A Modern Myth

by Clara Wake

  “Oh my god!” The mother exclaims, through thick tears and gritted teeth as she wraps her arms around her daughter and holds her close. She’s completely overwhelmed and baffled by what’s just happened and how lucky she is.

  Her eyes tightly close before she slowly looks up to lock them with Nickolai’s. “Thank you so much!” she gasped aloud, sobbing as she watched over the young man. “You’re my Hero,” she sobs and squeezes her daughter even more, making sure she is truly there and safe.

  “Thank you so much,” she repeats, and sniffles softly and finally receives a small, stunned, and sincere nod from Nickolai. Blind by the crowd surrounding him, all eyes watching him. He’s locked up, paralyzed, and tense as he watches the mother turn around and walk with her daughter in her arms.

  Walking away, he watches them as the little girl peers over her mother’s shoulder and smiles at him releasing her hand from her mother’s shirt to give him a little wave.

  The corners of Nickolai’s lips tug slightly, and he gives her a soft and caring smile in return.

  Desmond soon clears his line of sight and starts to hush. “We better get out of here, buddy before you’re noticed by a certain squad,” he whispers, as he darts his eyes around and sees the crowd recording the events with their virtual and digital devices.

  “Time to go.”

  Hero - noun

  a person who is admired for their courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities. "his father was a war hero."

  synonyms: brave man, champion, man of courage, great man, man of the hour, conquering hero, victor, winner, conqueror, lion heart, warrior, paladin, knight, white hat; chevalier

  It strikes him hard. Like lightning on a tree, devastating but in the way of pure shock and awe. A stranger saw the true good deep inside of him and recognized it without any form of hesitation. He is thrilled, overwhelmed, and for once, proud of himself.

  Her words are like a broken record in his mind; a compliment that never falls dull or short. Just like the ones Jake and Skye paid him with. The sincere and genuineness that caressed her words as she spoke. She meant it, she admired, and appreciated him for doing something anyone should or could have done. Even with his clear abnormalities, she delivered the words, and he felt that sense of politeness and goodness in the world that Desmond has spoken of. He smiles to himself, hoping that these words will never fade.

  It’s a shock that Nickolai is still unaware of the concept of sleeping in.

  Still rising at dawn to witness the never-ending beauty of the sun’s first rays flooding the sky, he fixes himself some breakfast – and never a small amount either – and sends himself out into the large, landscape out the back and fire his arrows and perches on top of trees to meditate and watch the world move without him.

  Desmond always knows where to find Nickolai. If he isn’t inside, he is outside. He loves being outdoors and one with nature. The clear air and soft soil beneath his feet— it is all normal to him. Something he can connect to when he loses himself.

  Although, he does spend most of his time continuing his training and exercise to the best of his abilities. He is also inside – reading – a lot, as well. Searching through Desmond’s library and reading the books that spark his interest. He has stacks and stacks of them up in his room. Unlike all other teenagers – leaving their dishes in their room until mould is living on them –Nickolai has a mild form of Obsessive Compulsory Disorder. He likes things clean, and tidy.

  Another quiet day and he is pleased with it. While his mind buzzes and flashes with so many things he should or could be doing, he refuses and insists he complete the current book he’s glued to his bed with. Relaxing over the covers and leaning up against the wall, his legs are stretched out and he’s comfortable. He is in another world, and it’s honestly, how he wants it. How he needs it. This world is still so different, scary, and hard to fit into.

  He’s suddenly thrashed out of his zone, as three loud knocks on the wooden door shake the house. A visitor. They’ve never had a visitor before.

  Looking up from his book, his fringe slides from his left cheek and moves to his ear, as they flicker to the loud and abrupt disturbance.

  Remaining silent, he listens intensely and waits. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he carefully listens as Desmond opens the door.

  “Where is he?” The familiar voice echoes through the hallway and Nickolai immediately freezes before his eyes dart over to his getaway bag— one he made shortly after arriving there. Updated over time, just in case.

  “I’m sorry, who are you?” Desmond replies quickly, hoping and praying that Nickolai is awake and knows what is happening.

  “Where’s the elf?” The familiar deep and angry voice barks, and Nickolai is swift to grab his bow and bag and start towards the window, but he stops. He hesitates for a split second before turning and grabbing his little friend, curled up on his bed and making his way quietly out through the top window. His heart contracts and falls with him as he lands.

  Releasing his little friend, he gives her a pout. “See you, buddy,” he whispers, wishing he could take her with him – wherever that is going to be.

  She darts off into the nearby bushes, towards her own home, hopefully, and he immediately starts towards the fence line. He hears the commotion from inside and he’s swimming in hesitancy. The last time he turned around, he lost Jake. He can’t lose Desmond too after everything he’s done for him. Pain bites at his throat and clenches his heart. Panic settles in as he drops from the fence and turns towards the house

  He can’t let someone else fall because of him.

  Lining his arrow, he’s already drawing back and ready to shoot; the pressure is intense as he moves softly towards the back, seeing through to the hallway from the wide open back door. He’s able to see the three of them, kicking and punching Desmond on the floorboards. Desmond is trying to duck and cover his ribs and face – just like Nickolai taught him – but they are too fierce and hungry for answer— answers that Desmond isn’t giving them.

