Chapter 6
Riftan stared fiercely at the tombstone erected on top of his mother's grave. A calloused, rough hand crept on his trembling shoulders.
"... Let's go back."
Riftan, looking up at his stepfather with melancholic eyes, lowered his gaze helplessly.
As soon as the funeral came to an end, he had to work at the smithy and push his feelings aside, not having the privilege of being granted a break. Just because a woman died, no one would care to look with sympathy or give an ounce of compassion to him.
When the plague broke out, it was the lower class that was affected the most. Their dead bodies piled on top of each other, the death of strangers' bodies being mixed up in the pile was not really a concerning matter to the parishioners. That fact was rather fortunate: he did not need pretentious words of consolation. He never wanted to recall the nightmare from last night.
Riftan worked without a break, trying to erase all the thoughts running in his head. He wanted his thoughts to be clouded. He hammered furiously until his shoulders complained with a sharp pain. When he had no strength left to lift a finger, he finally trudged back home. However, upon reaching the hut, his legs didn't move, like they were rooted on the ground. He hesitated for a long time before grabbing the doorknob with trembling hands and the humid midsummer air filled his lungs uncomfortably.
He closed his eyes tightly as he opened the door, a stale smell pricking his nose. With desolate eyes, he scanned the dark hut that was filtered with the setting sun's color. Despite wiping the floors clean last night, the strange stench lingered. Riftan touched his mouth with his trembling hands and picked up a bucket by the door to fill it with water from the stream. Then, he poured the water on the floor, sitting on his knees, not minding whether his pants got soaked, and scrubbed the black stains again and again.
He scrubbed for so long until drooping petals touched his red and swelling fingertips, then he slowly looked down and turned his gaze. The crushed flower crown was drying up by the corner. Riftan picked it up and the petals hanging from it fluttered and fell to the floor, he bent his back lower to pick them up one by one when suddenly, a drop of water fell on the back of his hand.
He blinked blindly before realizing that it was his own tears, so he wiped his cheeks roughly with his fists. He didn't even know what he was crying for, he felt nothing but ashamed that he shed tears. Riftan placed the flower crown in a small basket and collapsed on his bed, not even bothering to change from his dingy clothes.
The face of the woman hanging from the ceiling flashed before his eyes like a ghost, it felt like the black figure was still hung over his head, but he had nowhere to run away to. Riftan pulled the blanket up to cover his head and huddled like a little ball.
That night, his stepfather returned home reeking of alcohol. When he opened his eyes to the rattling sounds the man made, he saw a dark figure stumbling around, walking to the opposite bed. His stepfather flopped down on the straw bed and gazed at the floor for the longest time. After a long heavy silence, he finally spoke in a resounding voice.
"Don't make yourself so miserable."
Riftan blinked slowly in the dark, the man's voice rang in between sobs.
"If you are born like waste for the ground, you have to live your life looking only at the ground. Looking up will make you nothing but wretched."
"..."
"Who the hell would know? If there were a dead waste on the ground... and someone spared a look... But they just trample all over it and leave. You see, no one cares. I'm saying no one will care. But it shouldn't be like that. Life shouldn't be lived that mindlessly and then leave just like that."
