THE WIEKTS

A loop. Everything was a never-ending loop. My life was a loop that would never end. From the morning I woke up, till the time when I once again surrendered to the cradle of the night, everything was the same. It was all the same. Nothing changed. Each day, I tried to do something different. No avail, of course. Today, I tried to once again make a difference in my life. I tried getting another work from my father’s friend in town. He was a baker. Of course Father did not seem happy. Of course he would mock me. The son of a land owner becoming a low worker in a bakery. What a disgrace, he would say. Well, I couldn’t care less. At least I was doing something to live my life instead of following him madly and ended up dead.

My hand faltered at this. I stopped writing. My mind couldn’t help but go to the memory of my late brother, Hart. He was Father’s favorite son. Always did what was told, a perfect gentleman. I scoffed at that thought. What good would it be to be a gentleman if it meant that you would be lying dead somewhere near the border of the kingdom. Oh yes, my brother’s body was never found. He was dead, cold, and alone. I was warm, breathing, and absolutely alive. Even though my life was full of troubles and getting kicked-out-from-the-job periods, at least I was still here. Hah! Father had never appreciated him as long as Hart was around. He would always say Hart this, Hart that, and I was sick of those times. Now, Hart was dead. I would have laughed if not for the fact that I would be completely disowned by Father if I did that in front of his face. One thing that I knew for sure was Father hated to be wrong. He must be right. On those occurrences when he was wrong, he would make it as if it was everybody else’s fault and not him. No matter what happened, he would be the one coming out as the winner. I scoffed again.

“Roan,” a voice from outside brought me back from my reverie. It was Mother.

“Yes, Mother. What?” I asked back, shouting from where I sat, not moving an inch.

“Your father asked, if you are going to work,” she said.

I sighed, closed my journal, and hid it under my bed. Nobody in this house knew that I could read and write and I would like to keep it that way. I learned to read and write just so I could write this journal to vent my frustration, I didn’t have any intention of sharing it to the world. Besides, what could I do with this skill? Well, nothing of course. Men had no need to learn these supposed skills. As long as we had the brawn, who would care about the brain?

“Roan!” that was my beloved father calling. Well, shouting to be exact. And yes, I still live with my parents. I didn’t feel any remorse whatsoever though. It was their responsibility to keep me well-fed and alive. And I didn’t care about what other people would say. This was my life, not theirs.

“I’m coming!” I grunted. With a heavy sigh, I looked back at my bed to make sure that the journal was completely covered by the mattress. Then I proceeded to get out of the room. Right when I reached the dining room, my father glared at me. I rolled my eyes. It was such a usual occurrence that I didn’t even feel annoyed anymore. “What?” I asked him.

“You should try to find another work,” Father said.

Huh, I didn’t need you to tell me that, Father, I thought. He was always like this. He was even worse after Hart died. He tried to control everything and everyone. I thought he was just afraid that my brother’s fate would happen again. I thought that deep inside he thought that Hart died because he wasn’t controlling enough. And now, he tried his hardest to gain that sense of control over everything moving. Well, keep trying, old man. I’m not going to let you do to me what you did to my brother.

“I’m going to. You don’t need to tell me that,” I answered curtly and proceeded to sit down on the other end of the dining table from my father.

“Bah! I dare you to get a steady job,” he scoffed and continued to eat his dinner.

During our conversation, I saw my mother trying her best to keep on doing her job around the kitchen and not paying any attention to us. She wouldn’t want my father to lash out at her just like what he did when she was trying to stop him from kicking out Hart’s wife out of their house claiming that she was the one that caused Hart to die in battle. He thought that Elydite was the one who makes my brother weak and finally led him to his death. I knew better though. It was all him. It was all because of my father.

“I will. You’ll see,” I stated nonchalantly. He stopped eating and glared at me right after I said that. I laughed inside. I just love getting a rise out of my father.

“You! You need to learn how to do what you’re told!” he shouted from across the table. From the corner of my eyes, I could see my mother scurrying away from the dining room, mumbling something about preparing a bath.

“Why should I? So that I’ll end up dead like Hart?” I scoffed at him.

His face turned an ugly shade of red. Got you, I thought. That was always a sore spot for him. His failure, he would like to call it. He always told other people that it was partly, a great emphasis on this word, his fault, because he didn’t groom Hart to be a stronger man.

