Sin

I possess an intimate understanding of the concept of sin.

Sin, a word that cuts through the very core of human existence, represents actions unequivocally deemed wrong, devoid of any shades of ambiguity we might wish to uncover.

In our ceaseless quest to find moral gray areas in our sins, humanity, and other beings stumble upon the stark truth: there are none. No room for debate, no escape from the harsh reality.

I, too, have transgressed. My sin, a deeply regrettable act, was woven into the fabric of a lie – a lie that carried consequences far heavier than the fragile words that birthed it. If I hadn't yielded to Lily's persistent plea for deception, she might not have met her tragic demise at the merciless hands of her husband.

Oh, how I longed for a heightened sense of wisdom, a wisdom that would have led me to divulge her harrowing abuse to the authorities. But I was just a child of six, an age where mistakes often take root and flourish.

My sin, the root cause of Lily's untimely demise, rests heavily upon my conscience. She, an impulsive novelist of remarkable talents, and I, kindred spirits united by our shared love for literature, forged a bond that transcended the boundaries of age. She, a mere sixteen, and her husband, Ceimica, a towering forty-six-year-old, their union a stark anomaly even on my home planet, where such relationships were met with disdainful glances and whispered judgments.

Time carried me forward to a mundane moment in my average-sized bathroom, its square dimensions framing the stage for the inner turmoil I harbored. Porcelain fixtures adorned the sink, resting upon a plastic countertop. The tiled floor met wallpapered dado walls, illuminated by the warm glow of wall lamps. An oceanic theme embraced the room, soothingly embracing me with its serene palette of light colors, maintaining a semblance of modernity. And there, in the heart of this tranquil setting, an inconspicuous laptop rested.

As I stood in that bathroom, the echoes of my past reverberated through my thoughts. At the tender age of six, I wore the badge of national pride upon my chest, an emblem of loyalty to my homeland, my parents, and my people. My father, Unsen, once a high school bully turned reformed man, and my mother, Ivoros, a woman with a history of tax evasion who had chosen a path of redemption.

In this unremarkable moment, my father, Unsen, gently toweling me dry, prepared me for the day ahead. My mother, Ivoros, was engrossed in some mysterious endeavor, a veil of secrecy shrouding her actions. Unbeknownst to me, my father harbored suspicions that she was playing recklessly with our finances, compelling him to maintain a separate bank account to safeguard our livelihood.

The house was besieged by incessant calls from individuals claiming to be victims of my mother's alleged scams, threatening to abscond with all our hard-earned money. To protect our sustenance, my father concealed his earnings, driven by the necessity of putting food on our table.

My six-year-old heart held firm beliefs about right and wrong, and I vehemently opposed the dishonest acts that surrounded me. The theft I witnessed on Bix-Biz, our equivalent of YouTube, triggered a moral conflict that ignited tensions between my parents.

⬛

One fateful day, my mother secured employment. With swift determination, she funneled her funds into two distinct bank accounts – one brimming with the honest earnings from her job and the other filled with the ill-gotten gains from her deceptions.

I observed her departure to work, oblivious to the inexorable events that would soon unfold.

⬛

Night fell, and I awaited my mother's return with a child's longing, but instead, a nightmarish apparition descended through my window. An angelic presence, marred and mutilated, writhing in agony, her body contorted in ways that defied reason.

Her tortured mutterings filled the room, words dripping with uncertainty and despair. "I can't kill them all. Would it be better if I did? No, no, no..."

She grappled with the unfathomable decision of whether to obliterate us all, a sense of overwhelming guilt and anguish burdening her.

At the tender age of six, I could endure it no longer, and my screams summoned my parents in a flurry of fear.

⬛

The memory of her broken, twisted form still haunts my dreams.

⬛

Her movements seemed to defy the laws of physics themselves.

⬛

Her arm appeared to be dislocated, one knee bent unnaturally, the other twisted in reverse, as though some malevolent force had contorted her joints against their will.

⬛

When I returned to the room, she had vanished, or so I thought. My father's legs lay shattered, each broken into two pieces, and I was forced to summon an ambulance.

It was revealed that an angel named Amelor had visited our home, causing this gruesome event. The hospital worked tirelessly to rejoin my father's shattered limbs, a grueling process that spanned six excruciating days. Throughout this ordeal, my mother remained conspicuously absent.

⬛

Upon our return home, my father received a draft notice, compelling him to relinquish his job. On my planet, drafting encompassed a wide array of roles beyond just military service, and Unsen found himself assigned to construction work at one of the most perilous sites in existence, where the annual death toll could reach a staggering 7,000 souls.

