The silence in the room was heavy. It was uncertain. It was still. It felt like a thick blanket that made it hard to breathe. I could hear the ticking on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Each sound was like a hammer hitting a nail.
I looked at the man. I waited for him to understand. I waited for the fear to show on his face, the same fear that was eating me alive.
"Hahaha! Nice joke, kid. You nearly got me," the nice man said, laughing off what I told him.
His laugh was loud. It was too happy. It didn't fit the darkness of my story. He treated my nightmare like a funny story from a book.
But…
"But sir, I am telling the truth. Believe me," I said, my voice confused. I didn't understand what he meant. My hands were shaking. Why didn't he see the terror in my eyes? Why was he smiling?
Before I could try again, a voice cut through the air.
"No, Father. I met him near that same forest," the girl said, talking to the nice man.
She was standing near the door, looking annoyed. She brushed dust off her clothes.
"I bumped my bicycle into him on my way to my interview. Thanks to him, I was late and didn't get a chance to take the interview at all."
She called him Father. So, they are family. He must be her dad.
It made sense. They had the same way of standing. They had the same warmth around them. A warmth I didn't have.
"Oh? So that's how you met each other? What a great story," the man said. He spoke like he was changing the topic, like he didn't want to talk about my past anymore. He waved his hand in the air, brushing my words away like they were annoying flies.
"Anyways, food is ready, kids! Let's have a feast tonight."
He said it like it was a daily routine. He completely ignored what she and I were saying.
I felt a sharp pain in my chest. Not a physical pain, but a feeling of being invisible. I had so many questions about this CITY. This strange, clean, bright place. I wanted to ask him and her. They seemed to know everything about this place. They belonged here. I was just a ghost passing through.
But I just froze on the bed, my mind trying to process it all. My muscles were stiff. My brain felt like it was full of fog.
Then, he called out to me. His voice broke the fog.
"Hey, son. Can you walk? Come here, sit with us. Let's eat. After all, this feast is for you."
I looked up. The lights in the room were golden and warm. When I looked at his face, he looked just like my own father.
The memory hit me hard. My father's smile. My father's strong hands. The way he used to look at me before… before everything went wrong.
I fought back my tears. I clenched my jaw tight. I knew that crying takes energy, and I had none left. My tank was empty. I had to eat first. Otherwise, I would collapse.
It was just an excuse. I knew I simply didn't have the strength to cry. If I started crying now, I might never stop. I might break into a million pieces right here on this nice, clean floor.
I tried to stand up, but I was weak. My legs felt like jelly. They wobbled under my weight. Still, I didn't want to bother them. I didn't want to be a burden. I gathered every drop of energy I had, stood up, and walked toward what they called a "table."
That is where the food was. I could smell it now. It smelled like life.
But as I walked, I saw a movement to my left. I turned my head.
I saw a copy of myself in the glass next to me.
It was a full-body mirror. It was tall and clear, with a shiny frame. Before this, we only had tiny pieces of broken glass in our tent. We used them to cut things, not to look at ourselves. We could never see ourselves properly.
This was the first time I ever saw my full self.
I stopped walking. I couldn't move.
I looked… well, I looked terrible.
I was wearing the clothes of a modern person. Clean pants. A soft shirt. Pants for someone my age. But the clothes couldn't hide the truth.
When I looked closely, my face was so skinny. My cheekbones poked out like sharp rocks. My cheeks were sunken in, creating dark shadows on my face. My eyes looked huge and wild, like a scared animal.
I looked down at my hands. My hands were slim, like dry twigs. I could see every bone. I could see the blue veins pumping under my thin, pale skin. It wasn't an exaggeration to say I looked more like a stick than a human. I looked like death walking.
I was staring at the mirror, trapped in horror, when he called me again.
"Hey, hurry up! Otherwise, the food will go cold."
The sound of his voice pulled me back. I shook my head.
I was lost in my thoughts. I never cared about my appearance before. In the wasteland, staying alive was the only thing that mattered. Who cares if you look skinny when you are running for your life?
But compared to these two people in the room, I was the weakest of them all. I was a broken toy next to brand new ones.
The girl seemed to be the same age as me. She was sitting at the table now. She was beautiful, shining like the moon. Her skin was smooth. Her eyes were bright. Her smile made something inside my heart click. It was a painful click, a reminder of everything I wasn't.
And the man was very strong, very handsome. He stood tall. His shoulders were broad. He was well-dressed in a crisp white shirt. The white was so bright it almost hurt my eyes. It felt specific. Like his clothes were a symbol of something important. A symbol of peace. A symbol of order.
"Hey, dude! Stop spacing out. Come here," the nice man called out again. He waved a spoon at me. "You can ask every question you have after eating. Let's first enjoy our meal."
As I heard that, all thoughts vanished from my mind. The word "meal" echoed in my head.
I went straight for the table. My body moved on its own.
As I got closer, the smell got more and more intense. It was intense. It was a thick, savory cloud that wrapped around my head. It smelled of salt, of fat, of spices I couldn't name.
I sat beside the nice guy like a shy, timid pet. I made myself as small as possible.
I looked down at the food.
I can't describe how the food looked at me. It wasn't just food. It was art. A piece of art that God himself created.
It was a giant platter of roasted meat. Steam was rising from it, dancing in the air. I saw so many colors. There was the fresh green of herbs, there was the bright yellow of corn, but most of all, there was red. The deep, rich red of meat. The juice was glistening under the light.
The smell pulled me in like a flood, and my mouth was already watering. My stomach let out a loud growl, demanding to be filled.
