In the heart of Ebirien, before the town became known for fear and strange disappearances, there lived a boy named Tare.
He was not strong. He was not loud. And he was not the kind of boy people noticed.
But Tare had one unusual habit—he never spoke back.
Not when he was insulted.
Not when he was blamed.
Not when he was hurt.
He simply stayed quiet.
People thought he was weak.
But they did not know what was happening inside him.
Tare lived with his mother in a small mud house at the edge of town. His father had left when he was very young, and nobody ever spoke about him. Whenever Tare asked, his mother would only say:
"Some stories are better left buried."
But Tare hated buried things. Because buried things… always grow in the dark.
At school, Tare was the easiest target.
If a pen was missing, it was his fault.
If food disappeared, it was blamed on him.
If anything went wrong, someone would always say:
"Tare must have done it."
And every time, he would just look down and say nothing.
Not because he agreed.
But because something inside him refused to come out.
Something heavy.
Something burning.
One afternoon, during break time, a group of older boys surrounded him behind the classroom block.
The tallest one, Kola, smiled like he had been waiting for this moment.
"Tare," he said, dragging out the name like it was something dirty, "why are you always pretending you're better than us?"
Tare shook his head. "I'm not pretending anything."
That was the first mistake.
Because Kola did not like answers.
He liked silence.
But Tare had broken the rule.
Kola stepped closer. "Say it again."
Tare hesitated. His chest felt tight. His thoughts were loud, but his mouth stayed calm.
"I said I'm not pretending."
The slap came fast.
Not enough to knock him down. Just enough to remind him he was small.
The other boys laughed.
"See?" one of them said. "He talks now."
Tare tasted blood in his mouth.
But he still did not fight back.
That evening, he walked home alone.
The sky was turning orange, like it was burning slowly. The wind was strange—too quiet, like it was listening.
Tare held his bag tightly and whispered to himself:
"Why does it always have to be me?"
But no one answered.
Not even the wind.
At home, his mother noticed his bruised cheek.
"What happened?" she asked immediately.
"Nothing," Tare replied.
That word again.
Nothing.
The same word he used for everything.
She sighed. "Tare, you cannot keep swallowing the world. One day it will choke you."
But Tare only looked away.
Because he did not know how to explain what he felt.
It wasn't just pain.
It was something deeper.
Something that kept collecting inside him like water behind a broken dam.
That night, Tare could not sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw faces.
Kola laughing.
Teachers ignoring him.
People turning away when he needed help.
And inside his chest, something shifted.
Not loudly.
Not suddenly.
But like a door slowly unlocking.
He sat up in bed, breathing heavily.
"I didn't do anything," he whispered into the darkness.
But the darkness whispered back.
That's the problem.
Tare froze.
His eyes searched the room.
"Who's there?"
Silence.
Then again, softer this time:
You never do anything.
He stood up quickly. "Stop it."
But the voice was not outside.
It was inside him.
Deep.
Waiting.
The next morning, something felt different.
The birds were louder.
The air felt heavier.
And people… avoided him without reason.
Even Kola looked at him strangely, like he could sense something new.
During class, the teacher asked a question. Tare knew the answer. He raised his hand slightly—but stopped halfway.
His hand trembled.
Because for the first time, he didn't just feel angry.
He felt aware of his anger.
Like it was alive.
He slowly lowered his hand.
And in that moment, something inside him seemed to smile.
That evening, Tare did not go home immediately.
Instead, he walked into the forest behind Ebirien.
No reason.
Just instinct.
The deeper he walked, the quieter the world became.
Until even his footsteps stopped sounding real.
Then he found it.
An old shrine.
Broken stones. Burnt symbols. A place people avoided without knowing why.
Tare stood in front of it.
And for the first time in his life, he spoke without thinking:
"Why am I like this?"
The wind stopped.
Not slowly.
Instantly.
And then—
The shrine answered.
Not with words at first.
But with pressure.
Like the air itself was tightening around him.
Then a voice emerged.
Not human.
Not animal.
Something in-between.
Because you were never allowed to be anything else.
Tare stepped back. "Who are you?"
The shrine darkened.
I am what you swallow.
His heart raced. "That doesn't make sense."
A pause.
Then the voice became sharper.
Anger.
Tare's breath stopped.
For the first time, the word did not feel like just a feeling.
It felt like a presence standing right in front of him.
"I don't want it," Tare whispered.
The wind shifted violently.
You already have it.
The stones around the shrine began to crack slightly.
Tare shook his head. "I don't. I'm calm. I don't fight back. I don't—"
The voice cut him off.
You don't release it. That is different.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Waiting.
Then the voice spoke again, softer now:
Give it to me.
Tare frowned. "Give you what?"
A slow answer.
Everything you never said.
His chest tightened.
Images flashed through his mind.
Every insult. Every slap. Every lie. Every moment he stayed quiet when he should have spoken.
His hands shook.
"I… I don't know how."
The shrine seemed to lean closer.
Then I will learn you.
Tare should have run.
That was what his mind screamed.
But his body didn't move.
Because for the first time in his life…
someone was listening.
And inside him, something dangerous began to rise.
Not pain.
Not fear.
But relief.
And that was the beginning.
Not of revenge.
Not of justice.
But of something far worse.
Something that would later be called:
The Revenge of Anger.