Dying Fire

Chapter Three

"People don't want

To hear the truth

Because they don't want

Their illusions destroyed."

~Frierich Nietzsche~

The street lined with small houses is empty at this time of night. In the sky, a full moon casts its glare onto this street, making the patches of light shining from candles in the odd windows here and there seem miniscule and pale in comparison.

            The boy who had been weaving through a scattered crowd minutes before now runs, arms pulled in close to carry and conceal the portions of food he had managed to snatch. Grabbing the wrought iron pole that holds up the street signs, he lets his feet leave the ground, being turned at an angle onto this barren street, where he takes off running again.

            Suddenly, he stops, panting hard enough that his shoulders rise and fall with the effort. He’s standing on the side of the street, just outside his home, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing mind before entering. His home is not one of the best in the city, but it is enough, and it is secure and whole because his family has been here since before the relocations and people started streaming into the city out of fear of the war. It’s a stout wooden building with only the bare essentials, but that is still more than what others have to go home to tonight, if they even have a home to go to. The front door is barely three feet away from the edge of the street, and beyond it is silence despite the echoing noises that fill the outside air.

            Calex steps forward and then pauses again, directly in front of the door. His eyes shut with resolve, he feels the tension in every muscle and eases them efficiently into a state close to relaxation. His clenched hands loosen, letting the spoils rest loosely in his grasp, and slowly his expression changes. The hard line to his jaw edges away, replaced with a practiced smile, as the line between his eyebrows disappears. A hand comes up to toss his hair in a careless way, giving him the appearance of having played all day long rather than the running and fighting and worrying.

            The door swings open on slightly rusted hinges, making a morbid sound that splits the difference between the noise outside and the silence inside. Calex, façade fully in place, closes the door as quietly as possible behind him, hoping not to wake his mother if she’s asleep.

            His caution is unnecessary. Ione’s voice rasps, “Hello? Calex? Is all well with you?”

            Calex whispers back, gentle in a way he can only be with this fragile woman, “Yes, Mother. Are you hungry?”

            The lump on the floor stirs, the frail woman struggling to sit up until her son comes to her aid. “Where have you been? I was getting so worried… You shouldn’t stay out so late. Something could happen…”

            Helping prop her back against the nearest wall, he replies, biting back the truth, “I know. I’m sorry, but my friend’s family wanted me to stay for dinner. I thought it would be rude to refuse…” The woman nods, smiling slightly, seemingly glad at his choice and not detecting his lies. “I brought some home for you.” He passes most of his spoils to her, hiding a small amount within his shirt. It’s a horrible feeling, not giving all of it to his mother, but Calex knows that without caring for himself as well he won’t be able to look after her.

            Ione, however, doesn’t even acknowledge the parcels he’d placed in her lap or bother to drink from the bottle he’d pressed into her hands. She simply watches her son as he settles himself across from her, with that look in her eyes he’s always known as strictly hers. Now, it reminds him of that girl, the one that had looked at him this same exact way – Araine, was her name. His inner confliction doesn’t show past the carefully crafted mask he’s adopted for his mother, to keep her happy and oblivious to his wrong-doings.