Fiction: Group 3
The boy wasn’t scared of getting wet. It was a regular event he had gotten used to. But after the dream,
it had him bolt out of the water before any of the boys could push him back in, and, ignoring the laughter
behind him and the coldness of the night, he ran along the riverside as fast as he could in his damp clothes.
He could hear running footsteps behind him and then someone calling, “Leave him! He’ll either get lost
or come back tomorrow for more!”
Still, he kept running.
The boy ran until his lungs, back and legs hurt so much, he could barely move. He collapsed into the
base of a large tree along the river. He stared at the water for a long time trying to catch his breath, putting
his thoughts together. What in the world had made him run away like that?
He rested his back against the trunk and closed his eyes. Not a minute passed before he heard the same
voice from his dream. At first, he thought he was dreaming again, but he opened his eyes. Then, he saw the
woman standing right in front of him, her beautiful face shining brightly under the moonlight.
“Would you like to see your father now, boy?” she asked, her voice making it hard for the boy to
concentrate properly. He was, however, awake enough to respond.
“Who are you?” he managed to ask without stuttering.
The woman certainly looked taken aback, but she composed herself fast enough. “That is not a matter of
importance now, boy.” Her tone was serious. Even her smile had faded. “Now... Answer. Do you want to
see your father or not?”
It took a lot of effort, but he still managed it. “Not…until you…tell me…who you….are…” his face
scrunched up with effort with every word he said.
“Why so arrogant, boy?” she asked, frowning. “Your mother said that if raised by his aunt, there is no
way he will be arrogant at all. I guess she was wrong.”
The boy was really confused now. At least he could think properly. It was as if the woman had been
holding on to his consciousness and prevented him from thinking or speaking the normal way. It felt as
though she had finally released him.
“I am never wrong.” A cold voice coming from behind the thick tree stated angrily. “I would have
thought you would have learnt by now to not dare say I am wrong.” The woman in front of the boy turned
pale as snow. “Now, is this the boy?”
The woman nodded eagerly towards the direction in which the voice was coming from. “Yes, it’s him.
He fits the description of his father.”
There was a slightly long silence, followed by the cold voice, “Does he, now?” there was a trace of
disappointment mixed with eagerness, almost like she had been waiting to see the same face for years.
There were footsteps and in a moment, there were two women bending over the boy, clearly trying to
get a better look.
“He certainly does,” said the cold voice. “Do you have a name, boy?”
“No,” he responded. “I do not. My mother or father never named me, and my aunt didn’t bother to.”
“Yes. It is him,” stated the cold voice. “Well then, boy, I am your mother.”
“How are you alive?” the boy asked, shocked. “And what happened to my father?”
“Oh, I never died,” she answered as a matter of fact. “Your father didn’t only die. He was
killed
.”
“Killed? By who?”
Mother smiled cruelly. “By me. And you have received the same fate as your father.”
“You’re going to kill me?” the boy asked, still confused. “What for?”
“Oh, I’ve always hated your father for doing what he did to me. But killing him didn’t leave me content
enough. I will feed
you
to the water spirits. Just as I did with your father eleven years ago.”
She smiled coldly one last time before doing the promised.
If you had been close to the river, you would have heard the screams of the boy without a name late into
the night.