“Stop mentioning that disgrace!” he shrieked. Yea, shrieked. His face turned almost a violent shade of purple now. I was curious if it was possible for someone to die because he was so angry at something or, in this case, someone. But then, suddenly his demeanour changed. An alarming bell started to sound in my head. I could deal with an angry Arn Wiekt well, but not this Arn Wiekt who was so calm, collected and calculating. I looked at him, bracing myself for the inevitable fight that would soon happen here. “Oh, no,” he started. “You actually should speak of him more often.” Then he stayed quiet.

Damn him! I knew that he wanted to wait until I asked the question. He would love to see me asking for information that only he who knew about. I wasn’t going to let him manipulate me, but damn if I wasn’t so curious about why he said that. That was why I found myself gritting my teeth and asked him, “How so?” I felt like I would rather swallow my own tongue.

He smirked and continued eating his damned food.

I fisted my hand and asked again, “How so, Father?” I spat the last word at him.

He smirked and I grimaced. How hateful. I was absolutely sure that he had some kind of a sickeningly happy feeling each time he caused other people discomfort. He was just that sadistic. “What?!” I grunted.

“Well, seeing that you and your brother are the same kind of people who can only bring disgrace to their family. Go ahead. Speak of him more often and someday, you’ll find yourself end up just like him,” he said using that fake sweet tone.

It was always like this. I should have known that he would not be that kind as to leave me in peace. Not after Hart. He was just that hurt by my brother’s incompetence. Now, he lashed it all out to the innocent little me, his second son. I tried my hardest to stop myself from punching him in the face. That would not do. No matter how hateful I found him to be, I still needed his money. After all, I needed to stay alive in this cruel world. And without a steady job to help me sustain my life, I had to depend on this hateful man.

“Thank you, Father,” I gritted through my clenched teeth and stood up. I wasn’t hungry anymore. He didn’t even acknowledge me leaving the room. He just continued eating his damned food. I didn’t care though.

I was not a small man by comparison to others. A bit short, that was true, but I was big. I looked extremely similar to my father, actually, with his broad shoulders, strong arms, and hard jaw. But while these features succeeded in making him looked menacing, somehow, it failed to do the same for me. He always managed to make me feel like I was still a little kid who didn’t know anything. I stepped outside the room and saw my mother, huddled in the far corner, away from the warmth of the fire. She gave me a small smile. Sometimes, I thought that she really didn’t deserve Father, but sometimes, I thought that she was a cold-hearted woman who couldn’t care for her sons the way mothers should.

“Mother.”

“Where are you going this late at night, Roan?” she asked. Her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. She had been crying herself to sleep again. I knew that Hart’s death was extremely hard on her. She and Elydite both. They often met in secret to grief over their dead son and husband.

“Just to the nearby tavern, Mother. I’m not going to go for very long.”

She smiled again. “Don’t take your father’s words to heart, son. He was just grieving for your brother —,” she chocked on her words.

I sighed. “Don’t cry, Mother.”

“I just couldn’t believe that he’s truly gone, son.”

I hardened at this. I pitied my brother, but I didn’t like him. I envied him, tried my best to be better than him, but no, I really didn’t like him. I could almost say that I hated him. I just couldn’t share the same feeling of grief as Mother. Now, I hated him even more, because even after his death, he managed to make everyone paid attention to him. Always the perfect son, even way after his death.

“Roan?” Mother asked. She knew that I didn’t like Hart, but she didn’t know how deep my dislike actually was.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Please don’t fight with your father. He was only thinking of your best interest at heart. I couldn’t bear to lose another son, Roan. And I just know that there’s a high chance that I will if you keep this up.”

I sighed. She was too in love with Father for her own good. “I’ll try, but you know me and Father.”

“Just try for me, Roan. Please?”

“Yes, Mother.”

She smiled and touched my cheek tenderly. “Go now, if you want. Don’t stay so late.”

I gave her a small bitter smile. If I could get out of this cursed place, I thought I would at least regret leaving her behind. Perhaps. Even though she had never been really supportive or protective of me or her other children, she was at least a bit better than Father. I walked towards the tavern, head hung low in thoughts, my mind recalling the moments of my childhood. I still remembered them clearly as if they happened just yesterday, especially the one time when I was still a little boy and Father would take me and Hart to go to the farm with him.

“Pay attention now, Son. Someday, this will be yours,” Father would say while putting his arm on Hart’s shoulder.