  Each grunt, groan, and weep that Desmond musters has Nickolai wincing and cringing, grinding his teeth, and bearing his long canines hissing. He tries to get a steady shot, but they’re moving around too much, are too unpredictable – more than he can handle – and he can feel the anger and hurt start to flood his body.

  “Well, you’re no fucking use, are you?” The Captain barks and swings his loaded hand out. Without a second to spare, he pulls the trigger and executes Desmond in the hallway, letting his body collapse and clump to the floorboards of his home.

  Limp, lifeless, and finally free to be with his son.

  CHAPTER 22

  Run.

  Keep running even when your lungs burn and your breath struggles. Your heartbeat irregular and upbeat trying to keep up with the emotions and haste. There’s no turning back. He’s lost everything and everyone now. Alone and on the run, constantly looking over his shoulder and hiding in the shadows.

  Exhausted and frail, always on the brink of insanity – alert and constantly on guard. This is his life, and he doesn’t deserve any better. The voice only makes things worse with each step.

  The reason he’s lost the only people who cared is because of her - Alma. There’s no other way to put it anymore. It’s so clear, like a crystal ball. He was built for loneliness.

  Nickolai’s eyes are burning, heavy, and stinging from lack of sleep. Then again, sleep was never his friend in the first place. He hasn’t stopped running, and he is lost in a strange land.

  Unfamiliar faces and places. A road with no name. He stands in silence, hoping and pleading that they lost his trail. However, last time, they caught up with him. They had the nose of a bloodhound and the sights of a tracker.

  Luckily, after examining his luggage, he realized Desmond had snuck in everything he had left— the money he’d kept aside for Jake he left to Nickolai with a little note attached – predicting that anytime, Nickolai was going to leave without a trace. />
  If you want to leave, you can.

  I won’t hold it against you.

  There’s no one else I’d rather give this to other than the boy who became my second son.

  Desmond.

  Nickolai can’t contain the rage that swallows him. Reading the words over and over. Feeling the sorrow-drowning, as anger collides and he’s leaning forwards, burying his face in his hands. screaming.

  He wishes he could just wake up and everything – his entire life – was just a nightmare. Yet here he is, living it.

  He’s lost everyone he loved and cared for and justice is never seen; he’s just witnessed the execution of a man who was as close to a father figure as he’s ever had, and there he is with anger building and controlling every red thought in his mind.

  He can feel so much hatred spreading through his veins. His confidence is shattered. Once again, he’s failed.

  He had the choice to shoot, to steer their attention away from Desmond, but he never took it. Even with the facts of only exposing his position, his chance of hitting one of them was slim. He knows it, even his bow would know it if it had a brain. He is very talented with his bow, but this situation has him hesitating and doubting every second he tried to land a precise shot.

  The shock is still trembling in his hands, as he tries to deal with the loss, trying his hardest to push the pain aside and rise above. It’s only Jake’s voice in the back of his mind that pushes him to keep moving, remembering his words and nickname.

  Luck is finally on his side. He is able to afford food and possibly shelter. Of course, he avoids every aspect of human interaction as much as he can. Using machine over man, much like the rest of the world although they are lazy, they aren’t mentally traumatized and suffering from issues he doesn’t know how to begin to describe or handle.

  Like the homeless, he remains on the street, staying away from anyone who comes in contact with him. Distressed, tired, and with a mind on the edge, he tries to find his reason to continue running, to keep holding on.

  His parents – to find them – to let them know, he is alive. He hopes he’ll be able to find them— that they aren’t six feet below like everyone else. Now that he’s no longer with any amount of resources to locate them, he’s staring at a brick wall trying to paint a picture but it’s blank and filled with hatred and disgust. He has no idea where to go or even who he is.

  The nights are colder, darker, and lonelier. His mind is his enemy, and the anger that taints the streets lingers and consumes those who stand still. He can’t find comfort. His back against the wall, he is breakable and losing sight of his way, his true and deep desire to hold on and find who he truly is.

  Without Jake’s confidence, Skye’s compassion and Desmond’s care, he is nothing but a shadow. He is drowning in his own despair, unconscious of what he is inside—the Phoenix that burns within.

  He never took those he loved for granted, as hard as it was to completely open up and tell them how he felt, they all knew. His actions and his loyalty is the brightest thing about him without him even knowing. He holds on to so much guilt, wishing he’d said more, spoke more – it was just too hard – to expose himself, even if he did trust them with his life. It was never easy, and he only wished he wasn’t so distant, disclosed and guarded. He’d take it all back in an instance to let them know how much he truly loved them all. His heart is empty, and he is struggling and trying to find the strength to follow his path and find his parents.

  This isn’t to say he needs them to live and push on. However, they were such an inspiring form that he didn’t realize he needed in his life and without them, he feels empty and his mind takes advantage of this. Those harsh and poisonous thoughts collide and tear him apart from the inside.

