[Sunny flinched at first when he felt hands on him - no, no, they were reaching for him, like always, ready to drag him down - until… he recognized the weight of those hands. The warmth. Frieda.
That settled him, if only just. He stayed bent over, hands cupping his ears, as if that could help blunt the edge of the voice’s anger.
”You are not my son.”
Those words echoed again, and Sunny’s stomach cramped. It had been so much easier to ignore, to brush aside, when the memory had resurfaced in his dreams. When he was Omori, he was strong, uncaring, unable to be felled by anything. Here, he was just himself. Weak.
Another swing of the axe, accompanied by the splintering of wood.
”Why won’t you fall?!”
The voice, on the edge of despair now, as the axe continued its fruitless path. At least it was confirmation enough that the axe wasn’t turned on Sunny himself. Still, he could only bear witness to an accordion page of that memory in his mind, flipping back and forth, back and forth.]
My… fault…
[The admission managed to squeeze its way out of his lips, pressed tight in fear, like a gasp of breath breaking forth. It was his fault his father was angry, his fault that his father had left, his fault that their family was fractured…
But four years of keeping that secret buried inside of him so tightly that his own mind had glossed it over. It would take more than the voice to set it free.]
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That settled him, if only just. He stayed bent over, hands cupping his ears, as if that could help blunt the edge of the voice’s anger.
”You are not my son.”
Those words echoed again, and Sunny’s stomach cramped. It had been so much easier to ignore, to brush aside, when the memory had resurfaced in his dreams. When he was Omori, he was strong, uncaring, unable to be felled by anything. Here, he was just himself. Weak.
Another swing of the axe, accompanied by the splintering of wood.
”Why won’t you fall?!”
The voice, on the edge of despair now, as the axe continued its fruitless path. At least it was confirmation enough that the axe wasn’t turned on Sunny himself. Still, he could only bear witness to an accordion page of that memory in his mind, flipping back and forth, back and forth.]
My… fault…
[The admission managed to squeeze its way out of his lips, pressed tight in fear, like a gasp of breath breaking forth. It was his fault his father was angry, his fault that his father had left, his fault that their family was fractured…
But four years of keeping that secret buried inside of him so tightly that his own mind had glossed it over. It would take more than the voice to set it free.]