Thankfully, his injuries delayed his departure, affording him time to consider alternatives that would lead him away from this perilous path.

⬛

A leopard-like alien physician named Ivory, with a mischievous grin, entered his hospital room, exclaiming, "The good news is... Your legs were sliced into two! The bad news is... We put them back together! Congratulations!" 😆

⬛

Unsen, bewildered, responded, "I suppose it's good news that my legs are whole again?" 😳

⚪

Ivory, with a sheepish grin, admitted, "Oops, I must have read my lines wrong!" 😗

⚪

Unsen quizzically asked, "You have lines?" 😳

⚪

Ivory responded, "Don't we all?" 😁

⚪

Unsen, still perplexed, mumbled, "Okay..." 😳

⚪

A leopard-like figure named Leo-Pard chimed in, "Well, you're quite mean." 😳

⚪

Ivory, with a knowing smile, asserted, "Perhaps, but you must show me respect; after all, I possess the power to control your organs." 😊

🎢

The following day dawned with an air of trepidation and the weight of responsibility hanging heavily over our household.

🏘️

Ivory, with a stoic expression that belied the turmoil within, accompanied my father home on a stretcher. The sight of him, once a sturdy and muscular figure, now confined to such vulnerability, caused a palpable tension in the room. Dad's robust frame, if made to bear his weight too soon, could risk undoing the delicate stitches that held his shattered legs together. He was, after all, heavy-set.

⚪

Amidst it all, my mother, Ivoros, harbored a complex mix of emotions. Resentment simmered beneath her surface, a resentful response to the situation she was thrust into. She had no choice but to become his caregiver, for only she possessed the strength to bear this burden. Reluctantly, she immersed herself in the role she never asked for, a role that demanded more than she was willing to give.

⚪

In the days that followed, Ivoros found herself repeatedly declining any involvement beyond her necessary duties. The weight of it all had worn her down, leaving her with no energy for anything more.

⚪

It was then that I stepped into the role of caretaker, an obligation that fell upon my young shoulders. I tended to his every need, and in those moments when my mother's weariness overcame her, I became his lifeline.

I brewed him coffee ☕, knowing it was a guilty pleasure he relished. My mother had confessed her disdain for the bitter brew and often confined herself to preparing only the most essential sustenance.

She reserved her culinary efforts solely for 🍖 meat and 🥒 vegetables. When it came to hydration, she limited her offerings to 🥤water and 🍊 orange juice. On our planet, oranges held a special place in our diet, their juicy flesh serving as a vital source of sustenance, nearly as essential as water itself.

⬛

Mom's reluctance to engage in anything beyond her obligatory duties became increasingly evident. It was I who expanded my efforts, crafting an array of dishes that transcended her limited menu.

I served him cake 🍰, 🍕 pizza, 🌮 tacos, 🍔 burgers, 🧇 waffles, 🥯 bagels, 🥞 pancakes, 🌭 hot dogs – anything my father desired that my mother would not prepare.

⬛

Then, one fateful morning, as I was flipping pancakes 🥞 in the kitchen, a deafening explosion rattled the world outside, shaking the very foundation of our existence.

⬛

Nine days had elapsed since the intricate surgery that pieced together my father's shattered legs, yet a long and arduous road to complete recovery stretched ahead, an entire year's journey before his limbs would regain their full strength and mobility.

⬛

My gaze darted toward the source of the explosion, my heart racing as I observed leopard-like aliens descending from the heavens. Among them, I was one of the Reduxes, and we inhabited the planet alongside the human-like Deduxes, a delicate balance maintained between our two species.

⬛

A Redux man plummeted from the sky, a gut-wrenching sight that elicited a visceral scream from me. But this was no ordinary Redux; he bore a profound significance. He was the son of the esteemed Dedux leader, Stone-Edge, a figure revered by a cult-like faction that considered him an idol.

The story of Stone-Edge's son, adopted into their family, held its own complexity. He bore the name Road-Edge, symbolizing the sole family Stone-Edge had ever planned to have. However, fate took a peculiar turn when Road-Edge crossed paths with Kalina, the boy's aunt and the adoptive sister of his biological mother, Alina. Their union transformed into matrimony, forever altering the course of their lives.

⬛

The heavens themselves seemed to shriek in protest as Kalina bore witness to the unthinkable. She watched her husband fall from the sky, the watch communicator she had gifted him serving as a cruel reminder of their final communication. Her anguish was palpable, and her cries filled the air as her husband plummeted to the ground.

Alina, upon receiving the news, retreated into the confines of her own world, barricading herself from the harsh reality outside.

❣️

To be continued...