
But the boy had probably taken it the hardest. After the tragic event, the youth seemed to have given up on life istelf. Since then, he didn't smile as much as he did in his younger years, and he rarely held any joyous expressions like he used to. The majority of his wardrobe consisted of dark clothes, which he had worn everyday for the past year and a half. In fact, it wasn't out of respect or tradition that he wore a black suit to his brother's grave - it was more out of habit, as he wasn't the type to follow tradition.
Because of his ghastly appearance, he never made much, if any, friends. He always wore a serious look on his face, and hardly spoke at all, even when he was being spoken to. Many people were too scared of him to befriend him, and rather teased him instead, though he didn't care much at all. He didn't care about the looks they gave him, or the rumors that spread about him. They didn't understand.
Standing there, he gave no notice of his short, limp black hair that flailed about him in the wind, occasionally obscuring his vision, hair so black that it accentuated his dark personality and appearance. The only thing that seemed out of place to most people where his pale blue-green eyes that frequently betrayed him in terms of what he was feeling or experiencing. His most captivating feature, they were always distant as though he were worlds away, and dulled by the amount of guilt he had placed on himself during the years. Since the incident, he had continually blamed himself for his brother's death, that it was entirely his fault.
That was why he was occasionally haunted by his brother's ghost.
Despite this, as well as the way he acted, there weren't many people who believed him. Not his parents nor his sister, not even his therapist. They all aclaimed that it was an illusion, a product of his severe depression and feelings of guilt for which he had no right to feel. They claimed that therapy and medication would help, that the "illusion" would eventually rid itself of his psyche, and that he would eventually become better enough to "rejoin society in a perfectly healthy way." It would all come in time. But the sessions and the medication and all the support he recieved never helped in the slightest of ways. His brother's ghost would continue to appear, his appearance exactly as it was when the boy last saw him.
"Travis," he wispered softly, the sound barely audible over the howling of the wind. "Travis...under different circumstances, this would have been the last time I would have visited you, especially like this. For two years, I've been suffering day in and day out, along with Mom, Dad, and Tamissa. After all this time, we are still grieving over your death. Every day..."
"Everyday, I wanted to believe that I was in a dream - no, a nightmare - and that I would finally wake up any second to find that we were a family again, no death, no sadness, no troubles. But I've never woken up, and the more I stay dreaming, the more realistic and unbearable this life just seems to get."
The boy stole a quick glance over his shoulder, towards the edge of the cliff he stood on before he continued. "But just recently, I've been having thoughts that could possibly liberate me from this nightmarish hell, and, hopefully, give me the chance to see you again." He took a small step back towards the empty air. "Free of the sadness." He took another step. "Free of the depression." He took another step. "Free of the medication...the emotions...the past...the future...free of you." He took several more steps back, the last taking him to the jagged edge of the ground. A few stray pieces of rock and soil managed to free themselves from the earth, only to tumble to the rocky bottom.
"But then I realized what I would be doing, not just to me, but to our family. Unlike you, I've thought of the impact my actions could have on others. For all I know, my death could possibly cause my mother to die fromt the heartache of losing two children, my father to abandon my family, and my sister to grow up alone with the knowledge that she has two dead brothers, one dead mother, and one father who harbors no feelings for her whatsoever."
With a gradual raise in volume, the boy's semi-deep voice began to quake. "But what about you? What were you thinking when you decided to risk your life for mine?! Did you realize that you would leave behind a mother who often weeps for her firstborn, a father who tries and fails to help his family cope with your death, a sister who is nocturnally traumatized about her dead brother, and a brother who can't cope with your actions, who is almost willing to kill himself if it meant an escape from his problems?!" Slow tears began to coarse down his face, only to quickly dissapate by the heavily pouring rain. "I'm not worth saving..." he whispered. As he cried, he took a step toward the grave, away from the cliff edge.
"I'm not worth saving...you should have just let me die...if I had, I wouldn't have to deal with the pain of a broken family, of not having hope for my future! I should have been the one to die, the one lucky enough to rest in peace!" The flower in the boy's hands began to bend awkwardly at the stem between his fingers, before finally ripping it to shreds and tossing it to the ground.
