The boy sat on a tree branch with a relaxed yet frustrated expression. Charles wasn't somebody to be conflicted with, but someone to understand. The boy threw down a gun and gestured to Charles to grab it. As Charles bent over to grab it, the boy jumped down and continued to stare at Charles. Once Charles finally picked up the gun, the boy pulled out his gun and said one thing with the same relaxed expression as he did before.
"Shoot me."
Charles quickly raised up and shot the boy with no hesitation, and the boy shot back. And with the sound of both of their guns firing, Charles found himself in a church wearing a priest outfit. Charles looked around in confusion till a tall man with star pupils walked over to him. His smile was stress free and his eyes were filled with curiosity.
"Hello, young master."
"Hello."
The man grabbed onto Charles' hand and pulled him around the church. This church was almost as huge as a mansion. Everything was disturbing, it almost felt like he was the center of attention, and so he was. He looked around and every time he would look there would be someone looking back. He kept looking until the anxiety of being the center of attention began to fade and he became numb to it. Maybe it was good that he was being seen, because every time he wasn't, he would be beaten by his father.
"What makes you so special? Why are you favored by God?! Why are you so worthless to me?! Why did it have to be you?!"
Wrath, Envy, Sloth, Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Pride—these were all his sins, yet he acted like he was too good for them. He would scream in anger every time he failed something. Envy those who played with their fathers. Laid in bed his whole break days. Ate all the food his dad would give him. Would ask for stuff even though he had so much. Desire things that people like him shouldn't desire. And his most disgusting sin of all, thinking that all makes him special.
He isn't special, no one is. And yet he is treated as such. Maybe it was a mistake or maybe it was destiny, all that mattered was that this evil child did not deserve such praise. All of his sins were left unpunished but not by his father. He would cast judgement on God's chosen even if that meant going against God himself.
"You aren't special! You aren't favored by God! You're so worthless! No one has ever chosen you in your life!"
But that didn't matter, why would the words of an old fragile man change the mindset of someone so perfect. The boy walked around the church's garden every morning just observing the kids play around. He was too above them to play alongside them, and yet he still felt a sense of envy. Why does he believe none of them should play if he can't when he has so much? Maybe his father was right, maybe he isn't so special. Maybe he is just like the people he unrightfully judges.
Maybe he's just a scared child too cowardly enough to admit that he was wrong. Too angry to see that he wasn't perfect because he didn't have the determination to keep trying. Too jealous to see that he wanted a good father. Too lazy to have any hobbies. Too hungry to starve. Too needy to see what he wants. Too lustful to stop himself from wanting things other than serving God. And his most unforgivable sin, being too prideful to admit that he's only human.
This boy was truly worthless. He took honor in something he wasn't, different. CHarles looked back at the boy as he showed him his past.
"Did you see it?"
Charles looked at the boy with an indifferent glare.
"Did you see my past?"
"Yes."
Charles walked up to the boy and wrapped his hands around his throat and choked the boy. Charles stared into his eyes as tears came from the boy's eyes. And as the boy accepted his fate, he continued to talk.
"My whole life, I wondered what I would wish for if I were to ever meet God face to face. I had so many, I thought to myself that he would never make all of them come to reality. But I realized something before I was sent into this world. My wish…was to become human."
Tears began to fall from Charles' eyes as his grip tightened and his eyes sharpened.
"Stripped of all meaning. Nothing to do but worship a god that was forced upon you. Your life was a tragedy, truly. You're a human. You should take honor in that fact."
"Then save me. Please."
Charles continued to choke and the boy was ready to accept his fate, but before he left this earth he wanted to ask one thing.
"Hey, what's your name?"
"My name…is Charles."
"Hey, Charles. What do you wish for?"
After he asked that question the sound of his neck cracking echoed through the dark void. And with that Charles was freed from the boy's illusion. When Charles looked around to find the boy, he found nothing but an empty forest.
My quiet sorrow echoed through my empty room. The darkness gave comfort, nobody could see it. My ugly face as I let out my emotions, still though. Even if it wasn't dark, not like anyone would look over to see me. Except for my father, I remember one day he brought a famous painter over to our mansion. He wanted a painting of me, I loved it unlike "???". They thought I got all the attention and hogged all the love. They believed I didn't deserve it, constantly telling me how ugly I am—all the way to my very being. But if I was really ugly would my father want a painting of me? He loves me, they're just jealous that they weren't born with that love.
We argued for hours, it only came to an end because father pulled me away.
"I HATE YOU!"
"You only hate me because you're not me." is what I thought to myself at the time.
The painter took hours. For hours on end I sat in that chair, melting from the beams of admiration. Even if I asked for a break, I would constantly be told that it was almost finished. Hours with the same posture. Hours looking at the same thing. Hours in the same positions. Hours with the same expression. Hours without food. Hours and hours and hours and hours stacking ON MORE HOURS!!! Maybe it didn't show, but I…I loved it. It was amazing, all the attention that I rightfully deserved just for being born. I loved it.
After the painting was done I stretched for an hour straight, only for it to be interrupted by my father tapping me. He looked at me with disappointment and nodded his head. The painting…It was dull. After all that hard work, I was expressionless. The painting was ordinary, and that wasn't good enough.
I apologized to my father and placed it in my room across from my bed. Every day I woke up seeing my face, it was exciting at first but it quickly grew creepy.
Why is one of my hair strands out on the right side of my face? Is my face unsymmetric? Why are my cheeks so chubby? Why? WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!
I went outside for a breather only to find "???" hanging out with their friends. They all pointed at me and called me ugly…and fat. I decided to ignore them and keep walking, they don't deserve my attention.
My mind wandered to the painting. Every morning it would look different. It's facial structure. It's an expression. Even its body parts. After coming back from my walk I noticed the painting had a tear running down its cheek with its fist clenched, and it had no mouth. I grabbed the painting and put it in the attic. Seeing that type of beauty everyday is a blessing not even I deserve.
After walking down the attic, I noticed a naked man—smiling. His eyes were wide and bent into a dramatic smile, showing all of his teeth. His breath was heavy as if he accomplished something. I froze for a moment before running full speed the other direction. He chased after me but…but his head didn't move. He ran full speed but everything was moving but his head. Everything started spinning as I tripped on my dress and fell onto my nose, causing it to bleed. He ran up to me and stopped.
"Open it."
"What?"
He grabbed onto me and looked me in the eyes, his breathing matching that of a man who finished a marathon.
"Open the attic, look at it."
"What?"
"Look at it!"
"Look at what?"
"LOOK AT IT!"
"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!"
"LOOK AT M-!"
The sounds of snaps woke me up, causing me to bolt up and run away but John leaped on me and slammed onto the ground.
"Ambika, stop freaking out! The more you freak out the more distorted the cabin becomes!"
Suddenly the pressure of gravity slammed both of our faces to the floor and blood sprayed out of our noses. But John wasn't focused on himself, but me.
"Ambika, don't freak out! I got you! You'll make it out of here alive!"