  He’s always been in doubt about everything. His life, his own soul and being. Every decision he’s made and most of all every action he’s done in the past and even those he hasn’t even done yet constantly drown him in doubt and guilt. He’s afraid to take the step forward, afraid of turning back and letting them take him. After all, if he had turned around the first place, Jake and Desmond would still be breathing.

  Some days feel safer than others, and others are saturated in fear. At least, today is a calm and collected day. This is the day he is going to move and take that step he’s never stopped thinking about. Even with those embers destroying any sense of progress or determination, he never lets it hold him back. After all, a phoenix will always burn. He is ready. He isn’t going to let the lingering darkness flood and drown him into submission and push him over the edge. No, it isn’t happening. He is once again living up to his nickname, and he knows Jake would be proud. Maybe one day he’ll be proud of himself.

  Many long hours tail him as he makes sure he’s unfollowed and alone on his journey. He’s already across and over to the next two cities that are many hours from where he originally started. Being trained from six years old, travelling and walking really did help in this aspect, that’s for sure.

  Every time he has the moment to take a seat and rest, he double checks his bag to make sure he still has everything he needs. He also usually stocks up as much as he could when it came to food and drink.

  Digging through the rest of the bag, Nickolai notices another piece of paper – that he didn’t leave inside – with a twitch of his ear, a scrunch of his nose and a tilt of his head, Nickolai pulls the piece of paper out of the pit of the bag and unfolds it. His eyes grow wide as he stares at it. Desmond’s writing once again.

  He lets his lips part and his eyebrows furrow. Feeling the gripping sensation as his fingers and palms begin to shake. The tightening of his throat, restraining his gasp. Could this be what he thought it was? It held so many questions, and he had no way of finding out and this ignited the hidden rage within and burned the sheer desire to search.

  The worst part that had him dreading every second was needing to ask for help – he was unfamiliar with the world around him – and if he wanted to know how and where to get to his destination, he had to build the courage to interact with someone. Afraid they’ll run or dismiss him the second their eyes narrow his face. Look and judge him like he’s the leader of a gang or the truth, a murderer.

  He knows either men or women are both unpredictable. They could react fast or run with their tails between their legs. He has no other choice, and if he wants to find this place, he has to step forward and find a way.

  He could see the street signs, digital and bright; they have the name of the road or street with the kilometres of the next street close by. Why? No clue and frankly, he doesn’t care.

  Houses in this area are smaller, much smaller than where he was with Desmond. Streets are narrow, and the houses are closer together— almost arm length close. Too close. Most are two stories, while only a select few have the standard home with more space surrounding it.

  The problem living in the digital and technologically advanced world is that hardly anyone was around; this wasn’t like the town Desmond took him to.

  People remained indoors with no need of stepping outside. It is completely quiet. He has to go to the Town Centre in hopes of finding someone kind enough to help him.

  He arrives at the Town Centre. It’s somewhat like the one Desmond took him too, only this one is stale, empty, and quiet. Only a few people hover around stalls or shops. Most of them stand at corners and wait for people to pass.

  He knows he’ll turn heads the second he enters. After all, he isn’t covered. With the rush of escaping, he left his beanie behind and was left with only the hoodie. It isn’t enough. His ears still poke the edges and sides of the hood. There is no use in trying to hide.

  While his thick, crimson hair has grown back to its desired length, his fringe splits and falls over almost half of the left side of his face and spikes and points upwards, almost to the length of his ears. He could feel the judgment glaring at him, and his hair isn’t going to help him anymore.

  He is going to see just how harsh or
kind the real world is – what is real and what is an illusion. What lies did Alma feed them and what truth she left out and it petrifies him. Even the strong, guarded elf he is, he feels his body tensing and he’s ready to take flight instead of fight for once, instead of spilling blood.

  “You look lost,” a small voice from behind him speaks, and he’s quick to turn on his heels and pin his eyes to meet their wondering gaze.

  He’s quiet at first, too many words and reactions flooding and rushing through his mind. He can see that they’re waiting for him to answer, and his chest caves. “That’s... because I am..” he breathes, dropping his eyes from their intense gaze and finding comfort in the gravel of the ground below.

  “Where are you headed?” The elderly woman asks, as she brings a comfortable and gentle smile to her lips. She watches him as she scans him. Looking up, he’s gracefully blocking the sun out of her eyes.

  Again, he’s asked that same question and he still holds the same answer. “I don’t know...” He slowly replies, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders as he bites the inside of his cheek. He’ll have to give her the note and hope she knows where it is. Otherwise, he’ll have to find someone else, and he is somewhat comfortable with speaking to her even though he can’t hold eye contact with her. He always feels too damn uncomfortable with eye contact, and he refuses it no matter what.

  Carefully, Nickolai hands the elderly woman the note and finally narrows his eyes on her petite face as she scans it. Nodding and humming to herself, she hands it back to him and brings a wide smile to her face, looking right up to meet his bashful and eager gaze.

  “Darling, you’re a long way from where you need to be,” she starts, with the look of pity starting to spread across her face.

  “That’s another seven hours. South in New Westminster.” She carefully explains to him and stops for a second before attempting to guide him on his travels. “There’s a train that goes there,” she tells him, and points over towards the direction of the train station.