His mind snapped, his voice screaming, his eyes filled with hot rage, he raced towards the base of the tree, where he fell to his knees to momentarily glance at the small menagerie of fresh flowers brought in by other mourners throughout the day. His trembling hands soon found themseves tearing at the flowers, some buried in the soil, some wrapped in decorated paper. His hands, clothes, shoes, and even his face soon became covered in soil, but the raging storm of conflicting emotions within him continued to bellow, keeping him blind to the mess; they were the least of his worries. He was on a high, his mind only set on the fact that he had been denied happiness and normality, all because of his brother's actions.
Within a few minutes, his actions began to slow, his sorrow-filled rage quickly subsiding. Taking a few deep breaths, occasionally choking as he sobbed, he was too afraid to look at the damage he had caused. He had no memory of his physical agony, having "blacked out" and now just awoken. But he knew that deep inside he had done something seriously worng. Anytime he blacked out during periods of intense emotion, he always awoke to a horrible aftermath with no recollection of the evetns that had transpired, similar to what had occured at that moment.
He hoped against hope that the damage was minimal as he viewed his handiwork, only to gasp in shock. As his eyes fell upon tattered petals and broken stems, a wave of guilt washed over him, intense to the point of nausea. In addition, the words engraved in the tree, the ones that had read "R.I.P., Travis Trouleway, Who gave his life for another", were deeply scratched to the point where half of the writing was unreadable. He couldn't comprehend how he had caused this damage to wood, with no sharp objects around save for his dirtied, bloodied fingers.
Had he done what he just did? Had he just tried to ruin his brother's grave, to disrespect his memorial? To disrespect Travis himself? His body began to tremble as the realization hit him. The tears in his eyes began to fall even faster, blurring his vision to the point where everything was a blur, all the same, blackish color. Or maybe it was just his eyes closed.
Whatever the reason, his sorrow and the surrounding storm helped to obscure the presence of a lone, dark bird flying high in the sky, the sole witness to the boy's actions. In the instant that followed, a fierce bolt of unfathomable power ripped through the tree-grave right before the boy with a loud crack, the ensuing force propelling him to within a few feet of the cliff's edge. It was followed by a small torrent of wooden shards that embedded themselves into his flesh at an alarming speed.
Moments passed like an eternity before he attempted to lift himself from the ground, only to scream in protest before crumbling to the ground. Any slight movement he made was rewarded by a searing pain that spread through his entire being, a pain completely unbearable for one his age. Nevertheless, he slowly managed to shift his arm just enough so as not to obscure his vision, allowing his eyes to rest upon the horrific scene before him. As he did, his heart sank, and he fought the urge to vomit.
Before him laid the shattered remains of his brother's grave; once a towering tree that had survived for many ages, it was now nothing more than a charred, crumbling stump. All in a matter of seconds...even less. It was vigorously aflame, as were several other trees in the surrounding vicinity. With horror, he realized that the trees weren't the only things on fire; there were flames in every direction, blocking any means of escape save for the long plummet into the sea below him. That was if her were lucky enough to avoid the rocks below. But even that option seemed dismal at best, as the fall would most likely prove fatal from his current height.
Aided by the adrenaline pounding through his veins, briefly numbing his pain, he managed to stand on one knee, his arms dangling at his sides, his face wrought with fear. His face was alight with the glow of the flames which slowly inched in his directions, despite the heavy bombardment of rain.
As the flames closed in on him, he scrambled on his hands and knees towards the rocky edge, tears flowing down his dirt-covered face. In the back of his mind he prayed to whatever deity existed that he might be spared, forgiven for whatever sin he had committed, because anything else would lead to his demise.
Slowly standing at the very edge, with his body protesting in pain and his eyes aglow in an orange haze, the twelve year old took a glimpse over his shoulder towards the rocky beach below. It was a very long drop. He had the choice of either burning to death, or jumping to be impaled, as the ocean was much too far for him to jump given his condition. Unfortunately, the choice was not his to make as the fire leapt at him at that moment, eagerly consuming his flesh. Releasing a guttural scream that shook him to the bone, he reacted on instinct and futilely tried to put the flames out. The sudden movement caused his injured body to lean back and lose its balance. In seconds he was in mid-air, still engulfed in flames and plummeting to his death.
As his mind began to go into shock, his body screaming unbeknownst to his failing consciousness, some part of Ryan Trouleway wondered if he would ever be waking up from the sleep that soon claimed him.
E N D C H A P T E R O N E