Family?Home?

6

You opened your eyes again, seeing a grey ceiling instead of a white. You got up groggily, only to find yourself locked up in a room with nothing but a bed and a toilet. An iron door barricaded you from the outside world, save a small window on it and a trapdoor under to let the world come to you.

Great, so you were in prison if not an asylum. Tanjung Rambutan most likely. An unknown quarantine zone can be just as convincing.

Sounds of hell rang across the corridors, but it didn't affect you through the non-soundproof glass; you weren't able to see much, but the images of a living Inferno came to you still, yet you didn't seem disturbed; putrid odors of detergent and human waste built pressure against the concrete walls, but you detected nothing.

Why would it, when you've already paid Hell a visit, when you lost your manifestation of pride along with your humanity?

A rap on the door made you raise your head. The face of a security guard appeared at the window, then it was replaced by another.

The one of the barrel-shaped boy.

"Hey." he said.

"Why are you here? I don't know you." you replied.

"Maybe not." The visitor agreed, "But I have something for you."

"Really?" you raised an eyebrow, "Well, I doubt that whatever you have won't turn me into Mr. Nice to convince them to let me out. Where am I, by the way?"

He hesitated. "That I can't tell you."

"Now that I think of it," you scanned your surroundings, "I highly doubt this is Tanjung Rambutan."

"It's not." The boy confirmed, "I've got to get going. Here's the gift."

His face disappeared, and the trapdoor opened. A stack of paper slipped through the gap.

"Happy reading." he said before he left.

You crept close to the stack of paper. Without even glancing at it, you ripped it apart. Strips of white floated in the air like confetti of the afterlife welcoming you to its realm.

Happy reading? After all that you've been through, he still brings you reading materials? If he really cared about you, he wouldn't have done that.

Yet day after day, that's what repeated. Someone, sometimes Beryl, would come by to visit you, wherever this place is, and tried to jog your memory. It never worked. All you that you could remember, awake and asleep, was the burning of your masterpiece, the hatred to the crime and the criminal. All else was buried in a locked chest of forgotten memories, never meant to be opened to release something from within.

Every time, by the end of the visit, they would always slip a stack of paper through the trapdoor. Every time, you would tear it, rip it, even eat it. You would care not if that would keep you in here longer. The words you had loved for so long has now turned into an endless torture, seeing creations of others while yours was cast into oblivion.

Days, then weeks. The visits and papers ceased to come.

Eventually, when the dark boy came by, you asked: "Why do you all keep doing this?"

"Because we care for you. We are your friends."

"If what you say is true, then the best way you can help me is stay away and keep those papers AWAY FROM ME!"

"You know we can't do that, Ethan." The boy slipped the papers through the gap that connected you to the outside. "Enjoy."

Ethan?

Since when was the last time someone had said that name?

Your name?

You crept to the papers as usual. This time, you didn't destroy it. You picked it up, sat by your bed, and read it.

After the first page, a new feeling overwhelmed your senses: disbelief.

No, they couldn't, could they?

Page by page you read. Tear by tear you shed.

It was your working project. The one you were so devoted to. The one that got burned to ash.

It was remade. Imperfect, but remade.

The iron door opened, and five figures stood behind it.

You recognized them all now.

Slowly, you shambled to them, red eyes filled with gratefulness and love.

"How?" you asked, your voice so soft you doubted that they heard.

"We put it back together, by memory." Lionel answered with a smile.

"We know that it isn't perfect, but-"Cassie was cut short when you stumbled forward and tried to hold them all in your arms.

They returned the embrace.

After minutes of silent crying, you let them go. "So, I'm guessing that I'm not going to find a family to go back to."

"Neither a home." Brice added, "You can stay at my place for a while though, and-"

"No." you corrected him, "You all are my home. All of you."

"Still, you need a place to stay." Beryl insisted.

"Are you offering?" you asked.

"No!"

We all laughed, a sound distinctive to the wails and cackles of the mindless.

"Whatever the case is, you still need someone to watch over you." Jerry said.

"I hear you, but what are you suggesting?"

"Me." A voice said down the aisle.

You turned incredulously, acknowledging the voice.

A voice you thought you might never hear again.

"Hello, sister." you whispered.

She was never really your sister, not even a step one, but she had always been so kind to you that you was like an elder sister to you.

She walked towards you, and wrapped her arms around you. Your friends stepped back, giving you a little space.

"I'm so glad you're back." She said.

"I am. I'm sorry, I've made you worry again."

"No, no you didn't."

Your hands reached up and held her. "I'm sorry that I've been unable to repay your kindness. You've always been so good to me and yet I can't seem to repay you."

"Well then, you can repay me by staying with me as soon as you graduate."

"Are your parents alright with that?"

She hesitated. "My parents are gone."

Instinctively, you patted her back. "I'm sorry. I should've..."

"No, no should'ves." She sniffed, "Just stay with me, and be my family. Be my little brother. Okay?" a tear rolled from her cheek and onto your neck.

"I will."

For the first time in years, you wept in joy.