whiskey . seven (fin)

"Where'd Dad go?"

It's the first words that escape his lips as his Mother wakes, rolling over and looking at her son. She raises her head slightly, glancing over at the now empty spot across the bed, her husbands imprint slowly fading into the morning. Silently, she masks a smile over her face and runs a hand through his hair, planting a kiss on his forehead.

"Probably just had to work, Wiz. Night got you scared again, huh?"

He breaks his gaze from hers, meeting her question with silence as shame washes soft over his face. He scrunches the covers up between his fingers again, focusing on the way the soft sheets crunch and wrinkle between them, how easy it is to feel powerful when crushing something that simple. His mother doesn't let him rest in that place for long, though, as her hands wrap around his, pull his fingers and uncurl them from the covers, cupping them in hers.

"It's okay, Wiz. Here, sit up."

He pulls his body up with hers, until his back is pressed against the wall behind them and the cold of the paint seeps through his shirt, forcing out any leftover exhaustion from his near sleepless night. He watches his mother as she removes her hands from his before cupping them into one another, bringing them up to her mouth before blowing into them. 

A sound escapes, soft at first before it builds, washing over his ears and into the same walls surrounding them, piercing through the shadows he'd been so afraid of the night prior. He smiles as she removes her hands away from her mouth, turning back to face him as the sound dissipates into the air.

"My mother taught me to do that when I was afraid. She always said that, when you do it-"

Her hands wrap around his once again, pressing and pushing his fingers into position before she taps his outer hand, urging him to bring them to his mouth.

"-when you do it, listen and the world will answer back. Go ahead, try it."

He heaves air into his little hands, hears his mother chuckle as she quietly encourages him again and again, until the sound goes from harsh and shrill to soft and melodic, amateur in essence yet beautiful in nature. His mother's hand runs through his hair again as he smiles, excitement lacing itself into his bones.

When he finally stops, the silence hangs in the air for a moment, before from outside the cracked windows he hears the birds answering him, chirps growing louder as one bird perches itself on the windowsill, staring in at them before it loses its interest, flying off into the morning.

"The world will answer you, Wiz. And when the world answers, you'll know you're safe."

The raspy groan of a cigarette was laced within his father's voice as he'd spoken, tired and melancholy as it'd cut through the air. It hadn't been long before the smell of the cigarette followed, singing his nostrils and tickling at the edge of his throat whenever he breathed, staining the day with imperfection. Between every layer of clothing he'd slid on over his skin he'd tried to recognize just how early it was, ears and eyes straining to catch any passing murmurs of the world around him, desperate for any birds chirping or warmth of the morning sun peeking through the holes in their walls.

He'd been met with silence, wrapped over his skin and pressed into his throat. Foreign in concept and outright alien in its execution, it'd lacked the same comfort that he'd found within the silence between heartbeats years ago, his Mother's fingers charting paths as she ran her hands through his hair. No, the silence of this morning had floated dead in the water, thick with the same rigidness that squeezed the life out of every citizen as they grew their roots into the forests, counting their wrinkles and scars as their days became numbered. It'd been the type of silence to scream at someone until they scream back, mad and broken and everything in between. And it'd followed the two of them as they'd walked towards the forests, nipping at their heel and darting in-between the empty heartbeats shared between them.

It'd only broken when they'd laced themselves beneath the shadows and his fathers hand had pulled back the district fence, shoving him out into a world just as unforgiving as the household he'd been born into. The silence bled out with the rising sun, and as they made their way from the shadows to the trees the forest had come alive with the sounds of the wilderness, birds chirping and branches swaying, leaves rustling and the occasional dart of an animal somewhere off in the distance. He should have been grateful for the sudden rush of noise, should have welcomed it with open arms and broken knees, collapsed and prayed in gratitude like he'd done so many mornings before.

But it had all seemed so angry, like the world had suddenly turned their back on them in disgust or discontent. He'd wanted the silence back, in that moment, like a traitor to what his mother had taught him. He'd reached for his Father's hand, instinct and fear dripping from eight year old fingertips, but it only makes contact with the cold morning air, his Father's hand moved up to the bow draped across his chest, stone cold face focused on the trees.

