"Have the wounds of our youth ever truly healed?"
Sigh...
"No... I don't think they did. It kind of just faded away with time."
...
hmm... its that same dream that has been tormenting me for days.
Voices... so familiar yet distant at the same time. Maybe I'm going crazy.
Boom!A loud, sudden sound brought me back down to earth, followed by the chaotic clatter of glass echoing through the house.
A cold, suffocating silense follows. Sigh... I guess some things never change.
The familiar sound of fighting replaces the silence. The thin walls straining to contain the voices of my parents on the other side.
Their voices—Sharp and Forceful—cut through whatever remaining thoughts I had about going back to sleep.
I reach for my phone to check the time. how can they start this shit so early its not even 4 am. I freeze as I hear movement outside room.
My bedroom door trembles slightly as its pushed open. Suppressed cries reach my ears. Must be my younger sister...she still hasn't gotten used to the fighting.
"zeke...?" The voice of the young girl trembles as she continues. "Are you up?"
"Shh... you have to be quiet," I whisper back. "If Mum or Dad finds out you're still awake, they'll scream at you."
The pressure to act builds inside me. Even though I'm not the oldest, I'm the eldest one still living at home . So naturally, it falls on me to step in... to be the one who tries—yet again—to mediate the chaos.
"Bu—"
"Stop," I cut her off gently. "Go back to your room. I'll go downstairs and see what's happening."
As her footsteps fade down the hallway I force myself up and sit at the edge of the bed. I let out a sigh, the kind that carries decades worth of fatigue, yet it escapes from someone barely 18.
Why do I have to do this...? I shouldn't have to put up with their fights 24/7... This moment right now is the worst part—the choice between lying back down and pretending I didn't hear anything, or the so-called right choice, going downstairs and trying to sort this mess out. Then again, even I can tell the only real option I have is to go down. Maybe I like to think it's a choice so I can feel some semblance of control in my own life.
I take a few more shaky breaths, trying to hype myself up. Come on, Ezekiel, it's just one more time... A lie I like to tell myself, but regardless of the whether it is the truth, it does the trick as I stand and walk out of my room.
As I enter the hallway the voices become more pronounced...
"You... Who do you think you are to tell me what I spend my money on..." my father's voice booms, heavy and strained, like thunder in a quiet storm.
"I am your wife, and since you're almost never ho—"My mother's cold tone tries to cut in, but before she can finish, Dad interrupts sharply
"Never home? I'm working twelve-hour shifts every day just to put food on the table, and you're complaining about me never being home?..."
I zone out as a wave of helplessness washes all over me attempting to snuff out the flicker of hope I have that i will finally get them to stop fighting.
Seriously? They're fighting over this again, This is the 3rd time this week and it's only Tuesday.
I slowly descend the stairs, attempting to make as little sound as possi—CREAK!
The floorboard let out a sharp creak that rang louder than the church bells on Sunday morning.
SHIT. How could I forget... the stupid third step has been broken for months now...
"Who is that, come down here right now" A booming male voice rings out.
damn, guess I got caught this time I think to myself as I finish making my way down the stairs and too the kitchen.
"Who else could it be? You're scaring the kids with all your screaming and fighting. Please… can we just calm down? This fighting isn't helping anyone." A weak voice devoid of emotion comes out of my mouth.
My father glares at me, sharp and cold "Know your place, Ezekiel. You're just a kid. Stay out of things you don't understand."
My mother crosses her arms, eyes filled with frustration."Exactly. Once you have your own family, you can do what you want but right now your in our house."
The weight of their words crush me. Althought it was expected, it still stings... Like my opinion doesn't matter. Like I'm invisible.
I let out a sigh, the kind that says way more than words ever could.
No point in arguing. It'll just make things worse.
I check the time again. Still early.
I need to get out of here.
Without another word, I walk to the front door and step outside, gently close the door behind me.
A wave of cold morning air greets me making me wonder why I came outside without proper clothing.
My breath fogs in front of me as I take in the view of the quiet street. Empty. Still. Peaceful.
Exactly what I need right now.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my pants and begin walking down the usual route I take whenever I need to clear my head. The chill in the air bites against my face, but it's welcome—it's better than the heat waiting for me back at home. Not the physical kind, but the kind that clings to walls after an argument. From the resentment that simmers beneath every word exchanged. It's the kind of heat born from years of saying the wrong things, or worse, saying nothing at all. No one ever wins those fights. They just leave behind words too sharp to take back and too familiar to throw away.
Each step crunches softly against the gravel as I walk down the peacefull street. Out here, the silence doesn't hurt the way it does at home. It doesn't judge, doesn't accuse, doesn't scream. It just is.
Will I ever truly be free from all this... and my younger sibilings perhaps they can be saved from this garbage before it messes them up too.
I pass an alley way littered with garbage and graffiti all along the wall.
"lock the powered away"
"They aren't human"
"#AntiPoweredAssociation"
I scoff under my breath, the words bitter on my tongue.
"What garbage..." I mutter, so quietly even I barely hear it...
Pissed off, I pull out my phone. No missed calls. No new messages. Figures.
I scroll aimlessly, not really looking at anything. Just trying to distract myself, to keep my thoughts from folding in on themselves.
I keep dragging myself forward, each step heavier than the last, wondering what I'm even supposed to do today.
It all feels... pointless — like I'm stuck in a loop.
Nothing changes.
Nothing gets better.
I'm always the one stepping in, always the one holding everything together.
When was the last time I lived for myself?
...Have I ever?
I glance down. My phone screen glows in the grey light of morning.hmm... A name I haven't seen in a while flashes across the top.
Ethan:Yo, you signing up for Power Academy or what?
A faint smile tugs at the corner of my mouth — uninvited but not unwelcome. Ethan… it's been a minute since we talked.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
The Academy...
IVA — the Institute of Virtutes Arcana.
The so-called pinnacle of powered society.
Founded nearly 300 years ago by the first Grandmaster of Humanity, it's more myth than school in the minds of most people.
A place where power isn't feared... but trained. Controlled. Honed into something useful.
And maybe... just maybe... it's my way out.