Heartless

For a passerby, the cottage of the Littles down the slanting road would have appeared uneventful. The couple, though old, always stood together despite their trivial and inevitable domestic clashes. As time passes, people trapped inside the walls of a building are expected to have their silly disputes. In that way, homes are no different from prisons. You are trapped with other individuals within the walls of a compound. Wherever you go, you return home at the end of the day.

Anyway, the Littles shared what one can call the conventional husband and wife relationship. Mr Little talked little, hands behind his back, and short-tempered. Mrs Little talked far too much, hands waving in the air, and perhaps was the most patient person on the face of the entire Earth. She loved cooking, while he loved building. She loved him, and he loved her.

But again, people trapped inside the walls of a building are bound to have disagreements. Sometimes, Mr Little walks out of the home, ensuring each step he took reverberates through the entire neighbourhood. And when one walks in, probably Mrs Hutchinson, they would find Mrs Little by the dining table, crumbled tissues beside her. Still, they were the most conventional couple ever to be made. Mrs Little would say something like, "It's not that he is heartless. He sometimes just doesn't understand. Men are always angry."

The Long Walk Home

It takes Li Hyun nine minutes to walk home from school. Through the busy roads with the loud traffic, that is. He despises that path. Though no one knew, he never took that road home. He slips through the back gate of his school, down the small muddy track behind the messy Andersons, and through the deserted longer route to the Seoraksan mountains.

That Friday evening, Li Hyun did the same. He never had many people to call friends. Except one, and he had been missing for a while now. So, his evening escapades had never been noticed by any.

As he leapt over the small fence behind the apartment of the Andersons, he reached his favourite spot. The path where maple trees lined up on both sides of the road. It looked just like how it was in the desktop wallpapers. There were differences, of course, but only two souls in the entire world knew about them.

The little boy pulled down the straps of his bag to the maximum. His coffee-brown eyes nearly glistened in the sunlight below his messy, light blonde hair.

'Kay

"Do you have a minute, sir?"

Oh, I forgot them back at home. Would you like me to get some? Though the words never made it out of the chambers of his mind, Louie was sure that his expressions took no effort to conceal the emotions. He turned around, midway through his haste to the office, late as always. And he instantly regretted not taking the effort to suppress his actual emotions. The college girl who stood before him seemed to have popped straight out of a fairy tale. Was she glowing?

"Sir." She repeats, but it is not loud enough to help Louie discern that he was staring at her without the slightest trace of shame. "Sir," it was almost a shout on the second turn, and it successfully brought Louie back to his senses.

"Yes, yes! How can I help you," Louie paused, "ma'am?" Well, this is getting formal. Louie was never good with girls. Well, people, in fact. There should be a reason why he knocked out the very first person who had the guts to interview him. That man lost his two canines on the right side that day with a single blow. It's expected of an older gentleman, isn't it? It cost Louie a few bucks too.

"Uh, we are doing a survey, and if we could have a minute of your time, it would be great! It's okay if you're busy, you know." The smile that occupied her face the very next moment almost announced that it wasn't okay. And Louie had a hard time deciding between the girl's awkward smile and Katherine's sweetly threatening grin. But again, has any gentlemen his age survived the cute smile of a young girl? "I am totally free!" I am so more than done.

Well, the questions in the survey felt more like a personal attack than the sweet reception Louie had expected.

Do you hate your job? Hell yes!

Do you feel like your earnings are less than what you deserve? Am I even paid?

On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your current standard of living? Negative!

But the answers that made it to the paper could not be further refined. That's how good it was. There might have been a lot of things Louie was unaware of. Doing a survey wasn't one among them. It paid him even more than his job does!

########

Since the weekly challenges are returning to the fold, and that Christmas is nearly here, and that I am flooding with ideas, I decided to include all the unfinished stories, as of yet, in this segment of the series. Ah, it is a relief to get it out of my mind. Hope you enjoy the story! Now, let me go and do some serious research on Ted Bundy. And also, I have a Christmas story coming up. Let me try to finish the year with a bang ^-^ Lots of love <3

The hectic workday squeezed the last ounce of energy I had in me. The instant I closed my eyes, I dozed off like a dead chap. My wife, Clarissa, was a nurse, and she held the night shift that day. So, I slept with my lovely little daughter, Cassie; since she was afraid to sleep alone. But, this unusual fear did not exist in her until a few days before. Perhaps, it was a horror movie she watched, I assumed. But, I never knew, in the least, that I was letting her sleep with an evil spirit.

Somewhere in the midst of the silent night, I sensed someone at the corner of my bed. I was sure my limbs had felt the presence of some other person in this room; I was beyond terrified. The adrenaline my body procured in the next few moments were too much in quantity against the tiredness I procured from a day. My eyes were wide open, and I bounced away from the stranger who seemed like a man. On the second apprehension, I recognised this visitor, and a dread pervaded my mind.