I was walking behind them, hobbling on my little feet desperately trying to catch up. But Father never looked back. I fell because of the slippery mud. It was raining the night before. I felt the small rocks piercing my knees through my thin trousers. It hurt. For the little me, it was so painful that I felt hot tears started to pour from my eyes. I looked up at my father and wished for him to give me a helping hand; hoping for him to get me up, pat my back, and tell me that everything would be alright. It didn’t happen. None of them happened then. That day, as I kneeled there on the cold wet ground of my father’s farm, hurting, and crying my heart out, I heard him clucked his tongue and continued on speaking to my dearest brother. He didn’t even spare a glance at me nor do anything to help me get up. He just stood there, acting as if I wasn’t there. Then, he told Hart to walk back to the house and only then that he finally look at me. He stared at me who was still crying, face streaked wet with tears and uttered the word that would change me forever.

“Boys should never cry. You should be grateful that I promised your mother that I will not hit any of you anymore. Else, I would have done to you what I did to your brother. It worked. He never cried anymore. I just didn’t understand why your mother was so against it. Bah!” he looked at me one more time and started walking back to the house.

I sat there on the dirty farm, alone and shocked. I knew that I wasn’t like my brother. He was obedient and seemed to be able to do anything that Father asked him to do. Whereas me, I would only make Father angry because of my clumsiness and stupidity. But, I had never given up trying to please him. For quite some time, I sat there, sobbing, waiting for someone, anyone to come and help me. Someone to tell me that everything was going to be alright. I first thought of my mother. I waited for her help. I waited for so long until I shivered from the cold. But she never came. Father left me, and Mother didn’t come to help me get back on my feet. The betrayal hurt. I thought she was supposed to be the one who loved me when Father hated me. But apparently, I was wrong to assume such a thing. With the realization in mind, I stopped trying and got up. If I couldn’t do anything to make Father and Mother love me as they loved Hart, then I would just stop trying. There was nothing I could do to change that, so it was better if I stopped trying. I stood there, my face blotchy with tears, but I no longer cried. I stood up by myself, and walked towards the house with as much determination as an 8 years old boy could muster.

“Watch it, Roan!” a loud voice stopped me on my track.

I was lost in my mind apparently. Without even realizing it, I had walked towards the farm instead of the tavern. And the loud voice that brought me back from my memory belonged to one of my father’s farmer.

“Stuck inside your mind, eh?” asked the farmer. He was one of my father’s workers. I seemed to recall his face so that meant he had been working for my father for quite a long time.

“A bit, yea. What are you doing here this late?” I asked him.

“Usual things to do, lad. Your father wants everything to be perfect each and every day, so that the rest of the farmers can start without fumbling to find their tools. So, here I am. Trying to put everything together for tomorrow’s work.”

That sounded just like my father. I scoffed. He laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” I said, irritated.

“Well, you just seem extremely troubled when I mentioned your father. Got into a fight, eh? Don’t worry. It happens all the time between fathers and sons. Gods know I have my fair share of a fight with my son too.”

“You don’t understand.” I scoffed again. I kept on doing that lately.

“Oh, well. You’ll get over it someday. Your father is a good person, lad. The best there is, I dare say. He treated us with kindness and a big heart.”

I laughed mirthlessly. Such a front that he had put. Good job, old man, I thought.

“I thought you were talking about a different person,” I said.

“Oh no. Of course not, lad. There’s no one like your father. There was this one time where I couldn’t come to work because my little boy was ill. He told me to stay at home for as long as I needed to, and he still paid me for a day’s work every day during my leave. Good heavens, he is a blessing from the gods and goddesses.”

“Yea, I’m sure he’s such a charming person. Good night. I must go.” I might sound rude, but I couldn’t care less.

I had enough hearing such good and false things about my father. That was not the man that I knew of. He was someone else entirely. I didn’t know him and I mostly certain that I didn’t grow up with him, because if I did, I wouldn’t be here walking alone in the dark. If I did have him as a father, I wouldn’t be here feeling the ugly feeling of hatred and disgust boiling in my chest. And the worst was me knowing that tomorrow all of these would happen all over again. The insults he threw at me, the fights, and the running away. This was how my life worked each and every day. Nothing would change and I didn’t know how much longer I could stay sane if this endless circle didn’t stop soon.

Endless. This endless loop will be the death of me someday. Sooner or later, this will bring me to my death and there is just nothing I can do to stop or change any of this. It is endless until the time my life ends.

With those words written on my journal, I put it away under my bed, blew the candle and went to the waiting embrace of the sleep, readying myself for the repeat of today, tomorrow.