Deluge of Desolation | l. ackerman

Struggle for Freedom

"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."

Albert Camus

(chapter two)

A day passed with no sign of Zeke or anyone else.

I spent it inside, wallowing in my sorrow and fueling my negative emotions. The house was awfully quiet that day. Every step I took was on solid, sturdy ground. The house didn't creak and the doors stayed closed. If we had curtains, they would have been drawn shut but our wealth, or lack thereof, stripped us of such luxuries.

Taking refuge under my blanket, I let my mind all but wander.

I was never good at letting my pride go to apologize, especially if it was over something so insignificant as a stolen toy. Why would I waste my breath apologizing for something I'm not even sorry for? Even if I was sorry for something, an apology would have to be forced out of me by a third party. Without convincing, I would only hope that the receiver of my mistake or wrath would brush it under the rug, and we could continue on as normal.

This time was different, though. I knew I had to say something. Be it about my flare of emotions I pitifully let loose or the false lies I fed to Zeke, I just had to talk to him.

I went over what I would say about a million times in my head before I constructed the perfect apology. I'd mention my faults and say how I could fix myself, then ask how I could make it up to him. It was simple and short, but sincere. 

Zeke was bound to come home soon so I'd tell him when he walked through the door. Making my way to the table, I sat and repeated the words in my head. Over and over again. But the more time that passed, the heavier my stomach felt and the warmer my palms began to get. 

I couldn't apologize, not with the fatigue that drowned my body, or my shaking limbs. I wasn't even in the right state of mind...Zeke would understand, wouldn't he?

I'll just apologize on a later date, tomorrow or the day after. Soon. I must— no, I will do it soon. Just not today.

I quickly make my way back to my room. I've no excuse to not apologize, so I'll just avoid him until I'm ready. But another day passes with no sign of Zeke.

I'm worried, naturally. What if something bad had happened to him? He could have been kidnapped whilst I was dwelling on such trivial topics. And if Zeke ran away? What would I tell Mom and Dad? I can't say it's because of my doing, they'll hate me forever! I'll be kicked out and have to fend for myself, as a little girl on the ruthless streets of Liberio.

What if my brother was killed?

My mind kept on spiraling to the worst cases possible. Pacing the halls, waiting for Zeke to return home, I cradled my stomach. It hurt bad. I didn't know why, nor did I have anyone to ask about it, so I decided to walk it off, something I had learnt from a young age.

When the sun rose again for another day of no Zeke, I left. He wasn't coming home, I concluded, and I couldn't stand the idea of his absence; of what used to be a happy family, even if by facade.

It wasn't often I left home; only to visit the general store with Mom or, of course, the knoll with Zeke— and every once in a while I'd visit some kids my age and pass a soccer ball with them. Those were some weird people, one always bouncing with excitement and the other awfully shy. But I hadn't visited any of those today. Too many memories of times I know are lost that will be missed so dearly. Rather, I visited the gates. Not too close, that's risky business I don't particularly fancy. Instead, I sat a few meters back on an old, rickety bench that was bound to break from coastal distress.