"Hey, drop that laptop of yours and focus here! No working at the dinner table," the man said, slapping the table playfully.
The sound made me jump, but he was smiling. He looked fatherly angry, shouting at her. It wasn't real anger. It was love.
So that thing on her lap is called a laptop, I thought to myself.
I stared at the silver machine. It had a side that glowed. Buttons that clicked. And it is used for work. I filed that information away in my brain.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. She folded the laptop thing and put it aside. That's when she turned. She looked straight at me. Straight into my eyes.
Her eyes were sharp. Intelligent.
I was struck by a feeling I never experienced. My heart beat faster. Was this… nervousness?
"Hey! You stupid! Why the hell are you wearing my shirt and pants?" she yelled, her face changing from calm to angry in a second.
The sudden shout made me flinch.
Wait. Ahhhh…
My brain scrambled to connect the dots. So this shirt and these pants belong to her? That explains why the chest area was so loose.
Her chest is the same size as lemons, I screamed inside my head.
I panicked. I felt the heat rising up my neck. I felt a feeling I didn't know the name of. Shame? Embarrassment?
As she yelled, I started stuttering. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. "Ahh… so, sorry… I, I… I woke up wear… wearing these clothes al… already on me!"
"Father! What the hell? You gave him my clothes? Women's clothes?" She turned her anger toward her dad. She pointed a finger at him.
I stared at them. I never talked to my father like that. I didn't even know you were allowed to do that.
"Hey now," the father laughed. His laugh was warm and deep. "My clothes were too big for this little fellow. And just look—your clothes fit him perfectly!"
They both looked at me. I felt like a bug.
"Except the chest area," the father said with a straight face.
As he said that, the girl grabbed and threw something at him in anger. "Dad!" she shrieked.
I didn't understand the joke completely, but I knew it was about the clothes. I looked down at the shirt. It was soft. It smelled incredible. It didn't smell like sweat or dirt. It smelled like flowers.
"I smelled the clothes… they were so delicious. I mean, the smell was like I am in heaven."
I forgot I was sitting between them. I lifted the collar to my nose and took a deep breath.
They both saw me sniffing the shirt. They went silent.
They looked at me in disbelief. Their eyes were wide.
"You Pervert," they said in perfect sync.
I blinked. Pervert? I didn't know that word. But from their tone, it wasn't a compliment.
As we were having this small, funny interaction, a sound broke the mood.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Someone knocked on the door.
The air in the room changed instantly. The warm bubble popped.
The man stood up. The smile faded from his face, just a little. "Hey, you eat. I will see who is at the door."
I did as he said. I wanted to ask the name of the food, I wanted to ask who was at the door, but he was already gone.
My hunger took over. The animal inside me woke up.
I didn't use a fork. I didn't use a spoon. I just picked up the biggest piece of meat with my bare hands. It was hot, burning my fingertips, but I didn't care. I shoved it into my mouth and started eating vigorously.
Grease ran down my chin. I chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed. It was the best thing I had ever tasted. It tasted like safety.
"Hey! Slow down! It's for all of us," the girl screamed at me. She looked disgusted.
The man at the door looked back and smiled. He saw me eating like a savage, but his eyes were kind.
"Hey, let him eat. He's hungry."
He smiled at us one last time. It was a sad smile. A goodbye smile.
Then, he reached for the door handle and opened it.
There was meat in my mouth. I was watching him. I was chewing.
And what I saw next was terrifying.
As he opened the door—
BANG.
A loud sound exploded in the room.
It wasn't just a noise. It was a physical slap against my ears. The glasses on the table shook. My heart stopped.
"Papaaaaaa!" the girl screamed. Her scream tore her throat apart.
I saw the nice man's body fall to the ground. He fell slowly, like a tree being cut down. He hit the floor with a heavy thud.
A moment later, the girl rushed to her father. She slid across the floor, falling to her knees beside him.
She was crying. She was terrified. Her hands were covered in red.
And as she ran, I saw him.
The blood in my veins turned to ice.
The same man who pushed me into that concrete river. He was walking in from the outside. He stepped over the threshold like he owned the place.
He was wearing a mask. Dark. emotionless.
He had a metal tool in his hand. Smoke was coming out of the tool. It swirled in the air, smelling like burnt sulfur. I didn't know why.
The girl rushed to her father's body. She was shaking him.
"Papa! Papa, wake up!"
He was dead. No, he was alive. No, he was dead. No, he was alive.
My mind was conflicted. I panicked. I was shocked. My brain couldn't accept what my eyes were seeing. The nice man. The food. The warmth. The blood.
I was eating meat, for God's sake.
My hand moved automatically. I lifted another piece of meat to my mouth.
The masked man looked at me. He put the smoking metal tool down on a side table and walked toward me. His steps were heavy. Thump. Thump. Thump.
I was still eating meat. Like a dog. Like a starving beast that didn't know how to stop.
The flavor of the meat was just so good. The salty juice mixed with the metallic taste of fear in my mouth. I couldn't stop eating. My jaw kept moving.
(It was a coping mechanism. I was using the food to ignore the reality of what just happened. If I keep eating, the bad man isn't real. If I keep eating, the nice man isn't dead. I simply didn't want to accept this.)
I closed my eyes… hoping he would go away… hoping I would wake up back in the tent.
I counted to three. One. Two. Three.
I opened my eyes.
He was still there.
His masked face was just 5 fingers away from mine. I could hear his breathing. It was calm. Steady.
He was looking straight into my eyes. His eyes were dark voids.
And then, he spoke. His voice was deep, scratching against my soul.
"Welcome, Our Dear God."