Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction ❯ Akirame Norwen ❯ Why the Griffin Weeps ( Chapter 40 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Chapter 40: Why the Griffin Weeps

Erik slowly rose up and looked at his watch. “Well, they’ll most likely be having breakfast for another half-hour or so...” he scratched the back of his head and looked around the room. “How nice, they closed the door and most likely put the chair back up too.” Just to make sure, he walked across the room and jiggled the nob. “Yup. Now what?”
Left with nothing to do but wait for the seconds to tick by, thoughts began to creep into the back of his mind, the carefully constructed dam that kept all his dangerous emotions and memories pooled in the darkest corner of his soul was leaking, letting things soak in and cause him to become pensive. He walked back over to the wardrobe and stepped back in, drawing his knees up to his chest before shutting the door the best he could. The darkness hid him, all but for the sliver of light that cast a golden line over his face, highlighting one of his dark, shimmering brown eyes. “I should know about the truth of my past, I was there to see the whole thing happen... but I can’t just skip down Memory Lane, what if I lost it, like I did back at Kira’s house? Was my father worse than what I believe he was?” These thoughts and others filled his mind, and with each one an anxious feeling gnawed at him, making him reach into his shirt and cling to the token that hung from the leather string about his neck. “Maybe that’s why I’m having those ...visions. Maybe somehow my mind has locked down what really happened? Erik, shut up! You’re just going to go crazy again!”
“How long has it been since it happened?” a soft, calm voice asked him, almost like the voice of a guardian angel come to counsel him.
“So long... at least eleven years, I don’t know anymore.”
“The only way to discover truth is to find it in yourself.”
Erik closed his eyes and felt a pair of arms gently wrap over his, two slender hands with long fingers lay on his chest. There was a feminine softness to the embrace, and warmth slowly poured into his body. He closed his eyes and brought a hand up and placed it over hers, and sighed as he relaxed. “So I must remember what I can, and try to put it together.”
“Let me help you.” His angelic visitor replied, bringing her lips close to his ear and softly whispering her words.
Erik let his mind slip back in time, seeking out that one moment, the one that caused his life to pivot. At first there was only sound, then smell, and soon he could feel the breeze softly blowing on his face, accompanied by the soft kiss of the sun’s lingering mid fall warmth.
Erik calmly looked around, somehow not surprised to find himself standing on a sidewalk path that lead up to a somewhat shabby house with fading yellow paint and a couple crooked shutters. The lawn was unruly, not having had anyone properly trim it in some time, despite the fact that a rusted push-mower leaned against the rickety wooden fence, tangled up in a vine. A baby tree graced the lawn, but bore no leaves and little hope. In one of the less dust-covered windows he could see the reflection of Kira’s house right across the street. He walked up the concrete steps and opened the door, which swung open with a creak. Inside the smell of cigarettes and stale alcohol was faint. The living room, like most of the house, had a worn-down yellowish carpet that was stained in a few places. There were empty beer bottles in a couple corners, complementing the darkish atmosphere and outdated furniture. This room was where most of his abuse occurred, and was also the site of his father’s death. He walked along the carpet, and found his bedroom, in the same condition he’d left it in. A few simple toys laying out on the floor, the rest of his simple possessions safely kept in a wooden bin. His bed was small and took up the far right end of the room, and hidden under the oversized blue blanket was the rickety frame. As he looked it over, he couldn’t understand why the thing hadn’t simply fallen apart as soon as he had laid down on it. He turned and looked back over his shoulder to see a mirror hanging on the wall. His reflection showed him still at the age of 16, but resembling his youth- he was wearing an old grey t-shirt that had holes in one or two places, and a pair of faded and stained jeans that had a knee torn out, revealing a patch of dirt-caked skin. His hair had been cut not too long ago, most likely the kindness of Kira’s mother. He was skinnier too, much skinnier, and had little muscle due to a lack of a good diet. He ran his fingers through his hair and wondered if this was what he would have looked like if he had remained in his father’s care all this time. But there was a change in him, not just physically, but in his eyes. He looked closer in the mirror and could see fear hidden in his eyes’ brown depths, and they were bloodshot, and he could feel wetness on his cheeks. Words echoed in his mind, words that hadn’t been said too long ago. His father’s words. Amidst the endless swearing and vulgarity, the message was the same as it had always been. “You’ll never be anything, you’ll never go anywhere with your life. You’ll live and die in this very house, alone and cold. You think you have a chance to make something of yourself? Why not just give up now before you hurt yourself.”
They cut deep into him, but gratefully were the extent of his father’s abuse. Even so, hearing those words repeated to him every single time he gathered enough courage to leave his bedroom was too much to take, and he sank onto the bed and lay his head on the single, ancient pillow and shut his eyes, holding in the tears. As long as his father was still in the house, a single show of weakness would result in endless suffering, like chores that were beyond his ability to do. So he lay there and waited, listening closely for the sound of the door opening and closing again. Then he would be alone for the rest of the day while his father did... whatever it was he did that gave him enough money to wander into the small local bar and drink himself into his usual torpor.