He wore baggy brown pants with a plain white shirt, the suspenders of his trousers dangling relaxed on both sides of his ribs. His black-tie dragged down, the coat missing, he looked very distinct from his depiction in history books. It was the Fuhrer of Germany, Adolf Hitler himself, who was resting peacefully on the other side of my bed. He held his head down, his eyes vacant, and his iconic strands of hair tumbled over his blue eyes. He did not look like an arrogant, superior leader, but more like a weak, defeated man.

Though I recognised this untimely intruder, the first question that escaped the chambers of my mind was, “Who are you?” He glanced at me, surprised, but then lowered his head again as if he realised something. With trembling fists, he propped himself up and proceeded to the other end of the room. He stood near the windows. He was weak; only a shadow of the man who commenced a tumultuous World War and murdered millions of Jews. He could barely stand on his legs, his arms sought for support, but no shoulder served him.

He glanced up at the stars and muttered something; it was faint, but it possessed more power than I could ever gather, “I thought the world would remember me.” His vision danced around; he no longer had a purpose, he no longer had an aim, and his demeanour hinted that he no longer even had life within that frame. He did not turn around, not once; he could not even face a mediocre someone like me. His gaze transfixed to some point far away, and he again mumbled something weak, more uncertain this time, “I am afraid I was wrong.”

Six words. A total of six words summed up against the dictator’s entire life. Was this a confession? A regret? Was it that simple? Could grief possibly wash away his sins? Could anything? This man slaughtered millions, shattered cities, families, all in the name of a miserable objective; to cleanse the world. And he is afraid he was wrong? This man was wrong. Whatever perspective, whatever mirror reflects his story; no version of it will ever deem his motives pure as he stated they were. He was wrong.

All of a sudden, he turned around as if he could hear my thoughts. I was, for a moment, petrified; but his vacant expressions pulled me back together. He leaned against the racks and picked up the bottle of whiskey that I had stored away. He was not asking for permission, and I felt too feeble to question; he had dictated over an entire nation within his palms, and even proposed to dominate over the whole world. That man does not need an elaborate ceremony to take authority of an ordinary house.

“Would you like a drink?” He asked me, having found two glasses from the cupboard. The Fuhrer of Germany, the horrid nightmare of many, even seventy-five years after his death, and he wanted to share a drink with me. But, I politely refused; My daughter was strictly against my drinking habits, and I was putting in my best efforts to comply. But the lack of a company overnight did not stop him; he poured himself a drink and enjoyed the new flavours.

When he was halfway through his glass, Cassie exhibited signs of waking up; the noises inside the room was disturbing her peaceful sleep. Adolf quickly hid the drink behind his stocky frame. When I looked at him, surprised, all I could see was an innocent smile. It was the last thing I expected from such a figure in history, but yes, no matter, however powerful, it doesn’t change the fact that he was still human. And maybe, even a caring, childish heart.

He drew himself up and came closer to the both of us, but his eyes were not at all directed towards me. He only gazed at my daughter, and his features revealed nothing but the delight of seeing a little child. However, something unexpected happened. Just before he was close enough to Cassie, she moved back in fear; she hid behind me, clung to me so tight and her little eyes were full of fear. At this sorrowful sight, the epitome shattered; the happiness in his features faded, the hands once extended for caring trembled in mid-air, and his eyes turned gushing red. But before we could see the tears of someone who had never cried, he turned away swiftly, hiding his emotions and supporting himself against the windowpanes.

After a prolonged silence, he spoke again, “Children used to adore me,” He slowly turned, his voice almost breaking. His eyes were still red, and his hair covering his left eye, “But, I am nothing less than a monster, am I?” That moment, we felt weak air currents moving across our room, Cassie held on to me even tighter. Adolf again gained his vacant, expressionless face and held his body upright, though his left hand still trembled. A few moments later, one end of our room was not visible, but instead, some other infrastructure was present on the other end. A black border covered the places that no longer belonged in this reality; Adolf slowly moved into the portal, not looking back even once. All he left was a glass half-filled.

At last, he turned. An unbalanced grin crossed his face, but it was not one of happiness. But it was more like as if he retrieved a childish fantasy long forgotten. And before the portal closed in on itself, he uttered his last two words, glancing at my daughter, ”Blue Eyes.”

*****

First of all, thanks to @Prose for this wonderful challenge. Usually, the challenges rang no bells inside me. But this time, I was happy. I was able to come up with something. I don’t even know if the dictator is still applicable to the challenge. But, here it is. And, I hope you guys like it. As always, it’s your support that keeps me going ^-^

#fiction

In the last 37 years, I have

slept enough.

studied.

worked hard.

had a lot of fun.

thrown a lot of wild parties.

eaten out.

traveled.

experimented with drugs.

searched for the meaning of life.

drunk.

suffered.

made incredible friends.

loved.

married a soulmate.

But I have never been a mother.

Until now.