Echoes of a childhood memory coated his skin, carved into the fear he'd felt at being alone in those woods-

No, not alone. There'd been a shadow in the shape of a man that towered over him, ice laden on his shoulders. It would have been better if he'd been alone.

It'd only been when he'd cupped his hands in front of his mouth, desperate for the world to tell him he's safe that his Father had spoken to him again, calloused hands wrapped around his wrists and yanking his hands away from his face, black and purple flowers blooming underneath his skin from the force.


"Scare wha-"

A hand over the mouth and he knows that the silence is back, biting his tongue until he'd felt it burn inside of his mouth, hints of iron coating his tastebuds. His fathers finger had marked the target, another crossed over his mouth the signal the continuation of the silence between them, as much as the eight year didn't need the warning anymore.



The deer had been innocent, fur coat shining in the rising morning sun, grazing softly against the forest floor. He'd told himself, with wide eyes and beating heart, that he would remember that image forever, the way a creature so magnificent could exist in a world like this, so close yet so far away from him.

The arrow had entered just above the creature's right leg, red flowers blooming from the source. Another image had etched itself into his brain, against his desire and against a beating childhood heart, bled dry and left to rot.

He'd gasped, fried vocal cords the only thing holding back a scream as the tears had welled up in his eyes, the image of the animal stumbling and collapsing to the ground shifting and blurring as he blinked them back, its cries like knives in his ears.


His father's voice rang with echoes of a heartbeat long since faded, innocence shot down and lost to time.



He hadn't felt his legs move, his body lift from the forest floor, all he'd felt was his Father's hand grab his shoulder and hoist him up, leading him forward and, when they'd finally arrived in the clearing, pressing a knife into his palm. The deer had been scared, twitching and thrashing against the forest floor, its eyes darting around in its head. He'd felt the tears well up again as his father spoke, knife clattering in his hand, cold metal laced in a loose wrist too young to understand what words the world was speaking to him.



Ice laced in his words and his legs had locked for only a moment, too short to retrieve the breaths caught in his throat but just long enough for his father to sigh, heavy against the air of the forest. A hand clasped against his shoulder pushes him down to his knees, rocks burying themselves into his knees and grass knots pressed into the skin on his legs. The knife felt cold, heavy against his hand as he'd pressed it softly into the creatures neck, watching the animal pant and thrash against the ground, eyes finally focusing on him as the tears had darted down his cheeks, shaking hands and bleeding heart thumping in his chest.

"I- I can't."

A sigh and an icy glare had dug into his back.



"I- I can't, I don't want to- Dad I don't want to-"

His Father's form had kneeled down next to him, little bolts of pain shooting from his wrist as his Father grabbed it again, white knuckles pressed into his skin as his hand is guided forward, ever so slowly and ever so unsurely.



The skin split heavy under the knife, muscle and flesh pulling apart and all he saw was red, sputtering and pouring from the wound like some sort of horrifying waterfall. His father pulled his hand down, breath caught deep in his throat, the blood coating against his hands and spraying up against the sleeves of his shirt, marking him with the stench of death.

It'd only been when his Father's grip had loosened that he'd dropped the knife, heard it clatter to the ground with a soft thud and scurried backwards, tears streaming down his face and breaths shaking against his lungs. He'd pressed against the nearest tree, burying his face in his hands, bloodied fingerprints mapping against the streaks of tears against his cheeks.

The world yelled at him then, chanting his own indecencies in shame and torture.

He hadn't seen his Father move towards him but he'd felt the shadow cast against him, ice lingering in its veins and turning his tears to ice. His Father's hand had pressed down into his shoulder, the other placed on top of his head and forcing him to look into his Father's face as he kneeled down.



He wiped the tears from his cheeks and left an emptiness in their place, etched deep into the skin of his face like scars.


He motioned towards the deer, one last glimpse of its life fading from the smile etched into its neck, before turning back to his son.


The world had yelled an answer, but he hadn't been able to make sense of it. He'd nodded.

It dug deep, scratched into a bleeding heart and, spent so long with the world screaming at him, he'd suddenly heard it go silent.

That night, he'd climbed to the roof and cupped his hands over his mouth, blown softly into them and called out to the world for whatever safety it had to give.It hadn't answered.