The memory skipped a few times, the color changing to shades of blue and black, then back to normal, like a broken video. The view outside his window changed, the world had darkened as night had swallowed the small town like some great beast. He could hear the sound of the tv droning on in the living room, the thin walls doing little to block out either noise or cold. He wrapped the blanket tightly around himself and took a deep breath before standing. He slowly walked towards the door with a hand held out to take the knob, and the shadows in the room thickened and seemed to poison the house, silently but quickly following his steps, like demons waiting and watching to see what would happen. When he turned the knob and slowly cracked it open, in the very corner of his eye something fluttered past him, but when he turned his head it was already gone. He shuddered and willed himself on down the hall, and he froze in place when he heard the sound of a glass shattering. “....dad?” he softly asked, afraid of what he would see.
When there was no response, his heart pounded in his chest. “Dad?” He asked again, but louder, and stepped into the living room. The first thing he saw was the pieces of the bottle that had been accidently dropped, the contents were beginning to soak the carpet. He looked up to see his father laying on his back on the couch, hand clutched over his chest, glazed eyes staring straight past him. “Dad....” he slowly approached and reached out with a trembling hand to touch him.
His father didn’t respond, but continued to stare past him, as if he had been trapped within a spell, doomed to stare into the eyes of his fate for eternity. Erik stayed in place, his eyes fixed on the empty shell of his father. “Dad, please wake up.” He softly whispered, dropping to his knees next to the couch, and placed his hand inside the still-warm palm of his father, which had been gripping a bottle but minutes ago. Or perhaps it had been hours, time was skewed here. “You were right, dad. I really can’t do anything on my own, I can’t even take care of myself. But you left me, and since then I’ve had to learn. Ever since I was just a kid, all I wanted to do was prove myself to you, to show you that I really was worth something, that I was worth your time. I wanted to stand in a spotlight, and see you looking up at me with pride. That’s all I ever wanted, and you died before I ever had a chance to do anything!” he slammed his fist onto the floor, and tears of bitterness trickled down his cheeks. He stopped for a moment, and used the back of his hand to wipe them away. “I can’t remember even how, but I made it. I got to Balamb Garden, the best of all of them, and I passed the entry test after months of training. I lived there for several years... and I’m a cadet now. If I keep studying and trying my hardest, one day I’ll be an A class SeeD... just like you were once... But you were right. I didn’t make it on my own. I had friends that helped me the entire way. But just their approval isn’t enough.. I need to know that you’re proud of me. I need to hear you say it!”
Erik felt the loneliness he had harbored all those years, and it began to build up in him, turning to bitterness, anger and vengefulness. He felt ready to scream, to let it all come bursting out of him. He tightly curled his hand into a fist, and brought it up into the air, ready to let it come crashing down. Smoke wafted into the livingroom, and swirled around in the room, seeking a way out, and it slowly filled the room, making the vehement boy’s eyes water. “The fire!” he suddenly exclaimed, and quickly rose to his feet and turned to face the kitchen. The smoke was rapidly taking over the house, making it impossible to tell where he was. Bright orange flames spilled out of the kitchen, leaping to the ceiling and started consuming the room, caging him in. “I know I got out, but how?” he said in a shaky voice, and he tried to force himself to stay calm and rational.
The smoke choked his lungs, and he gasped for breath. Just a few feet away from him, he could make out a shadowed figure amidst the flames. “Help.” he wheezed, and reached out to grab anything that would support him as he tried to follow it. His hand gripped something, and he tightly clenched to it as he dropped to his knees, becoming dizzy. At last his legs gave out and he collapsed onto the floor, and he was certain that he wouldn’t make it. He willed his arm to reach out, and his vision slipped away from him. At last he submitted, and the darkness swallowed him.
He could hear crickets now, and he was aware of cool, wet grass touching his skin and soaking his shirt. Everything here was peaceful, and he knew that he was safe. How had he gotten out though? Had he somehow crawled out? He struggled to move, but found his body unresponsive, making him panic. He heard something rustling in the grass nearby, but he didn’t sense danger, as it brought a soothing presence. It knelt down next to him, and place a hand on his cheek, making him relax and let go of his worries and stress. A slender hand was placed on his chest, and the touch brought a cooling breeze that eased the pain of his burns and cleared his lungs. “You’re safe now... you’ll be taken care of. You’re not alone, Erik.” a voice softly whispered in his ear.
His care-giver bent over him, coming close to his face. There was a sense of adoration and deep love, and it resonated strongly in his chest, making his heart pound painfully. A cool sweet breath washed over his lips, and for a moment he was complete as a pair of soft, warm lips pressed against his, and his strength returned to him. He forced his eyes to open, and he found himself looking up at a pair of closed eyes, the colorless, albino-white skin strikingly set off by the dark eyebrows and long dark lashes. Instantly he wanted to know who this mysterious admirer was, and as he reached up to place a hand on her cheek, the vision burst into a hundred tiny silver lights that rained down around him. His heart shattered likewise as he sat up in the tall, moonlight grass and looked around, trying to spot her. He placed a hand on his chest where hers had been, and let his head drop forwards. “But I am alone.” He whispered, feeling hopeless once more.
The fingers of his other hand twitched, and closed tightly around something. Looking down, he saw what he had held onto in his fall in the house. A photograph in a simple black frame. He raised it closer to his face and angled it so the moonlight illuminated it. “It’s them... the woman and child in my visions...” the faces of the happy woman holding her young daughter became clearer, and it all began to unlock in his mind, when all was thrown into darkness once more, and he jerked awake in the wardrobe in Akira’s room, brought rudely out of his dream by the sound of Akira screaming as she hastily slammed the door shut in his face again and began swearing at him.