Tired…If exhaustion could be etched into every blade of grass in this forest, whispered across every trembling leaf, and carried through every river like a mournful hymn… it still wouldn't rival even a heartbeat of what she felt.
But she had to live—push through the pain, the suffering, the misery—because of her son. Her sweet little boy.
Her precious Yuri.
BOOM.
The door slammed against the wall.
Henry stumbled inside—a man whose belly sagged over his belt like a punishment he'd earned, whose tan shirt was stained with alcohol and someone else's lipstick. His shorts were frayed, filthy, and deserved to be burned out of existence.
Lilly—mother of Yuri and wretched wife to the brute before her—instinctively pulled her son behind her back. She stood like a trembling shield, a fragile wall ready to shatter.
"H-hello… welcome back. How was work?" she said, her voice thin and shivering as she fought to keep her hands from shaking.
Henry grinned, taking a long, sloshing swig from his bottle. "Ahh, that's more like it. Finally learning to greet properly, huh?"
The stench of liquor spread through the room like smoke. His bleary eyes drifted lazily—until they landed on Yuri, half-hidden behind his mother.
His smile died.
"…you goddamn bitch."
His face twisted. The veins on his neck stood out like ropes ready to snap. Then he lunged.
His slap hit her like a hammer, sending her crashing onto the rotten floorboards.
"Mommy!" Yuri screamed.
"What right do you have," Henry roared, "trying to hide my son from me!?"
The bottle shattered against the ground. Then his boots came down—over and over—into Lilly's frail ribs, stomach, spine. His rage spilled like venom.
Yuri threw himself over her, sobbing, trying to shield her with his tiny body. To Henry, that simple act of love was gasoline to a wildfire.
He ripped off his belt, wrapped it around his fist, and brought it down again and again across Yuri's small back. Each strike was a whip of agony. Each cry was another fracture inside Lilly's soul.
"Please! Please stop!" she begged. "He's just a child! Yuri—baby—run! Run!"
But the boy didn't move. The mother couldn't breathe.
"None of you respect me!" Henry screamed. "Don't you dare make me the monster!"
But the monster had been made long before this night.
This was their life:A mother and her child, suffocating beneath a man who contributed nothing yet demanded everything.
Lilly worked seven different jobs—scraping coins together for food, school, medicine. She no longer prayed for miracles. But every morning, she still found a reason to wake up.
That reason had a name: Yuri.
Death would've been a mercy. But for him… she had to endure.At least, for now.
Three Years Later
The school bell shrieked through the classroom.
Yuri packed his torn notebooks into his battered bag and waited until the rest of the students left. He always waited. It was easier that way.
But before he could take a step, three shadows stretched across his desk.
Brian. Simon. Kara.Older. Taller. Already smirking.
"Excuse me," Yuri said softly. "You're in the way."
They didn't move. Their eyes crawled over him—sharp, mocking, dissecting.
Simon leaned in, grinning. "Hey there—Yuri, right? Ninth grade. I'm Simon. These are Kara and Brian."
"Uh… hello," Yuri said. "Nice to meet you."
"Oh, I bet it is," Kara muttered.
Brian crossed his arms. "Let's cut the crap. We've been hearing rumors about the poor little Yuri."
Simon rolled his eyes. "But let's be honest—we all know it's fake."
Yuri blinked. "I don't… understand."
Kara scoffed. "Yeah you do. We know your type. Trying to make everyone pity you."
"Please," Yuri said quietly. "You're mistaken. I have to go—"
"Shut up," Brian snapped. "You leave when we say you leave."
Yuri tried slipping between them.
Brian's kick slammed into his chest.
He hit the floor hard. Air fled his lungs. Spots burst behind his eyes.
"Did we say you could go?" Brian snarled.
Kara's voice floated above him. "Want me to rough him up more?"
Simon shook his head. "No. He gets it."
They left laughing, their footsteps echoing down the hall.
Yuri stayed on the ground, drooling, breathless, trembling. But alive. Barely.
He gathered his things and forced himself upright. Each step toward home was agony.
By the time he reached his street, the sky had darkened.
He stopped walking.
Flashing lights. Police sirens. Firetrucks. Reporters. Neighbors crowded together like vultures circling a corpse.
His heart dropped. Everything in him screamed.
He ran.
He pushed through the crowd, stumbling past officers shouting commands he didn't hear, past faces he didn't recognize, past hands trying to stop him.
He burst into the house.
And instantly wished he hadn't.
Blood.
Everywhere.
The walls were splattered. The floor was drenched. The ceiling dripped. Everything—everywhere—was her blood.
Pieces of her were nailed to the walls like decorations crafted by a demon.
And right in front of him—
Her head.
A message was carved across her forehead in jagged, trembling letters:
THE WAR IS COMING.
Yuri collapsed. His body folded, his stomach heaved. He vomited until only blood came up.
His trembling fingers touched the cold, sticky floor—touched her blood—and something inside him shattered.
He couldn't scream. He couldn't speak.
Silence swallowed him whole.
Only the echo of everything he had just lost remained.