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We had to move Grandfather again today.
The home burnt down last night. They say he was found unconscious in the dining room, as they cleared the building.
That's the third time this happens and no one quite knows what caused it. Grandad says he cant remember. Just sits there, talking to himself, as though we're not here... Keeps talking about the shadows... And the fire. Always the fire.
It doesn't really bother me though. What bothers me, is that the others claim he's not saying anything. That he's simply moving his lips. But I can hear it. Clear as day... I wonder if they're just denying it, because it's a little weird?
He's always been like that.
A little weird.
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Grandad woke me up again last night.
I don't know what he dreams, but I cant imagine it's nice. I don't know what could cause such a reaction in a person. No living thing should be able to scream like that. But every night without exception, he does.
Mother says I'm overreacting. I suspect her of thinking it's just a bad excuse to get him out of my room. She claims that no one else can hear anything. But I know she must be lying.
I've never heard a scream like that before. It's as though it bypasses the ears, and goes straight to the core of your being...
It chills me.
He talks in his sleep too, well, mutters really...
Aways about fire and shadow. I wonder what he dreams...?
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I tried talking a little with Grandad today. I think he's looing it to be honest. I guess old age will do that to you eventually.
Mother says he's lived a rather exciting life, although I find that hard to imagine. I've never seen him do anything but sit in his chair.
I wish dad was still with us. I'd ask him what his father had been like when he was younger.
Mother never quite aproved of Grandad. She would never say why, but I can see she's uneasy around him.
Dad never was. He used to praise him. I've never seen anyone talk to fondly of a person. So proud he was... I wish he was still here.
I find it hard to talk to Grandad. It's his eyes. I've never seen such a bright shade of grey. So clear. So intense. I always thought the other old people in town looked so sad. Like they knew that they'd never get to relive their youth...
But him. His stare is different. It's almost as though he sees straight through you. He very rarely looks you in the eyes when you talk to him. Always looking at the wall behind you.
I asked him once why he did this...
I swear he muttered something about watching my shadow.
Silly really. I mean, it's not like it's going anywhere...
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He's dead... It seems so unreal, but he died. Right there in my arms.
Some men broke into our house last night, when the others were out. I not sure how. It all happened so fast.
I'm told they came through the front door. Kicked it in. Apparently, they were there to kill my grandad.
I overheard mother talking to her friends the other day. I don't think she knew I was listening. She said she didn't feel safe with him here. That she couldn't stop worrying that "they'd" show up soon. That we were in danger when they did... I wonder if she knew?
I don't know what happened to them. They were dead when the guards came running, and dragged me out of the burning house.
Apparently I was unconscious on the floor of the dinning room.
I think I killed one of them tho'. But I've never killed anything in my life.
I don't know what came over me. But one of them stabbed him. The other just stood there. Chanting something. I don't know what it was, but the air felt like it was going to implode. Like something was trying to push through it, but was held back.
And then suddenly Grandad hit him. He pulled himself upright despite having been stabbed, and hit him square in the face... I've never seen the old man move out of a chair, never mind striking anyone, but the chanting man flew.
It happened so fast I barely had time to react... And his eyes. So clear. The gaze looked as though it came from the stars. So distant.
Almost instantly, the preasure in the air was released. It felt like being hit by a wave. Like when you run into the water at the sea... I felt this urge... This hatred, towards the helmed warrior who stabbed my Grandfather... As though he'd stabbed me. All I wanted was vengance. As though he's wronged me, and now I was to strike back.
I took the chanting warriors sword and ran it through the man facing my Grandfather...
As I did, I heard the scream again. But it wasn't coming from him... Nor my Grandad. It was me.
As the last warrior fell, I rushed to my Grandfathers side. He was crying, but he looked relieved. Like a great burdon had been lifted from his chest. Untill he looked at me with those friendly brown eyes of his. The horror written in his face was unbearable. For a moment, I thought he was afraid of me. But it must have been because he knew he was going to die. Why would he be afraid of me?
He cried when he told me what a fool he'd been. What a fool I was. That I'd damned myself when I stabbed that man. That it was to have ended with him, and that I should have remained pure. That I tainted my soul and sealed my fate when I commited the murder.
I don't understand what he meant. The man was killing him, and yet he protested that I should have let him do so. That the last act of murder should have befallen the helmed man. That the family could then be free.
I don't know how he thought I could just stand there and watch him die. But in the end, that's what I did.
His last words still echo in my mind...
"Ego gradior modo per Nex".
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I woke up screaming again...
I've lost track of how many times I've done that now. It's always the same dream. The shadows. The fire. I know I've seen it before... But I cant remember where. I wish I could. Maybe then it'd stop...
But it doesn't. It's the same every night.
The world changes. All I see is blurs... Shadows of things I know I should recognise, but try as I might, I cant... And the flames...
You'd think I'd have gotten used to it by now. But I haven't. I doubt I ever will.
I cant remember the last time I slept through a whole night. Mother tells me I'm overdramatising things... That I've never had trouble sleeping before the incident. That it's probably just trauma.
I don't believe her tho'. That was only a few weeks ago. I remember waking up this way for years. Every night, the same thing...
Shadow and flame...
I wish Grandad was still here... He would understand.
Somehow... I just know he would.
