CHAPTER 1 : «So… That's my life...»

Six years later...

"Give me back the fruits you stole! You filthy scoundrel, aren't you ashamed?"

"Damn it, piss off, he's surprisingly fast for a fatso."

Suddenly, I collided with a large rock, causing me to fall and lose the precious fruits I had in my possession.

"Wretch, everyone in the village hates you. What's the king waiting for to throw you in the dungeon, demon?" he said, picking up his fruits and taking the opportunity to strike me.

It was then that the man standing in front of me intervened and said,

"It's okay, you can stop now, Scott. I think he's got the message,"

he said, then he helped me up and turned me towards the aforementioned Scott, reprimanding me,

"Apologize for causing him harm now. Stealing is not the right way; I didn't teach you to do that."

"Shut up, old man! You haven't taught me anything; you're not my father,"

At that moment, the vendor exclaimed mockingly,

"Thank goodness he's not your father! Who would want a son who kills his own parents?"

Then he turned and walked away, laughing at me.

"YOU FILTHY SON OF A—"

The old man's hand covered my mouth to silence me. He gently placed me back on the ground and affirmed, "Let it go. You don't have to respond to his words. Those rumors circulating around, just ignore them. As long as you know they're false, they're not worth your attention. Come on, are you hungry? Come to my place, I've prepared something to eat, you'll appreciate it."

I followed him without protest. After all, he's somewhat like family to me, my only family... I met him a few days after my parents disappeared. While youths from the village were beating me, claiming to avenge my parents whom I allegedly murdered while causing chaos in the town. That's when he arrived, scared them off, and took me in.

I couldn't say why, but he's the only one who's kind to me (perhaps it's age that makes him foolish). It's been approximately six years now that we've been seeing each other almost every day. He lodges me, feeds me, and buys me what I need, preventing me from becoming a thug and sinking into theft to feed myself and murder to make money.

Anyway, we arrived at his place. A house as normal as can be, probably similar to yours, after all, an old man living alone doesn't need more than that (I suppose).

"Take a seat, the meal is ready,"

he announced cheerfully. He then poured what looked like tomato stew or meat in sauce onto the plate in front of me. As you can guess, he wasn't a great cook, but it didn't bother me. In fact, the last meals I had other than his were those prepared by my mother, and I was too young to remember their taste, so I suppose the old man's meals aren't so bad.

"Hey, old man, I'm done. I'm heading out, I'll be back tonight to sleep. See ya,"

I said as I finished.

Without even thanking him, I left his house in less time than it takes to say it. I didn't have anything special to do, usually, but this time I had given myself a mission: to find a gift for the old man.

Tomorrow would be my birthday; I'd turn 17. But the only gift I wanted was to be able to thank him properly. I had saved every penny honestly over the months, hoping to one day be able to give him something that would make him happy. And this time, I had finally saved enough money to buy the gift I had in mind for a long time: a beautiful blanket, as a reference to the first gift he had given me. Indeed, I had managed to gather approximately $30, which took me more than 8 months, but I'm sure he'll be pleased.

So, I headed towards the center of the village to browse the shops and buy the said gift.

As I walked through the village streets, I noticed on every wall, faded posters and dull-colored newspaper publications describing me as a monster. I could even see caricatures of myself killing innocent people. But as the old man used to tell me, "I don't have to pay attention to that crap."

The further I walked, the more whispers from passersby assaulted me. Their avoiding gazes were as if they were seeing Satan himself, but I was sadly accustomed to this routine.

Upon entering the shop, I was dazzled by the display of blankets arranged by color and size. I was enchanted by them. I examined them in detail and was drawn to a black and white blanket, identical to the one the old man had given me during our first encounter. However, as I approached, the price of these textile works of art hit me like a ton of bricks.

"Do you have no shame? Selling blankets this expensive, how do your customers manage to buy them? Scamer!"

Just as I uttered those words, the vendor turned towards me and began to shout,

"Hey piece of shit, did I talk to you? You better be grateful that I allow scum like you to enter my shop. If you're not happy, you can get the hell out!"

ing with a clumsy gesture, I averted my gaze towards the cheapest items, desperately seeking a solution to my dilemma. Suddenly, I spotted two balls of wool that caught my attention. Together, they could recreate the same blanket as the one the man sells. Moreover, they were sold with two needles for stitching, priced at fifteen dollars each.

