Five years has passed since the first meeting with Issachar's family. Flynn, now in his early teenage years, has begin to work at the farms' fields with Issachar and the same boys who once tormented him relentlessly.
After that fateful day, the boys quickly became friends. Issachar, honest and protective nature, quickly caught on about Flynn's unjust treatment. The boy wasn't afraid to scare off the other children from his best friend. Yet, despise the bullies' vocal insults to the green eyed child, Issachar never asked why they called him 'Freak' or 'a whore's son'. All he provided was a few sharp words, a shoulder when Flynn was caught alone and a second home to his friend. Sophie and Frederick never chased away Flynn from their house, even if they knew of his troubled past and the nature of the roaming rumours. Sophie and Flynn's mother became good friends as well. Despise the whispers of the other villagers, both mothers would find a moment to be together while the boys would be playing.
Now, Flynn was no longer looked down upon most the villagers and his mother received the respect as well. The children from before never laid another kick or punch upon him, for it has change and they needed to vent their problems another way. The tiny family was finally happy.
''Hoi Flynn!'' Issachar ran at him, big goofy smile on his face. Just like him, he seemed exhausted from today's work. They plowed so much of the earth, the scent lingered all around the farm, ''Ready to go home?''
Flynn nodded at his friend, small smile included. The raven-haired teen felt secured around Issachar, not only he's his best friend, but also the big brother he never had. He is forever thankful for his friend's endless kindness. He feared even death wouldn't pay back for all of he has done in the last few years.
The march back home was uneventful, yet Issachar managed to make it interesting by explaining of his father's last errand. He described the Mikado Castle and the giant city's lively neighbourhood.
''Pa said when we'll be of age, he might sent me there as well,'' Issachar said with a grin, ''Wanna come?''
Flynn looked at him with a shocking stare.
''What, you thought I wasn't gonna ask?'' The energetic boy laughed it off, ''What big brother am I if I don't bring my little bro to Mikado Castle?''
Flynn let out a faint chuckled and nod at the invitation.
''Great, so when my Pa thinks we're ready I'll tell you!'' And on this, he ran off to his house waving off Flynn.
The young man walked to his house, a small place, but enough for him and his mother. As he approached the wooden door, the teen noticed the door open ever so slightly. The teen frowned at it and quietly entered his home. He then closed the door behind him.
The kitchen looked active. A pot placed over the chimney's fire, a nice smell of chicken soup roamed the eerie room. The teen inspect the cocking area, vegetables were cut and a half done carrot lied there on the table. His guts were telling him something was missing, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.
Flynn returned to the pot and carefully lifted the lid. The ingredients turned soggy and mushy. They must have been over the fire for a long time now. He put back the lid on.
''Ma?'' He dared call out to her and made his way to their room. As he stepped closer, his ears caught a noise. A whisper of a voice while the pot was boiling the water and unrecognizable ingredients.
Getting closer to their room, he leaned over the frame and hears it. His mother's voice, the same tone she was using to sing him songs when he was a child. Quietly, he opened the door and found her. She was sitting on her bed, back toward him as she hummed a strange tune. He never heard her sing that song before. It was a slow and repetitive song, but it was sad to listen to.
Flynn swallowed the knot in his throat and licked his lips, ''M-Mom?''
His mother stopped her reverie, a disturbing silence circled in the room. For a moment, neither he or she did spoke a word.
''Flynn,'' his mother called out to him, her tone calm and smoothing, ''how was today, my son?''
''G-Good,'' Flynn didn't like this, his mother's voice didn't sound happy or angry. It was a neutral tone, lacking any emotions in it. ''Are you okay, Ma? Do you feel ill?''
The woman didn't answer right away, her back still facing her son. The window lighten the room, but didn't give away any of his mother's looks.
''Flynn,'' she began, her tone void of emotions, ''I understand,'' Flynn entered the room, but left the door open, ''I understand everything now.''
Flynn's blood turned cold to her rambling. His mother never talked like this. The lack of emotions, it was frightening him.
''I understand,'' she continued, ''I understand the meaningless of it all,'' she giggled humorlessly, ''I understand, I understand, ahahahah...''
''Mom?'' Flynn took a step forward to his laughing mother and saw the missing thing in the kitchen.
The knife.
In blink of an eye, the woman raised up from the bed, turned around and lunged at Flynn. In disbelief, instincts kicked in and Flynn side stepped away from the sharp edge. She charged and hit the wooden wall. The knife logged in and the woman let out a yell of pain after her nose broke from the impact.
Flynn turned away from his mother and was running at the exit. He made it in front of the boiling pot, when the woman caught him by his long hair and yanked him. The shock made him collapse on the floor. His mother wasn't that strong or quick, how did she manage to catch up to him so fast?
