Something to Remember

"These cursed mongrels…"

An older man slumps through a creaky wooden door. His hands hold a hunting bow, one with a wonky arc and multiple flakes down its wooden form. The floor groans when he sits down.

"Did you get them, father?"

"Hah?"

He looks at me with narrowed eyes peeking past his long grey hair. A grunt escapes that fading beard as he leans his weapon and its ammunition against the wall.

"Them buggers're hardly worth the effort. Make enough noise and they crawl back to their mothers."

"But the wolves have been hunting our livestock for years! Surely something must be done!?"

"Nothing."

A heavy boot slams against the already struggling boards. I'm already old enough to be out and married, so his stern voice doesn't intimidate me as much as it did in the past. Yet for some reason, that look in his eyes forces the words in my mind back.

"Listen, Rado."

My father pulls himself up and seats himself across the table from me. He pulls out a mug and ale, taking a few sips before continuing.

"I don't have it in me to be mad at ev'ry little thing. They're gone now and what's done is done."

He takes a look out the window, where peace has returned to the familiar cluster of houses. You would never know that we were just attacked by a pack of wild dogs.

"If I don't see their faces for another couple o' months, I can forgive 'em."

"Are you sure that isn't just because you're too old to hunt them down?"

"HA! There may be somethin' there! But you know, kid…"

The wooden cup is emptied and placed down quietly. My father simply stares into the thin trail formed at the edges inside his cup.

"If I go out there and hunt each one down, I'll be dead in a year. Those dogs'll have more kids and I'll have to hunt 'em as well. Once I start, it'll never end."

His eyes now look into mine. I can see the spots where his vision has begun to blur, but they will never have an issue seeing me. He has made sure of it.

"I've gotta use my time gettin' you ready. Folks'll spit at my grave if all they had to remember me by was a fool's rage. So when I'm gone, you'll pull yer weight. Then people'll know that I brought you up right."

A finger reaches out to me. The bones have come to show in some places, but scars tell a story of a hand that has worked hard. That strength lands on my chest, pushing with a force that I can only accept in full.

"Your job is to keep my memory alive. People see you being an angry imbecile, and that'll make me look bad too. Though, I don't mind if ya take some liberties in makin' me sound better! Hahaha!"

Those eyes that always seemed both apathetic and wise. I have not forgotten them, but the image has begun to grow blurry.

I can feel the flames at my back.

When I turn, I see the destruction of that night. Houses and the people within them are gone. Standing over their remains are demons of all shapes and sizes, each baring with wicked fangs that seem to tempt me to fight back. A shadowy figure stands at the helm, a face that I cannot see. A hand reaches out.

"What more can you take from me…"

The flames fill my body. Heat rises as if to pull me away from the calming atmosphere of the home I once had. That kind image almost disappears completely.

"Remember, Rado."

I stop before I can take a step further into the flames. Over my shoulder, he is still there. I still see that rundown house where every detail reveals another flaw. That flawed world was mine, and I would have given the entire world to keep it exactly as it was. His words reach me even as the flames threaten to consume him.

"Even in this crummy world…"

It was always difficult to tell when he was smiling under that thick mane, but I don't need to question the look he makes now. His grin isn't pretty, but I can't say that mine is either.

"It's our job to be at least a little happy."

* * * * *

Cold air.

Perhaps anything feels cooler after the flames both inside my mind and out. The surface beneath me is solid. Not painful, but not pleasant either. Only my head is pressed against something even remotely comfortable.

My eyes are now open.

"Where…"

It hurts to speak.

I shouldn't be feeling any pain. After all, I'm dead. The aches in my body should instead be flexible muscles that have not felt so loose since I was a child. My breathing was supposed to be a calming in and out of sweet vapours. My eyes aren't seeing a nothingness found at the end of the world. They see a stone ceiling.

Any small motion hurts. Even the simple act of lifting my arms into the air takes more willpower than my entire life up until this point. It would have been easier if I was truly dead.

"Why am I alive…"

A heavy throbbing in my head is kept to a minimum by wrappings around my skull. My hands are completely white, covered by bandages so as to hide whatever hideous scars lie beneath. If I were dead, I would not be able to witness all of that loss. These hands of mine are just a sick confirmation of the pain I have been forced to bear.

"He's awake!"

"Get the Captain, now!"

A frantic exchange draws my attention back to the world I've been cursed to remain in.

The room is dark, with light only peeking from behind the bars that form one of the walls. I'm laying on the only piece of furniture within this box of stone. Anybody else in my position would assume that I've committed a crime if they saw me. As much as I may be a prisoner of fate, I at least have a guest to keep me company in my confinement.