Byron Love // Afuro Temuri
All that could be heard was a loud thud, and then silence.
Players and crowd alike stared in horror; stared at the body lying still on the field.
After a seconds pause, all at once, the players on both teams rushed towards the blonde boy, but they knew it was too late.
His breathing was ragged and laboured, his ruby eyes were getting dimmer by the second.
He was unable to speak, as were the players who stood in a ring around him, watching him fight for life, watching a losing battle.
The Aqua of the Gods wasn't meant to do this to him. It was meant to make him stronger. It was meant to give him power.
He had always heard of 'your life flashing before your eyes', but had never thought it was possible. But now, he was able to experience it firsthand.
The first thing he saw was a memory from about ten years ago. A four year old Byron ran around a beautiful park, kicking a soccer ball into the sunset, the picture framed by flowering cherry blossom trees. A man and woman sat close by and watched. The adults were in their late twenties, and they were beautiful people, much like their son.
The fair skinned woman had gorgeous light blonde hair, and it sparkled like spun gold in the light summer breeze. She had soft amber eyes and delicate features. Her husband had slightly more tanned skin, and eyes were like liquid chocolate.
It was a pleasant memory, but it was one of the only nice things Byron could remember with his family. Although it was a long time ago, he remembered it as if it were yesterday, and that was because that night, he had discovered his love of soccer.
The next memory, however, was not so pleasant.
He was 10 years old, and he was home alone. His parents had been due back hours ago, but he hadn't heard from them. He was hungry, and dusk was starting to take its hold on the late evening sky. Byron sat next to the window, absent-mindedly twirling his long blonde locks between his fingers while staring out onto his driveway, waiting for any signs of life.
When a car finally did pull up, he ran to the door to greet his parents. Much to his surprise, it was only his father that stood on the doorstep, and even more surprising was the fact that he was crying.
His father pulled him into a tight hug, sobbing into Byron's shirt, staining it with his waterfall of tears that refused to stop flowing.
Byron did not ask where his mother was. He did not want to know.
The funeral was a blur of black suits and ties, and the occasional sombre face making comments about his mother, how they were sorry, how she had been too young to go.
He processed very little that day. The only thing he took out of it was the fact she had been hit by a van as she was crossing the road to meet her husband for lunch.
Nothing was the same after she had died. Byron's father, usually a bright and happy man, became very withdrawn and sunk in to a deep depression, staying locked up in his room most of the time. He had loved his wife so much, he felt as if he couldn't live without her.
And one day, it became all too much for him.
Byron found his fathers body. He was hanging from the ceiling from a rope around his neck, and a signed note lay nearby.
He had broken inside when he saw that scene, his father dangling limply like a rag doll, eyes dim. He had never quite been fixed.
His mother and father had raised Byron to be a Christian, to faithfully serve God. But with his parents both dying in the space of a week, he had constantly been asking himself, what kind of God would let two innocent people die, just like that?
For years, Byron had slowly become obsessed with being a God, obsessed with people loving and worshipping him, and he craved the power to be able to end it all instantly, just like his God had. From the time his parents had died, he knew he would do anything at all to gain that power.
But as he lay there unable to move on the soccer field, he realised that he had made a mistake. He was using the game he loved to hurt people. And the Aqua of the Gods, the thing that was meant to give him power, that was meant to avenge his parents ended up being his demise.
He knew that he didn't have long left. The players above him were mere blurs, their voices were disoriented.
In that moment, he apologised for everything. He apologised to God for all the hatred he had carried around for three years, for trying to be like God himself.
He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he knew he could die in peace.
And as he felt himself drifting, only one thought crossed his mind.
I can finally see my parents again.
And Byron closed his eyes.
A/N I'm not a Christian so I don't really know how Christianity works very well, so I hope I didn't offend anybody.
