The Lost Boy V - Short stories

Bad Choices 1 - Regrets

He dragged himself weakily inside of the cave, his erratic breathing burning up his throat and his side, where his right hand was pressing hard while the left one was palming the stone walls, using it as support. Each step was harder than the previous one, his feet seemed getting heavier as his strength was slowly fading away.

When he finally reached the back of the small cave, he dropped against the wall, gritting his teeth in pain. Now he was sitting, he couldn't feel his legs anymore, and each breath was feeding the pain. He looked downward and faintly rose his hand, staring at all the blood pouring out from his ribs. He pressed again, hoping to stop the bleeding.

His head tilted backward and met cold stone, while his tired gaze met the ceiling. He forced himself to breath slowly, deeply, then he sighed heavily.

''Great... Just great...'' He mumbled sarcastically, more for himself than anything.

He stayed like this, still, resigned to his fate. He didn't have any healing knowledge to treat his wound, still he could feel it was deep and serious. No one was coming to save him, he knew it, so this was how his journey would end.

Though it had not been a long journey. Indeed, the laying viking was in his early twenties, it had been barely five years he was not anymore considered as a child but he had never passed the 'coming of age' ritual. He never had the occasion to. How could he had one ?

Still breathing deeply and more and more slowly, he could feel his body weakening while his mind seemed more awake than ever. Surely he knew the end was coming. Some said that, when we reached death, we could see our whole life flashing before our eyes.

It was not exactly the case for the young man, he was not really seeing his life, but now he knew what the expression meant because his memories were crawling back in his mind. Yet it wasn't good memories.

He remembered his village, burning with the sky full of dragons in the night. He remembered vikings from his clan fighting and roaring, war cries, from rage, from pain, or even from joy of fighting. He remembered a pale face, cheeks and eyes strained by tears, shoulders shaking from sobs. He remembered blooded hands, one holding a dagger, the other a heart no longer beating but still warm. He remembered his father glaring at him before punching his helmet from his head, tearing some auburn hair in the process. He remembered his home island getting smaller as he was leaving onboard this miserable barque.

The more he was remembering things, the more regrets were clenching his heart. So much regrets. So much events backfiring at him. So much bad decisions he had made. Starting with the one leading him in the back of this cave.

But was it really a decision ? Did he really had a choice in this ? He only tried to survive, it was not his fault if, in order to do this, he had taken the habit to steal food and material from travelers. Though he had known this group was actually dragon trappers, he had known they had weapons, still he had taken the risk. It was not that surprising he had been hurt like this. He had no armor, no weapon, nothing to fight back, so it was obvious they would have beaten him easily.

He lowered his head and looked back to his injury. There was blood everywhere, his tunic so soaked it seemed black. He couldn't even distinguish his pale hands. Surely it was better like this, so he couldn't see how blemish he had gotten. It was not a pleasant sight, especially combined with his bony stature.

Survive was not easy when you were completely alone, a pariah banished from his home and that no one from outside wanted in. No matter how much he had tried, once he had left his clan, he had known that, sooner or later, it would end up like this. Even though he had more likely thought he would starve to death instead of being killed from a fight.

If he fell during a battle, even a non-glorious fight, could he claim a place to Valhalla ? Was he going to find back his mother there ? The mother he had never known because she died when he was a baby. But would she be glad to see him again ? What would she think about what he had become ? Would she be as disappointed in him as his father had been ? Would she disown him too ?

The young panting man gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, feeling tears streaming his eyes and run down his cheeks. He let them be, not even trying to wipe them. The pain had numbed, he couldn't feel this limbs anymore and was cold. He was cold without shivering, for him there was no more obvious sign than that. He didn't have long left.

It was the end of the journey for him. He was going to die, here, in the back of this miserable cave, dressed in rags telling as much of his condition as his hygiene. He was going to die alone, far away from the place he used to call home, far away from people he used to call family.

He only had a few moments left, and regrets he started to list.

He regretted rejecting the only friend he ever had during childhood and teenage, the only friend who could have support him.

He regretted believing that bringing the Night Fury's heart to his father would be enough to make his life better.

He regretted this deed gave him the title of dragon killer and warrior while he still hadn't the competences nor the strength.

He regretted having been blinded by this glory to the extend he thought he had become as strong and brave as the others.

He regretted not realizing it and not stopping everything before it escalated.

He regretted all the mistakes this blindness made him do, and that it led to his father disowning him, and his clan banishing him.

He regretted just accepting his fate, not trying to fight nor coming back, even just once, to Berk.

He also regretted attacking the trappers' camp for food he could have found elsewhere.

He was regretting all of this, because he knew this was this succession of bad choices that led him to die like this, all alone.

A last tear escaped his eyes as the light left them. His chest stopped rising and falling, his movements stilled. His life ended.

Hiccup No Name, formerly known as Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, died alone, without anyone to care about him, nor even remember him.

The last thought in his mind, flooded in the middle of all his regrets, promised to haunt him in the after-life : what his life would have looked like if he had not made these bad choices ? When did all of this could have been avoided ?