"If humans truly believed in goodness, wouldn't it come naturally like breathing?"
I clenched my fists as I walked.
"People hurt others and blame the devil, they punished sinners while calling themselves righteous, they built cages, courts, and cells, then called it justice but... natural disaster happens to the good and bad; people fall sick and die every day and when a bad person dies its his sins if a good person dies he has lived a good life? What a fucked up sense of humor people have."
"If morality was so clear, why did everyone argue about it? And if good and evil were real… why did they need to be taught?" I didn't realize that I was pacing towards the house while talking, I wasn't even aware of the rain anymore.
"Harry, wait!" Cecilia cried and chased after me, splashing through the puddles of rain . I didn't turn around. I was kinda scared to hear the things she might say And I convinced myself that they weren't true.
As I approached our house, an uneasy feeling settled deep in my chest. Something was wrong. I could feel it before I even understood why.
The gate stood wide open.
My mother never left it like that. Not once. Not ever.
My steps slowed. My eyes scanned the street. One of the neighbor's glass windows had been shattered, jagged edges still clinging to the frame. Flower pots lay scattered near the fence, their ceramic bodies riddled with holes as if something had torn straight through them. Then I saw them.
Men dressed in black surrounded our house. Their movements were sharp and coordinated, their posture rigid and alert. They looked nothing like ordinary people. More like agents from some secret organization, silent and deliberate, watching every angle.
My breath caught.
Footsteps splashed behind me.
"Harrison, why are you running in the rain?" Cecilia asked, panting as she came up beside me, her chest rising and falling from exhaustion. "We were having a conver–"
Her words died in her throat.
A tall man in a black suit turned sharply in our direction.
"Who's that?" he barked.
Cecilia's mouth opened, panic flashing across her face, but before a sound could escape her, I grabbed her wrist and yanked her backward. We stumbled into a narrow corridor between two buildings, shadows swallowing us whole. I pressed her against the cold wall and covered her mouth with my hand, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure they could hear it.
We stayed there, frozen, listening to boots crunch against gravel, to low voices murmuring outside.
When the footsteps faded, Cecilia pried my hand away, her eyes wide with confusion.
"Who was that?" she whispered.
"I don't know," I muttered, my voice barely steady. "But something's not right. We need to check if Mom is okay and call 911. Someone's breaking in."
She swallowed. "Yeah… but how are we getting inside?"
"I'll go," I said, already turning away. "If nobody's there, I'll come back."
"No," she snapped suddenly. "We're choosing with rock paper scissors."
I stared at her. "What the hell?"
"Let's play," she demanded, urgency sharp in her voice.
Before I could argue, she thrust her hand out.
"Rock, paper, scissors."
We struck at the same time. I did rock, she did paper.
"Oh come on," I groaned.
She shrugged. "Not my fault. You always choose rock." Then she gripped my shoulder, her expression suddenly serious. "Harry, no matter what happens, don't leave this spot until I return. Okay?"
"Okay, but what if"
She was already moving, dashing toward the house without looking back.
Waiting wasn't the hardest part.
It was the sounds.
Muffled thuds. Shouts. Something crashing. My stomach twisted as minutes dragged by. Fifteen passed. Then thirty.
I couldn't take it anymore.