Godspeed

1# Death, Blood and Cakes

WARNING! You're about to read about how I died a gruesome death and how my life went on a rollercoaster of downhills and uphills (mostly downhills) after I got killed.

      'Wait,' you might wonder, 'didn't you just say you died?'

      Well, you se., I didn't die a normal death. I apparently died a heroic death. Then, I woke up and was told fairies and dragons existed, deities and superhumans lived next door, and giant man-eating babies also have an appetite for McDonald's hamburgers. Don't believe me? Think this is all fiction? Read on! Your ignorant bliss is hilarious to me.

     Really, the world's cruel. Crueller than you'd think. Just when I thought I maybe earned peace from all the stress I've been through, bam! The world serves me a sweet ten-layered cake of pain and agony with a cherry of doom on top.  I can start these layers of cake at any point of my short normal life, but for the sake of your entertainment, I'll begin just before when things get a little more interesting.

I was on school holidays, I had plenty of time to do anything I want right?

     Wrong. My life's been busy ever since my mother stopped working. Both of my parents are carpenters that are pretty well known in the small area where we lived. We were in the woody parts of Ireland where trees dominated the land and lakes of all sizes on the untouched parts. Nature is strong here that you can't even see the other cottages nearby. Ireland's never known for our trees and we're probably known as the least forest-covered place in Europe, but not where I'm from. Under the summer sun, the green trees and the blue lakes really contrast each other yet it makes the scenery sharper.

I loved it here.

     My dad said he and his father planted most of the trees around the area, but I'm not sure if he'd been exaggerating, because it's... a lot. We'd cut down and replant the trees, use the wood to make furniture and decorations to sell. We'll never be rich or anything like that, but there's always food on the table. Half of my life was hanging around in the studio where me and my parents would work on sculptures and trinkets together for hours a day. Now that my mum stopped, I took it as my job to be able to step up my game.

     My dad said she was tired and needed to rest for a while. I believed him at first, for the first thirty seconds. It's not that my mother's lazy or anything, she was anything but lazy, she wouldn't take breaks if her life depended on it. She was strong and stubborn, the kind of person to break a muscular wrestler with only her glare. 

     I've seen it in action before. Once in elementary school, I was having trouble memorising a formula, and Mr Evillman, though I called him Mr Evil Man, made me write down the formula over and over again until I filled an entire notebook with it. Long story short, my mother was not happy and I was pretty sure I heard Mr Evil Man whimper.

     But I've noticed her health growing weaker. In between her flaming red hair, grey strings of hair appeared. Her used-to-be clear and bright green eyes looked dimmer. She was also becoming less active.

     Dad's old rival didn't help the situation, Mr Rudarbith, he'd been threatening to take over the family business. He just materialised on our front door one day and he and dad talked very heatedly, I swear their mouths moved faster than the speed of the sound coming out of it. Mr Rudarbith has the power in the economy around here, don't ask me how, I don't understand business. There were stories of others suffering by his hand and I knew we're next.

     Mum became weaker by the news, she'll only leave her room when she really needs to, dad would bring her breakfast and lunch, he'll guide her anywhere outside the house even just for a harmless stroll. Dad's stress levels have also worsened, he always tried to look fine around me, but he'd get heated up when something goes slightly off, he started muttering colourful words when agitated, he'd push things off the table in rage when "I wasn't looking" and claimed it was an accident.

     'Dad,' I started, 'I know you're mad-'

     'No, Maíre,' he tried for a smile, 'you know what your mother likes to call me, I'm the clumsy pet monkey around here.'

     I pressed on, '-and mum wouldn't want to see you like this.'

     FYI this is where everything went wrong. He picked up the wooden parts on the floor and laid them calmly on the dusty table. He looked up at me and decided to give in and asked, 'what do you suggest I do?'

     This wasn't the Liam Coille I know, he's always been the crafty one, coming up with the ideas. I wanted this all to end, mum was sick, I'm sure of it, and dad was lost and stressed, making me and mum stressed. I've been thinking of a solution for a while now but I'm sure he'd freak out, but I still could try reason with him, now's the chance, 'Dad, the cause of all this is Mr. Rudarbith'

     'Tuathal Rudarbith,' he said with seething resentment, 'and his dreams of monopolising these parts.'

     'He's got the money, the guy has a mansion somewhere over the two hills,' I continued carefully, observing my father as if he was a ticking bomb, 'he can help us.'

     Dad stared at me, the window beside us casting hard shadows upon him, 'Help us? From what? Why would he even help? That greedy rat only cares about himself!'

     Both of us knew what was coming, there's no need for elaboration. He tried to tell me, 'No, that's foolish-'

     'Dad, we won't give him full control on the family business, maybe just the name or credit,' I explained quickly, 'mum is sick and we can get money to nurse her-'

     'It's not just about money Maíre. Coille Works' been going for years! Your great-grandfather and grandfather founded this!' his voice was full of frustration. I insisted, 'They'd agree if it meant helping mum!'

     My dad leaned against the table, hitting both his hands on the table, letting dust explode around him, 'Maíre. We can't just give up like that, your mother would want us to keep fighting, she's still fighting her own way.'

     'Her "fighting" is costing herself!'

     'You know what,' my dad raised his hands in surrender, 'let's not fight, let's just... talk about this another time.'

     He walked away before I could even open my mouth to say something. My heart was racing, how could he watch mum get weaker even longer? Why isn't he trying to help her?

     'Are you just going to sit and watch? How can you bear to see mum suffer longer? we have to do something now!' I called out, standing up. My dad stopped in his tracks and stood still, as still as the huge statue of a man next to him. He sighed and scratched his auburn hair roughly, and carelessly kicked a wooden plank supporting the statue.

     But there was no rage to his movement that I can notice, just mere frustration of confusion. Was he considering my idea? Well, I didn't have time to figure out as the statue was sliding down, sliding so slowly, down to crush my oblivious father who was deep in thought. It'll be too late when he notices.

     'Da!' I pushed away my chair and rush to my dad who turned to me in bewilderment. It felt as if time slowed down, the statue hovering right above my dad, his hair brushing against it, I jumped and pushed him away. And that was when my vision turned completely black.

     I was squashed underneath the statue, probably dead. I barely felt my body, my arms and legs are still there but I couldn't move them, I was just mere consciousness. Everything felt so warm as blood ran down my face and so cold at the same time. My adrenaline was barely masking the pounding pain I felt on my head which was ringing really loudly like a microphone in school assemblies.

Yay, school memories even at the brink of life.

     I slowly lost consciousness, the ringing faded along with the faint, frantic yells of my father. Everything turned darker than I thought possible, it felt like my body is sinking into the earth just as if I was sinking into a bed to sleep for the final time. The end.