-Perfect, with this, I could replicate my old blanket, make a perfect gift within my budget, awesome! I'll take that!-

Approaching the vendor, I handed him the thirty dollars I had carefully saved. His eyes widened at the amount, as if he were shocked that someone like me had such a sum in my possession. With a rough gesture, he snatched them from me and returned the balls of wool, muttering bitterly,

"That's it, get out! It's the last time I'll accept your stolen money!"

So, I left, heading towards a small, dilapidated place. This place was my old house, the site where the tragedy of that day occurred, the day I lost my parents. I often went there to repent, as if it were a sanctuary where only I had the keys. The townspeople never came here, believing that I would attack them if they saw me meddling with the house. I settled in the midst of the debris and began to try to sew. Unfortunately, I tried again and again without success.

"Damn it, it's been an hour and I still can't figure it out... How does this work..."

For two hours, I tried everything to make a blanket, but to no avail. Then an idea struck me: I would make knots and create some great jewelry. That's what I did.

Time passed, and it was getting dark. I had prepared about ten braids of wool to make rings, necklaces, and other similar decorations.

As promised, when night fell, I sought refuge at the old man's house to sleep. I had hidden my gifts in my pockets to give to him tomorrow.

I pushed open the door of the house, and the old man welcomed me as expected.

"It's a big day for you tomorrow; you're going to be great! I'd even say that tomorrow, you'll be old, like me, ahah!"

He teased me, and I laughed along with him.

"Don't overdo it! I'm not about to collapse, me !"

We laughed for a long moment, exchanging tasteless jokes and talking about everything and nothing.

As the night fully settled in, it was time for me to go to bed. He escorted me to a room he had decorated just for me. There were balloons all over the ceiling, confetti on the floor—basically, a beautiful decoration just for me. It had been so long since anyone had shown me such a kind gesture that I couldn't help but cry. I threw myself into the old man's arms but remained silent.

He carried me to bed, tucked me in, and said,

"Tomorrow will be YOUR day, just for you. Your life will truly begin. I'm so proud of you..."

His words were somewhat strange, but he kissed me on the forehead and continued,

"See you tomorrow, future old man."

He left, closing the door behind him, leaving me in darkness. I closed my eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

Everything was fine, absolutely fine.

Calmness reigned in my dreams as I slept peacefully. Unfortunately, this rest was shattered by a nightmare. A nightmare that didn't bring me joy. Indeed, in my dreams slipped the memory of that night, six years ago... I saw my father pierced through the stomach, my mother torn apart, and my house burning.

Suddenly, I woke up with a start. In tears, I wanted to go see the old man for comfort. But this awakening was strange. My room was icy cold. The door and the window, once closed, let in a draft that chilled me to the bone. I got out of bed, delicately placing my feet on the frigid floor of my room. I couldn't see anything, or at least, hardly anything. The only light illuminating me was that of the full moon reflecting on the floor.

I crossed the threshold of my door, heading towards the old man's room. That's when I noticed that the floor of the hallway was even colder than that of my room. As I advanced, still in shock from my dream and with my head still foggy, a blast of polar wind knocked me backwards and chilled me to the core. I struggled to get up and continued to walk towards the room, clinging with all my weight to the wall on my right.

It took me a long moment, but I finally arrived at the living room, the last step before reaching my goal. The door was already slightly ajar, but a gust of coldness that I had never felt before pushed it further open with such force that the handle embedded into the wall to my left.

-Wow, a little more and I would've been crushed by that door... What's happening, I don't understand," I muttered, bewildered.-

I took a step into the living room, and as I tried to gain support, I slipped on what seemed to be like a sheet of ice. Shocked, I looked up and saw that the entire living room was covered in a thin layer of ice. Searching for the cause of this phenomenon, I instinctively glanced towards the entrance door. And I was right. From this very door, which was also open, emanated an extremely cold draft. Moreover, I could see in front of the entrance an extension of ice spikes that seemed to come from outside.

Forgetting my intention to see the old man, I stepped forward, intrigued, towards the outside, and saw...

To be continued...