The Storm

Bocchi lay happily as if his heart had been unburdened.

He slept soundly and deeply, oblivious to the outside world except for the warmth of his mother's love.

"My mother's beautiful, oh-so-sweet lullabies," he thought as he dreamed peacefully through a fleeting tranquility before the tempest.

The fleeting serenity and tranquility of a brief reprieve. But the storm would soon give way to the cruelties of the world as if he hadn't already been through enough.

Suddenly, the lullaby echoing in his mind stopped, replaced by eerie silence and then the unsettling sounds of dripping liquid, roaring yells, clanking metal, and sizzling.

The warmth of his mother's embrace turned cold.

Bocchi's eyes fluttered open weakly to see his mother's haggard face, her eyes red and swollen from weeping. Her body enveloped him.

Confused, Bocchi stood up unsteadily, startled by the commotion outside his room.

"Mother— if you're awake— what's with all the commotion outside?" He asked before sensing something wet. Looking down, he realized that he was covered in a dark red liquid pooling beneath him and his mother.

The dripping sound echoed through the room.

In a state of agonized wails, he gazed at his mother with tears brimming in his widened eyes, shivers running down his body. He stared at the woman who had sacrificed herself to protect him since he had regained consciousness. Painting and imprinting a haunting picture of the mother he lost.

"M-Mother?" Bocchi's voice trembled, sickly and feeble. The weight of the world crashed right back onto his fragile and wounded shoulders. 

In the blink of an eye, The truth crashed down upon the boy's fragile soul like a raging torrent that his mother had been murdered while protecting him during his sleep.

"MOTHER!" His voice loudly croaked as if all the weights of the world were placed right back on his shoulders.

There is only one acceptable outcome for a boy whose mother was murdered while protecting him during his deep slumber.

To cry to their hearts' content until something intervenes.

He screamed and he sobbed, going through all the emotions and stages of grief in his mind and body.

Thoughts raced through his mind at light speeds, with one thought that had been frequently asked.

Why?

At first, the boy refused to accept reality, and his tears dried up. Denial shielded him from the painful truth, allowing him to cling firmly to hope that things would return to normal.

As the realization sank its fangs into him like a snake, anger consumed Bocchi's heart, mind, and soul. He resents his and his mother's fate, questioning why this had happened to him.

In an attempt to regain what he had lost, Bocchi sought solace in bargaining. He made promises to himself and even to a higher power. Hope that by fulfilling certain conditions, he could cry again or, better yet, have his mother back. Desperation fueled his bargaining attempts but ultimately proved futile.

Unable to find a way out of his predicament, the boy gave in to sadness and despair.

But he couldn't accept it. Not at all.

All in a short period, the young Bocchi, who was just a boy, Bocchi experienced the five stages of grief.

The roars of battle, the thuds and the bumps, the metal clanking and the galloping were irrelevant to Bocchi.

Until a smoky aura filled the very room where he and his deceased mother lay.

Fire, it smelled like fire and acrid smoke.

His lack of awareness made him oblivious to his surroundings.

Coughing and gasping for air, smoke filling his lungs with each quickening breath he takes.

Covering his mouth and nose with his hands, desperately trying to get out of the room by kicking and punching the door.

But the door is locked from the other side, with multiple locks and bolts to keep Bocchi inside—a barrier trapping him in a world turned upside down by chaos.

With no strength left, his will faltered, and he crumbled to the ground, resigned to his fate. He shut his eyes to accept the fact that he is not going to get out, he is going to die in this room.

Yet, an inner voice compelled him to rise. His mind and soul told him to not die, not like this, not now.

If there is one thing letting Bocchi live, it is to fight to see his friend from the other side of the very wall that is burning down.

Bidding his mother farewell, adrenaline rushed through Bocchi's veins as he figured out how to escape the burning room.

He palmed himself around his body, with a mesmerizing aura, an ethereal glow defied the suffocating smoke as he coughed up blood.

Time seemed to stretch, moments melded into eternity, as the walls crumbled around him, burying him in debris.

Time seemed to stretch, and moments melded into eternity, as the walls collapsed and the debris swallowed him whole due to the scorching heat of the flames.

Weakened and exhausted, he lies on the ground of ashes, and ruins of his house, surviving the blazing inferno.

His ears rang, his body bruised, his vision blurred, and his coughing had become uncontrollable.

But the greenish-yellow aura around his body never wavered. Healing his wounds around his body, and his coughing became less frequent.

As his vision slowly cleared, Bocchi saw the outside world for the first time since the attack, a world transformed by chaos.

With his ears still ringing, he steadily stood up on the ruins of his home.

The moon, a celestial orb he had only known through his mother's tales, shined for him. With dark clouds forming in the distance.

Bocchi's gaze swept over the landscape, his eyes jolting around to scan the area before him, witnessing the wreckage of homes, fields, and lives, scattered like broken dreams.

Houses and fields lay in ruins, devoured by the fire and devastation. And other houses that are still standing, but still in flames. Soon to be consumed by the flames.

With lifeless bodies, soldiers and civilians alike, strewn like shattered glass across the landscape along the path he walked. A mournful breeze that carried the lamentations of the fallen, a mournful lament for the dead.

Walking on a paved path, step by tentative step, the bodies around him grew in numbers, soldiers, farmers, families, and ages ranging from young toddlers to old men.

Although Bocchi never met any of them or even saw them. He found himself inundated with a profound melancholy. Their collective suffering echoed through his numb heart.

Bocchi moved forward, his heart heavy with the weight of countless tragedies. The moon, a distant companion he had longed to witness, cast an eerie glow over the desolation. Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, a foreboding omen.

But he could not cry. Not even a single drop of water filled his eyes to show empathy for the situation. But the rain fell, extinguishing the remaining flames, as rain fell upon him and the town.

Continuing to walk on the paved path, walking tentatively, his mind was a whirlpool of questions, but one resonated above all like a thorn in his side.

Where was his friend? Was there still a glimmer of hope in this scene of desolation?