Across Acheron

Session 11

It didn’t matter to me, though. I ignored Cillian’s eyes as I began to pull the corn out of the stalk with rigid movements. Cillian made no comment about my sudden change in character, walking past me to join Keenan back at the house. I didn’t mean to be such an asshole to everyone, but I thought I kind of deserved to behave as such. I still think I did. Keenan knew it too, which was why he couldn’t do anything about it but watch.

You’re probably wondering why I was so mad that I was alive. To me, living is so much scarier than dying. I’d rather be six feet underground chilling with worms than up above, juggling one problem after another.

So what was I going to do, then? It was simple; I was going to continue fighting the war. I was going to sit down at the dinner table with Cillian and Keenan like the family we pretended to be. I was going to speak to that woman and carry on trying to find a way to get out. I was going to try to eat and sleep. I wasn’t doing that well with those two, really, but I was going to try nonetheless.

Winning the war meant winning against myself and others, after all. So showing that I was okay would be the first step.

When I had enough corn to build a house in my hands, I began to walk out of the field and towards the barrels Cillian had set up to put the corn in. It was only then that I noticed that Cillian was approaching me without Keenan at his side.

His footsteps were heavy.

I only got half of the corn I was holding into the barrel before Cillian grabbed me by my tee shirt, drawing me closer to his body. “You broke my wall?” he fumed. “You had the nerve to break my goddamn wall?”

I was dumbfounded to say the slightest. I was expecting him to tell me sorry, or at least lie and say it would be alright. Not yell at me about a stupid hole in the wall.

“Is that all he told you?” I asked him, trying to pull away from his grasp. “Or is that all you care about? You won’t even ask how I’m feeling or at least have the courtesy to tell me about the day I died! What kind of brother are you?”

He let go of me. “Get into the house and fix it, Jack.”

I couldn’t believe him. I stood staring with wide eyes, watching as he bent down to pick up the corn I had dropped.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. Cillian looked up at me with threatening eyes.

“What did you just say?”

“No,” I repeated, louder that time. “Go fix your own goddamn wall. In fact, pick your own stupid corn too. That seems to be all you care about. I bet you wouldn’t even notice if I never woke up!”

Cillian stood up and straightened his back. “Watch your mouth, Jack. You know what happens when you step out of your place.”

I laughed at him frostily. “You think I’m still scared of you? You think I’m afraid of dying?” I laughed again and kicked down the barrel for a good measure. Corn toppled over and spilled at Cillian’s boots, but he never took his eyes off of me.

It was the best thing ever, believe me. It felt like a scene from one of those teen movies where the protagonist finally grows some balls and stands up to the bully, making the guy so scared that he runs off.

It felt that way. I felt powerful for the first time in a while, stomping on the corn as Cillian continued to glare. I expected him to run off and maybe take that woman to the police station and apologise, but he never did. Instead, he hit me.

It was one of his hardest punches yet. It was even harder than the time I tried to run off or even when I asked for him to turn himself in. I hit the ground in a millisecond, the sky above me dotted with specks as my jaw throbbed in pain.