In the corner lay a boy covered in the wounds of abuse. For this twelve-year-old, no matter what his mind had endured, his body could no longer keep up.
His flesh failed before his spirit did. He hadn't been able to sleep since he first woke up in that cage.
Through everything his eyes had seen—from the gashes on his head to the scars on his toes—he finally had his first dream in this godforsaken world.
It was a memory of when I was seven. I didn't think my mom or dad loved me back then.
I always saw them with the baby, never with me. I was always too smart for my age. I had something that was mine, and people hated me for it. My parents called it a gift. I knew it was a curse.
The curse of being alone.
In preschool, everyone hated me. Just because I could answer questions a little faster. Just because I could run a little faster.
Being the "odd one out" makes you stand out, and standing out makes you solitary. At first, I thought everyone in the world loved me. But as I grew, I looked around and realized there was nobody.
I even thought my own mother loved me. I remembered her beautiful face, her hair that glowed when the sunlight hit it at just the right angle, her untouched, pale skin.
But then, there she was. Crunch. Crunch.
I found myself back in that memory, watching every bite. I heard the sound of her organs popping and the growls of the monster.
I walked closer to the one pair of eyes that had been on me the whole time.
Thump. Thump.
I reached the face of the only person who had ever cared for me. Our eyes locked. Her bloody mouth was unable to speak, unable to scream in agony any longer. The only thing she could do was stare. And the only thing she could stare at... was me.
As our eyes locked—or so I thought—I noticed it. She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at my expression. Moving my hands, I gripped the sides of my mouth.
Hiss. Rip. Scratch.
I clawed at my mouth. Flesh began to rip; blood began to gush. I moved faster and faster, timed to the echo of the monster chewing on her flesh.
Louder. Louder. LOUDER!
Splat.
As the noise stopped. My mother's gaze trembled.
"Look, Mom... now I can't ever stop smiling. Look at me, Mommy. Look, Mom! Why aren't you looking?"
I remembered everytime I was alone, every time I was left out. You told me to just keep smiling.
"SO MOM, LOOK AT ME!" I shouted to the gods.
She finally looked at him. There he was, smiling just like she had taught him. It was the perfect smile. One that would never fade.
Mom
Mom
Mom He began to chant.
the smile was carved so deep into his flesh that the cracks in his skull were visible. It wasn't just carved into his flesh. It was carved into his very skull
"MOMMY, LOOK! I'M SMILI—"
"HAHAHAHA!"
Keirum woke with a frantic scream of laughter. He punched, kicked, and clawed at the air; nothing was spared in his hysteria.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SCREAMING FOR, YOU LITTLE BITCH?!"
Boom.
The veteran's hand slammed into his face. The physical blow finally broke the madness. For Keirum, there was nothing left now but the cold weight of loneliness.
"You're done screaming now, huh, you little shit?"
Before the man could throw another punch, the man with the eyepatch stopped him. "Wait, wait. Don't. If you keep hitting him, you'll kill him. He hasn't even had any food yet."
"Tsk." The veteran sneered. "Haha, I have an idea. He wants food, right?"
Walking over to the supplies they had monopolized, he grabbed a handful of meat. He walked over to the dead body in the cage and smeared the meat against the rotting blood and crawling maggots.
"Hahaha! Look at my masterpiece!"
Keirum watched in shock. Will I have to eat that? It felt like he hadn't eaten in months. If he didn't eat, he wouldn't have the strength to mine. If he couldn't mine, they would kill him.
The veteran wasn't finished. He shifted his clothes to the side, and a stream of gold liquid soaked into the meat, mixing with the rot and the blood.
"There. The finishing touch." He moved the meat with his hands, sliding it in front of Keirum. "Eat up."
No one is going to save me... I am really going to be forced to eat this. A single tear fell from Keirum's eye. His stomach twisted in knots. I can't do this. I'll die. Why is there no one to save me?
"Eat it, you little shit," the veteran said, grinning.
When Keirum didn't move, the man lunged forward, grabbing Keirum by his matted hair and forcing his face down toward the filth.
Keirum tried to resist, but what could a wounded twelve-year-old do against a man three times his size?
"Eat it, or I'll stomp on your hands! If you can't pick up a pickaxe, how will you mine the orbs? You want to get eaten alive like that pregnant woman? You want the whip again?"
Keirum's back stung at the memory of the previous day's torment. The fear of the whip was greater than the disgust for the meat.
His jaw opened as wide as it could.
Chomp.
"Hahaha! Yes, eat up!"
Chomp. Crunch. Slurp.
As the boy consumed something so unthinkable the gods themselves would cower, the madness from his dream began to seep back in. With every bite, his pace quickened. As the laughter began to dwindle as a new sound erupted.
"Hahahaha!"
The veteran looked down. He saw the boy's muscles tightening, bulging as if they might pop through the skin.
Chomp.
Studying the child, the veteran felt something cold creep around his heart—like a needle ready to pop his heart like a balloon.
This kid... why is he laughing?