Chapter 3: I Hate This World
Leaving the kitchen, Soren walked to the top of the stairs.
Looking at that tightly closed door, he stood there for a moment, then hurried upstairs.
There were two rooms on the second floor. The street-facing room with a window was his bedroom, and directly across from it was a storage room.
Opening the door, Soren rushed over to the wardrobe, hurriedly stuffed some clothes into a bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked downstairs.
He didn't close the door.
After descending the stairs to the living room, just as he was about to step out the door, he suddenly stopped.
With an inexplicable urge, he turned his head back to look at that closed door, thinking to himself:
"From now on, I'll be living with Grandpa Roger and Irene, and I probably won't be coming home for a long time. Should I go take a look?"
The clothes-filled bag slipped from his shoulder to the floor, and Soren slowly walked over to the door of his mother and father's bedroom.
With a creak, the door pushed open.
The bedding on the bed was somewhat disheveled, making it seem as though he were seeing that day all over again—his mother lying there, her face streaked with tears, yet revealing a smile at the very last moment.
"Mom."
Soren murmured softly, walking over to the bedside to gently arrange the pillow, fold the quilt, and smooth out the bedsheets.
A photograph sat on the bedside table, and he reached out to pick it up.
In the photo, his father stood on Soren's left.
His father wore a simple white shirt and black pants, standing as straight as a ruler.
The lines of his face were stern, the bridge of his nose high and straight, and his chin still bore some bristly stubble he hadn't quite shaved clean.
The corners of his mouth were pulled far apart, revealing two rows of neat teeth that stood out prominently.
Soren noticed that his father's left hand, hanging at his side, was tightly gripping his trousers.
That seemed to be the first time they had ever taken a family portrait.
"Looking back now, Dad must have been a bit nervous then, but the way he smiled is kind of cute."
In his memory, his father's once-fading image grew clear once more.
His mother sat to his right wearing a pale yellow dress, one arm wrapped around him from behind, the other resting on her lap.
Her smile remained as gentle as ever, a few strands of hair naturally draped across both cheeks, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, a faint blush reflected on her cheeks.
So back then, his mother hadn't been haggard or frail at all.
Gazing at it for a moment, Soren gently placed the photograph back on the table.
As he lowered his head, he noticed the bottom-most drawer of the table was pulled out slightly.
Soren reached out and pulled it all the way open. Inside lay a bottle filled with a purple liquid and a journal.
Driven by curiosity, he opened the journal.
April 25
Fris, I don't believe this is real. They said you were killed in action, but I don't believe it.
Yet they brought back a shirt covered in blood.
It was your shirt; I recognized it at a glance. The embroidered Ziluoflower pattern—I couldn't possibly be mistaken. Yet how I wish I had been wrong.
Fris, what should I do? Tell me, what am I supposed to do?
Have you really gone? Will you never come back?
......
May 21
Fris, this morning Soren asked me where Daddy went and when he'll be back.
I didn't know how to answer him. I didn't dare look into his eyes, and even less did I dare tell him that you had perished and would never return.
So, I lied to him. I told him you went to a very far place and it would be a long, long time before you came back.
Fris, I hurt so much. Won't you please come back?
.......
June 1
Fris, Soren cried today. He told me that when he went out to play, other kids bullied him, saying his dad was dead and that he was a wild child!
Poor Soren. You aren't a wild child, but you really don't have a father anymore.
June 2
Fris, today the child who bullied Soren was brought to our house by his father to apologize.
When I opened the door, that father pulled the child down and suddenly dropped to his knees, saying, "I'm sorry, my foolish son said things he shouldn't have, please forgive us, I'm sorry."
With that, he pressed the boy's head down along with his own, bowing deeply until their foreheads touched the ground.
I stepped forward and helped them up.
The father's face was full of shame, his forehead bruised and red from the kowtow, and the child's face was badly swollen—he must have been beaten before they came.
Fris, I don't blame them. I feel that what the child said was right.
No matter how well you did before, how respected and beloved you were...
You are dead now.
You left forever, just when your wife and child needed you most.
Why did you abandon us? Why?!
I hate you, Fris!
......
July 21
Soren went to the seaside again today. He just sat blankly on the stone pillar, watching the sea all day long.
Fris, my darling, I hid behind a tree and watched the sea all day, too.
You really, truly are never coming back, are you?
......
July 30
Fris, they came to deliver the pension today.
It was brought by your disciple Garp. He told me to stay strong, saying that if his master were still alive, he would surely want us to live happily. He told me to let him know if we needed anything.
I asked him, "Can you bring Fris back?"
He lowered his head and was silent for a long time.
I'm sorry, Fris, I shouldn't have asked that.
But I miss you so, so much. I can give up anything—as long as you can come back to my side.
......
August 8
Fris, I'm so tired.
......
August 15
Fris, I'm so tired.
August 16
Fris, I'm so tired.
August 17
Fris, how wonderful it would be if there were no Soren; then I could come find you.
Today, as I passed the pharmacy, I saw them promoting a new weed killer. I bought a bottle.
The medicine is purple, very much like the color of the Ziluoflower. It looks quite beautiful.
Fris, I'm so tired, and I miss you so much.
August 18
Soren, I'm sorry. Mom shouldn't have thought that way. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Fris, I'm so tired, and I miss you so much.
August 19
Fris, I'm so tired.
August 20
Fris, I'm so tired.
........
November 21
Fris, I think I saw you. Have you come to take me with you?
........
December 25
Fris. Wait for me, I'm coming to find you.
The journal ended abruptly right there.
"So Dad really isn't coming back... So Mom suffered all this torment because of me."
"So being alive is truly, truly exhausting."
Soren picked up the bottle.
Inside the transparent bottle, the liquid gently rippled, like purple silk drifting in a breeze.
"Mom was right, it really is beautiful."
Placing the journal back into the drawer, Soren took the bottle to the front door and slowly closed it from the inside.
Turning back toward the staircase, he stood at the threshold, glanced at the photograph on the table, smiled faintly, and then gently shut the bedroom door.
The stairs let out a creaking sound, but it felt unexpectedly pleasant, as if every step were falling upon piano keys to play a brisk, cheerful melody.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened the bottle, tilted his head back, and drained it in a single breath.
"I'm leaving now to go find Mom and Dad."
"I'm sorry, Grandpa Roger. I'm sorry, Irene."
"I hate this world!"