Unwanted child. Scott Melani

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СКАЧАТЬ made of oak. On the sides of the table were long benches. The walls of the room were so well soundproofed that no sound could leave it. This was done out of respect for the personal space of the visitors. Both those who simply came to visit the urns of their relatives, and those who performed their own rituals, commemorating the dead. And everyone's rituals could be different, starting from quiet and calm veneration in complete silence, to a raucous disco with the use of sound equipment. Therefore, thanks to good soundproofing, no one ever disturbed anyone.

      – Stay here and don't touch anything. I'll go get your mother. – Lars slammed the door behind him, leaving the child alone for the time being. Theodore walked over to one of the white nightstands that stood in the corner of the square room. It was low, even for the average height of a six year old boy. So the child could easily reach the top of it. On it stood a thick wax candle tied with a dark brown paper ribbon, and to the left of the candle was a holder for the scented sticks that lay inside the nightstand. Ted pulled on the door handle and looked inside. There were a few shelves, and on them were various ritual paraphernalia: herbs, incense, candles of all sizes, ointments, fans, dolls, and other handicrafts. The boy's attention was attracted by a bronze dagger of unusual curved shape. It lay in a scabbard covered with a strange relief painting of suffering faces on fire. Theodore took the dagger in his hand and began to examine the painting in more detail. In addition to the main images, the scabbard had patterns remotely resembling horns, a beard and a crown. The weapon appears to have been made at least 750-850 years ago, in a time of turmoil and unrest. When peace was achieved by force alone. Ted pulled the dagger from its sheath and grasped the handle firmly and raised it upwards, imagining himself a skilled warrior, Rothrig, saving Gai from the evils of which the CEC often told tales. The front door opened and his father walked in, holding a ceramic urn containing Inessa's ashes. When he saw his son, he carefully placed the urn on the table and ran at him with fury, quickly taking the dagger from him and putting it back in the cabinet, closing the door with a clatter.

      – No respect or reverence for the holy place! What did I tell you? Why don't you ever listen to me? – Lars slapped the back of Theodore's head, sitting the boy down on the bench at the memorial table, then sat across from him. Ted stared at the beige ceramic vessel on the table. It was engraved with his mother's surname and first name, and had her image painted on an oval piece of stoneware planted on a gel-like powerful glue. Standard urns were made without engraving and without an image, but Lars hadn't skimped and spent a decent amount of money to have the funeral craftsmen make the finest possible urn for the deceased. Father and son sat at the table with their heads down, thinking about their own thoughts. Lars placed his hands on the table, crossing his fingers in a lock between them. Theodore looked first at the grief-stricken father, then at the urn with the picture of the matter. The photograph that showed Inessa was dated 739. In it, Ted's mum looked like a cheerful woman, with a smile on her face, filled with genuine joy. The picture was taken during the couple's trip to the lake in a neighbouring village where relatives of Theodore's mother lived.

      The boy felt no emotion associated with the photograph and the place where he and his father were. It wasn't that he didn't understand where they were now, or whose urn was in front of him. It's just that the kid lost his mum too soon, with little or no memory of her. In a way, given the unfortunate nature of the situation around him, it helped him avoid another childhood trauma associated with his mother's death. He knew and understood that at a certain period of his life she was not around. Therefore, the little boy did not have time to become attached to her in order to mourn the premature loss of his mother every day. The boy only remembered that his father often brought him to the hospital and that he was sometimes held in his arms by a woman whose face was not preserved in his memory. She was always coughing, she felt sick, the baby would start crying loudly and his father would take him in his arms again.

      – Inna, I miss you every day. We were just starting to live with you. Why was I so powerless to do anything for you? To save your life… – Lars spoke sadly, turning to his deceased spouse. Theodore looked at his father again. He took a small flask filled with strong liquor out of his jacket and took a few big gulps.

      – What are you looking at me for? Sitting there like nothing happened… You'll never understand my grief! Do you want to know how she died? – Lars glared at his son with anger in his eyes, taking a few more sips from his flask.

      – YOU killed her! She had dreamed for years that we would have a child. And then you came along and finished her off! You shameless little demon who drank all the life out of his mother and drove her to her grave! – Lars shrieked at Theodore, rising from the table and tilting his head upwards, gulping greedily down the liquor container, literally sucking every last drop out of it. Theodore turned away and shrank back, as if trying to blend in with the table so as to be invisible to his father. Lars scrambled back and forth, clutching his head as if trying to quiet the voices inside him.

      – And now, ha ha…how ironic…now you've taken on me too. You want me to go to my grave! But you know what? I won't let you do to me what you did to my wife! No, you don't have to try… – Lars, thinking hysterically and gesticulating impulsively, looked like an uncontrollable lunatic, ready to snap at any moment, which couldn't help but frighten Theodore. The boy got off the bench and climbed under the table, trying to hide from his father. He noticed this and went after him, cursing at his son and trying to drag him out of hiding. The clumsy, tipsy man bumped his head on the table, which the child took advantage of, quickly crawling out and heading for the door.

      While Lars was on his feet, the boy had already managed to open the door, which was difficult to open, and run out of the room. At that moment Ted did not realise that he would have to return to his parents' house. He just wanted to get away from his angry father. When he saw the corridor in front of him, he forgot where the lift was and headed in the opposite direction. Trying to run as fast as possible, Ted tried to find an open door where he could get in and hide from his father for a while, hoping that after a while he would sober up and behave more appropriately. When Theodore saw the metal door ajar, he pushed it open and stepped inside. What he saw there was not a pleasant sight. So he froze, in one position, without moving from his seat.

      In the elongated small room there were several metal gurneys on which several corpses lay. Against the back wall was an oven with a giant screen, and near it, a crematorium employee was bent over one of the corpses, preparing the body for incineration. He was wearing a black hooded cape and medical latex disposable gloves. The man was using a brush to treat the face and hands of the deceased with an odourous solution. Having finished the preparatory procedure, he put on the heat-protective gloves and opened the flap of the furnace. A huge flame emerged, ready to devour its next soulless victim. Lars appeared in the doorway. He spotted his frightened son standing there in bewilderment and shouted to him in a rough voice: ‘Theodore, come here at once.’

      The labourer flinched in surprise, and noticing the boy standing in front of him with his mouth hanging open, shrieked: ‘Hey, what the hell is he doing here? Get him out of here quick!’.

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