My mother's voice is all that i hear. Endless rambling from the woman who dared to call herself my mother. Her touch is all i feel. Looping lectures from the pest who dared to call me names. A parasite who crawled her flesh around me. A bug who raised me as her own. Simply a someone whom she owned. "Your name is Misha." Bound by the moment she marked me with the name that she wanted me to carry. Every decision that I've made, all were made possible by the vocal of my mother's words. Every single interest that i have said to be my passion, all were orchestrated by the mother who led my hands to the materials whom i did not want to touch. Her words were mine, and my life was hers."Your name is Misha." Her tone was cold. Each letter that slips out of her tongue seemingly symbolizes hatred. Through each word, she conveys a threat, that if a word of my own words were to ever come out, bruises and blood is what i shall owe. Disobeying her was a sin. Following her words with a reply was blasphemy. "Your name is Misha." My name is Misha. I am Misha Steinfield, a promised proper lady where what awaits in my horizon is the pursue of many gentlemen, and fame that marks the beginning of a legacy. A simple minded carrier of a burden who i have never asked for.
- I feared the day that my path became an endless dead end, leading to a pathway where the familiar voice of my mother is all that i will hear. I feared the dread of my own future, the awaiting song of the next dawn. and the swift coming of a promised journey. - I feared it all, i feared everything, i was burdened of everything, and burdened with the goals of another. Told to be someone, told to be another, told to be Misha.
"M..Mira.. Mira.."
Soft, sweet, and unheard voice of a boy echoed in my fading heart. Innocence filled voice, unable to pronounce the simple name that i bear. "It's Misha, you idiot." I told him with a cracking voice. Sitting next to the room where he was locked up. "Mi.. Mira.." He kept uttering. "It's such a simple name, you damn idiot ! Why can't you say it properly !?" Angrily, i lashed out on him, on the poor boy, with such demand. Reminding me of another woman's voice. "Mira.. Sister Mira.." The room was silent, dimly lit, and sorrowful. Where all that lived here is the cries of a baby who was denied of his own name. Where i was given a name i never wanted, he was never given one. "Sister Mira.." He repeated, and repeated. "Sister Mira.." All because he wanted to refer to me as someone else he can call a friend.
"Yeah?"
"Why are you crying, sister Mira?"
As his question ended, I've come to realize, it wasn't a silent room after all. For when it wasn't his stupid pronunciation of name, it was my pathetic sobs that filled the room. Echoing even through the next door. Growing louder and louder, i feared my cries never stopped. But this time, it was an odd flow of tears. This time, they flowed faster, my heart felt warmth instead of coldness. Sadness and loneliness entered the bottomless pit within my heart, and it was gladness that entered the surface. Why was i glad for this boy ? Why was i happy to be referred with the name of someone i have no idea of ? Why ?
Why was it, that the stupid pronunciation of this stupid boy filled me with joy ?
"Cries don't always have to be sad, you idiot."
"Then why are you crying?"
"Because you're here, Michael."
He was a bastard. Son of another woman, prying into our family like a parasite. The result of my father's unfaithfulness, the result of my family's grave state. The constant reminder that our family is a mess.
But in spite of it all, i reached for his arm, and without even asking, he wiped my tears away.
"If you're happy that I'm here, sis, you should smile, not cry."
- But i couldn't smile. It was the only thing i was told to do, even when i never wanted to.
I was burdened with so many things. So many. Times came where those burden became too heavy for me to lift. My eyes would dilute, and the world will grow smaller. The world as it is turns blurred, and i would feel warm flow across my cheeks. Have i had someone to carry it with me, i wouldn't have accepted death much easier that night. That night where end neighs, and my body to be made as simply but meat for these grotesque demons. Hidden in a corner, returned to my old self as i started crying. I tried my best to try and accept my death, i really did. But it kept echoing. My desire. My hopeful dreams of having someone carry this burden for me. Though a knight came, and i saw a dim light coming to fight the threat. He was weak, pathetic, his eyes were nearing it's tears, but he stood still. He called out himself to be a protector without saying anything. But also showed himself but of a mere child who knew nothing about anything. He threw words such as "I wish to save" Boasting his courageous act, trying to mask away the pointlessness, nor the stupidity of his fragile display of strength. "I wish to serve" this "I wish to serve" that, you damned fool. Despite my formal words, I've grown nothing but confusion of this man's ideologies, goals, or even his Aletheia. He was a kid, a stupid kid playing along God's stupid game. A cruel damned game. A perfect kid, beautiful and pretty, brimming with innocence and kindness.
But i saw a night, where nothing can be heard. Scratching noise of demons from outside, blowing wind that wraps around our ears, not one person could possibly sleep. But miss Angelica and sir Lucy thought so. They thought of my sleep to be of genuine rest, but so many continued to fill my head. So much terror, so much of my life for me to carry.
But i heard no complain, i heard no words from the mouth of that 'perfect' boy to be of someone that came with distaste or dissatisfaction. I simply heard what i thought of when i first saw him. A boy. No matter how much heroism he's been displaying these past few days, no matter how much courage he must've shown, he was still, but just a boy. "I.." He wanted for his burden to be carried too. "Do you think I'm unwell?" For me to see the messiah in such state, for the perfect chosen of God to be on act of desperation to be carried and hold, strongly, it reminded me of his name. Lucy Forester. The boy given the greatest obligation. The boy given the greatest burden for himself to carry by his own. How hard must it be, for a child such as he, to sought for saving when his sole purpose is to be everyone's savior ? Was God cruel, or was this a word for me ? That it wasn't only i with a burden to carry. For now, I've understood. My burden, i want for someone to carry it for me. But for that to work, i must carry his too.
There he was, carrying boxes in a dimly lit room, trying to clean a place that we'll leave the next morning anyway. Waving my hand at him, i smiled sweetly. "Hey, uhm, hi Misha?" He asked me, together in a silent room as Angelica patrols. "You said, you wanted to save Michael, right?" I asked, allowing him to nod his head in agreement. "Yeah, I'm dead set on it." I wanted to carry his burden too. "Then to return the favor, i will save the world with you too." Embarrassment filled my face. Such a, tragically embarrassing line for a lady like me to say. Wether it was pity or genuine amusement, he simply laughed. Not an answer nor a nod, he simply laughed. Denying me of his burden. So i simply lifted my arms and helped him carry the boxes who he holds. "Don't take my word for it, but if i remember, according to the church book, there stood twelve other people next to the last messiah as he ventured. They were called his disciples, weren't they?" Referring to the sacred scriptures, whom i was not familiar with at all. I have never been a religious person myself, even that i was denied of. But from knowledge of bits and pieces, i knew of that story. The story of that man who sacrificed himself for the greater good of everyone. As noble as that sounded, i simply don't want the same for this boy to be repeated. I want him to be saved of whatever problems he must have. Of whatever burden he must be carrying. Such a cruel fate, i would never dare to await for. "Lucy, let me follow you as your disciple." I will carry his burden, just as many people have carried mine.