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The home burnt down last night. They say he was found unconscious in the dining room, as they cleared the building.
That's the third time this happens and no one quite knows what caused it. Grandad says he cant remember. Just sits there, talking to himself, as though we're not here... Keeps talking about the shadows... And the fire. Always the fire.
It doesn't really bother me though. What bothers me, is that the others claim he's not saying anything. That he's simply moving his lips. But I can hear it. Clear as day... I wonder if they're just denying it, because it's a little weird?
He's always been like that.
A little weird.
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Grandad woke me up again last night.
I don't know what he dreams, but I cant imagine it's nice. I don't know what could cause such a reaction in a person. No living thing should be able to scream like that. But every night without exception, he does.
Mother says I'm overreacting. I suspect her of thinking it's just a bad excuse to get him out of my room. She claims that no one else can hear anything. But I know she must be lying.
I've never heard a scream like that before. It's as though it bypasses the ears, and goes straight to the core of your being...
It chills me.
He talks in his sleep too, well, mutters really...
Aways about fire and shadow. I wonder what he dreams...?
------------------------------------------------------------------
I tried talking a little with Grandad today. I think he's looing it to be honest. I guess old age will do that to you eventually.
Mother says he's lived a rather exciting life, although I find that hard to imagine. I've never seen him do anything but sit in his chair.
I wish dad was still with us. I'd ask him what his father had been like when he was younger.
Mother never quite aproved of Grandad. She would never say why, but I can see she's uneasy around him.
Dad never was. He used to praise him. I've never seen anyone talk to fondly of a person. So proud he was... I wish he was still here.
I find it hard to talk to Grandad. It's his eyes. I've never seen such a bright shade of grey. So clear. So intense. I always thought the other old people in town looked so sad. Like they knew that they'd never get to relive their youth...
But him. His stare is different. It's almost as though he sees straight through you. He very rarely looks you in the eyes when you talk to him. Always looking at the wall behind you.
I asked him once why he did this...
I swear he muttered something about watching my shadow.
Silly really. I mean, it's not like it's going anywhere...
------------------------------------------------------------------
He's dead... It seems so unreal, but he died. Right there in my arms.
Some men broke into our house last night, when the others were out. I not sure how. It all happened so fast.
I'm told they came through the front door. Kicked it in. Apparently, they were there to kill my grandad.
I overheard mother talking to her friends the other day. I don't think she knew I was listening. She said she didn't feel safe with him here. That she couldn't stop worrying that "they'd" show up soon. That we were in danger when they did... I wonder if she knew?
I don't know what happened to them. They were dead when the guards came running, and dragged me out of the burning house.
Apparently I was unconscious on the floor of the dinning room.
I think I killed one of them tho'. But I've never killed anything in my life.
I don't know what came over me. But one of them stabbed him. The other just stood there. Chanting something. I don't know what it was, but the air felt like it was going to implode. Like something was trying to push through it, but was held back.
And then suddenly Grandad hit him. He pulled himself upright despite having been stabbed, and hit him square in the face... I've never seen the old man move out of a chair, never mind striking anyone, but the chanting man flew.
It happened so fast I barely had time to react... And his eyes. So clear. The gaze looked as though it came from the stars. So distant.
Almost instantly, the preasure in the air was released. It felt like being hit by a wave. Like when you run into the water at the sea... I felt this urge... This hatred, towards the helmed warrior who stabbed my Grandfather... As though he'd stabbed me. All I wanted was vengance. As though he's wronged me, and now I was to strike back.
I took the chanting warriors sword and ran it through the man facing my Grandfather...
As I did, I heard the scream again. But it wasn't coming from him... Nor my Grandad. It was me.
As the last warrior fell, I rushed to my Grandfathers side. He was crying, but he looked relieved. Like a great burdon had been lifted from his chest. Untill he looked at me with those friendly brown eyes of his. The horror written in his face was unbearable. For a moment, I thought he was afraid of me. But it must have been because he knew he was going to die. Why would he be afraid of me?
He cried when he told me what a fool he'd been. What a fool I was. That I'd damned myself when I stabbed that man. That it was to have ended with him, and that I should have remained pure. That I tainted my soul and sealed my fate when I commited the murder.
I don't understand what he meant. The man was killing him, and yet he protested that I should have let him do so. That the last act of murder should have befallen the helmed man. That the family could then be free.
I don't know how he thought I could just stand there and watch him die. But in the end, that's what I did.
His last words still echo in my mind...
"Ego gradior modo per Nex".
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I woke up screaming again...
I've lost track of how many times I've done that now. It's always the same dream. The shadows. The fire. I know I've seen it before... But I cant remember where. I wish I could. Maybe then it'd stop...
But it doesn't. It's the same every night.
The world changes. All I see is blurs... Shadows of things I know I should recognise, but try as I might, I cant... And the flames...
You'd think I'd have gotten used to it by now. But I haven't. I doubt I ever will.
I cant remember the last time I slept through a whole night. Mother tells me I'm overdramatising things... That I've never had trouble sleeping before the incident. That it's probably just trauma.
I don't believe her tho'. That was only a few weeks ago. I remember waking up this way for years. Every night, the same thing...
Shadow and flame...
I wish Grandad was still here... He would understand.
Somehow... I just know he would.
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