Meraki: a short story collection

Whispers

TW: Depression, Grief, Suicide

Gates creaked open as they entered her burial place. The cart screeched to a halt and Dante's father jumped out. He motioned to Dante to lift the other side of the coffin. He scrambled to grab it and helped his father move it out to the middle of a clearing surrounded by trees. His chest shuddered as they lowered the coffin to the ground. 

"Did you bring the shovel?" his father asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Dante gulped. He shook his head, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. 

"It's okay." His father's voice weighed with weariness. "I'll go get it."

His father jogged down the path. Dante took the necklace out of his pocket. The dark gem in the center of the gold pendant glittered in the moonlight. An icy bite of guilt went through him like a knife. She had worn it all the time as long as he could remember. It was one of the only things she was able to take to the hospital with her. His father said to leave it behind but he couldn't. When he was helping put her in the coffin, it seemed so wrong to leave it there. 

His mother was the only one who stood by his side. Dante could remember both his parents arguing late at night and him sneaking down to hear what they were saying. 

"They need me out there, Fera." His father grumbled, "The city will crumble without me. Those monsters are coming upon us faster and faster. If I don't do anything, they'll break through and leave us all in ruin."

"What about us? What about our family?" she waved her arms around wildly. "Your son needs you here. I–I need you here, please."

His father hugged her close and kissed her forehead, "I'm sorry, my love, but I would rather leave and have you both be safe than stay and have our entire city slain. Dante will start training and make friends. You are strong and you will be strong until I return. I know it."

"Dante doesn't want to go to hunter training and I don't want him to either. You've lost so many of your friends to this war. Do you want to lose your son to it as well?"

"I don't." His father shook his head, "That's why he is going to training. We need men. We only have four skilled curse hunters left. If I want others to help, I need to set an example with my son."

"No. No. No." His mother turned away and covered her ears, "You're going to die out there and Dante will too. Then it will me alone. I can't I–"

She broke down into tears collapsing on the kitchen chair behind her. 

Dante heard his father's footsteps return and stashed the necklace in his pocket. He kept his eyes glued to the stone walls not too far away from the city's gravesite. Someday, he would be sent out to fight. He had to be ready. The curses had ascended upon their nation the year he turned five years old. His father being in danger was something that he should be used to by now but since then, all of the city's trained hunters had either been killed or gravely injured. He had seen one hunter return with sores as hard as stone covering his body. They only grew more and more until the man himself had turned to stone. Others returned telling stories of how one of their comrades had never returned because she had been disintegrated by the energy-enhanced breath of the Giradral, a large lizard-like creature whose neck could reach up to the top of the city's tallest building. He couldn't comprehend how his father has managed to survive this long let alone how he would survive. 

"You ready?" his father muttered, patting his shoulder. His gray-streaked beard moved in the slight breeze.

Dante nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.  

They buried his mother, the moon shining bright above them. They both sat watching the stars with the freshly carved tombstone in front of them. 

"Dante." His father turned to look at him. "I have something important to ask of you."