Still stun, Flynn barely took notice this woman turned him to face the ceiling and sit over his chest. Her once-delicate fingers now wrapped around his neck and thinned up around his throat. The son couldn't believe what was happening; his own mother, the woman who protected him and took care of him for many years, was killing him.
Unlike his, her hair were wavy and concealed her face. He could only make out the deformed grin on her face. Her hold was strong, he was struggling to pull away her hands from his neck. Flynn desperately tried to catch any air, but his mother's strangulation made it impossible for oxygen to get in. As she was slowly killing her son, she giggled at her work while panicking green eyes looked at her and were silently pleading for her to stop.
Nobody was knocking on the door, nobody was going to save him. Issachar must be helping his family with diner, while he was dying by the hands of the one who sacrificed so much for his joy and happiness.
His strength were dissipating, his fingers couldn't hold his mother's small wrists and his head began to lighten up.
He was dying.
His mother had made him a cake for the first time at his fifth birthday.
He's going to die.
His mother told him a bedtime story of God and his angels.
She was going to kill him.
His mother hugged him for a hour after he returned home from a bad day. He cried his heart out, he was so scared. So terrified he was going to ruin an innocent family's happiness. For a friendship that he feared and a soup as good than his mother's. ''You're a brave lad Flynn,'' she hushed the crying child, ''you are so brave. You are my little Samurai of love.''
HE MUST LIVE.
The last of his strength gathered up for a split second and he freed himself from his mother's hold. In the heat of the moment, he unwillingly pushed her to the side. She flew head first into the chimney's fire. The crashing wiggled the pot and the hook holding it broke off. The heavy pot dropped down on the woman's head. A sick, squashing sound echoed in the room.
Flynn, out of breathe and wits, starred at the horrible scene. The pot replaced the woman's head, only blood and skull matter squatter the chimney's step. The lifeless body of the woman lied there, slowly burning away the corpse. Blood seeped through the wound, leaving a crimson bloom below her. It was the morbid scene of a murder.
He killed his mother. A crime against God's teachings. He murdered his own mother.
In shock, Flynn felt his stomach churned at the realization of his actions. After he got up on wobbly feet, he used the wall next to the exit to support himself and stumbled out. The fresh air didn't help. He vomited in the middle of the street, gasping and hacking for air. His body trembled over the ordeal, his mind writhed in guilt, his eyes burning up from heavy tears racing down his cheeks.
The agony, sorrow and guilt didn't stop the weaken, but functional reasoning of his mind. His shaking body stood up and Flynn made his way to Issachar's home. The trembling turned worst, in an attempt to subdue the fear the young man wrapped his arms around his chest. The weather was perfect for a day in spring, but for the teenager the wind bite at his exposed face such as a winter's icy gust.
Flynn's thoughts were clouded, whispers climbed up from deep in his mind. They accused, screamed and cried at him. Were they angels wimping with him or devils torturing him? The voices grew louder, he dragged himself across a busy street. All Casualries could see the mess he was. Quiet sobs, trembling frame, bile stained below his lower lip. Nobody did anything, they just watched in shock at the teenager.
After what seemed to be an eternity, Flynn made it to Issachar's residence. The voices were warning him to not knock on the door, they would turn him away or, worst, execute him for his crime. His fist hovered over the wooden frame, invisible hands held it from knocking. His ears caught on Issachar's distinct laughs on the other side. He can't do it. He can't drag his best friend into this.
There's a cliff nearby. It's high enough to jump off and never wake up.
His fist returned to his side. He better get there before nightfall.
But then,
''Flynn?''
The black haired teenager stopped in his tracks. A warm light illuminated his back, he thanked God his friend couldn't see his face.
''Hoi Flynn! It is you!'' Issachar shouted with gleam as he closed the door behind him. Flynn took a moment to look around him. No one was around, good.
''Thought you were staying with your Ma for the night? Ah! Don't tell me you sneak out!'' Issachar unjustly called out on him, his back ran cold by his friend's words, ''Hey, why aren't you turning around?''
Flynn's mind ran thousands of thoughts in his head. He can't let Issachar see him, not like this! He's tainted by matricide, his soul could never be repent for his actions and his friend was getting closer to his broken front. He must run, escape, flee!
But his legs never followed his instructions and there's Issachar in front of him. He dared to look up at his friend's face. The young man was too upset to say or do anything. Like an open book, he knew something bad went down. Maybe it was the dry vomit on his chin, the tears still running from his eyes or his skin pale like snow.
He looked back down, away from Issachar's concerned eyes. His legs buckled at the attempt to move them. He shut his eyes, in a vain hope to wake up from this nightmare.
But, he wasn't ignored. In fact, Issachar touched him. His hand silently circled over his back, before guiding him inside under the twilight sky.
