The Art of UNFETTERING

It was the coldest night in the town of Vaymoore, a northern province of Vancouver Island, British Columbia.

With the fog enveloping the very ground, it was thick enough so it was hard to see anything that lay meters away.

The crickets and night insects were buzzing in their routine activities; the whole town was dead quiet in the darkness.

There stood an old stone house at the far end of the town, with a barely steady roof that looked like it would collapse any moment. Dim light was escaping from the ragged curtains of the window.

A black SUV that parked right in front of the house was ironically contrasting to the visible social status.

Unaware of the soul-crushing commotion inside the building, two muscular silhouettes seemed to be slumped back, leaning on their car seat, in deep slumber.

Unlike the usual calmness outside, there was chaos brewing inside the house. The faint, helpless whimpers and muffled cries carried on.

The atmosphere in the wreckage house is thick with tension. Two old men, probably around their late sixties or early seventies, sat in the corner looking utterly defeated. An old woman, two middle-aged women, a middle-aged man, and a man in his thirties were scattered around the house, sunk by the weight of the cruel fate.

Fear and worry were evident on their faces. There was a woman in her late twenties, lying exhausted and silently sobbing.

They are mourning!

Has someone died?

Not really. In fact, they just welcomed the newborn. The weeping woman was clutching the small bundle to her as the other family members grieved.

This is how they welcome every new life to their family. At least they have been for a century.

Because, unlike the people out there in the world, every new life in their family was born with the debt on their head. The curse that runs in the bloodline arrives faster than they take their first breath.

And if it happens to be a girl child, they wish it to die before the debt follows her and consumes her wholly.

But this time, it was different. Something else is brewing inside their heart; apart from grief, an unknown spark—probably a hope.

Time flew. Another unbearable hour passed.

Suddenly, one of the guards who was dozing off outside stirred, waking up, blinking, and gripping his head. Soon he realized what had happened. He cursed loudly, kicking the other guard, who was sound asleep.

“Cory, you jerk, get up. We've been asleep for 4 hours.” The other guard shot up, rubbing his eyes.

“What?” The first guard straightened up, getting out of the car.

"I am going to check on them.” He was about to enter the house, but the power was gone. At the same time, the back door flew open, and a shadow of a man fled out of the house towards the woods.

Both burly men alerted, the other guy scrambled out of the car, rushing after his companion, and chased after the shadow.

They could barely track him, and the fog made it even harder. Suddenly one of the goons figured out that the fleeing man was carrying something in his arms. His gaze narrowed and then widened.

“The baby!” He yelled frantically. “Fuck, he's taking the baby,” one of them gritted, speeding after him.

“The baby was here?” The other guy cursed. “How come we didn't hear anything? Catch that bastard.” The short man growled, pulling the gun and pointing at the running shadow.

“Wait, you'll hurt the baby—!” The other man yelled hurriedly, but his voice was merged with the deafening gunshot.

The bats and other birds from the nearby trees flew off in chaos with screeching sounds.

The man who was running ahead tripped and rolled down the slope several meters before coming to a halt. The bundle in his hands was thrown off and landed far from him—motionless and soundless!

The fallen man sprang up, rushing and grabbing the bundle in his arms, clutching it to his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

The men came to an abrupt halt, huffing and puffing. The guy pointed a gun at the kneeling man, who was breaking down. “You piece of—” His voice died down instantly, looking at the tiny corpse in his arms. “What's this?” The burly man growled.

“Please, have mercy,” The man with a slumped shoulder sobbed, clutching the small body to his chest.

The men shared a complicated look. “She—she's stillborn.” He sobbed into the bundle. The hand that held the gun lowered, a frown marring their faces.

“I—I just wanted to bury her…properly. Please don't mark this child.” He sniffed, trembling. “Look!” He wept, forwarding the bundle in his arms so that the men could see. “She—already cut ties with us. Please let me bury her—unmarked. I will work double.” The thin, exhausted man, the father, pleaded with them, crying silently.

The men stood there sharing an annoyed look. The tall man pulled out a phone to talk to someone.

At the same time, in the old building, a different story was taking place—or perhaps a preamble that would initiate the upcoming story.

A much-needed escape plan from this unjust, cruel trap.

The woman in her late twenties, who just gave birth earlier, sat weakly, pointing at the two men who were about to leave. She was finally ready to change their brutal story and change their future.

“Protect him, but let him know why he has been given this life. Never ever let him forget that his birth wasn't for love or celebration but for liberation.” She breathed weakly. “Educate him; let him know. Turn him into a weapon.” She breathed heavily, clutching her belly.

“With every breath he takes, he should recall that he has a responsibility, a purpose to fulfill. He has a curse to break: bring justice to every innocent heart that crumbled and every drop of blood and tears that spilled in humiliation and unjust.” She wheezed and whimpered, trembling as she continued. “And…every life that left this world with unbearable pain in their heart. He should never forget that there are lives writhing in the dark, waiting to see the light.

The sole purpose of his life and our sacrifice is to—UNFETTER!

The men bowed in understanding and assurance and left hurriedly.

As if on cue, she burst out crying, hitting her head. The family members gathered around her.

“You did the right thing, dear.” The old woman embraced her trembling form. “I agree; at least he would be free of this curse.” Another woman chimed in. The men just lowered their heads in helplessness and shame but didn't object to this madness.

The shattered souls opted for a change this time. Risk and sacrifice something priceless and decide to wait--- wait until the tiny gem becomes a pawn in this cruel game. A weapon that could destroy the monsters of this hell. The key that could free them from this unending misery.

Will fate let it happen, or will it have its own game to play?

Hey everyone. 😊 Hope you are ready for another thrilling adventurous ride.

Like every other romantic story, here, there was a prince and a princess. But the princess may not be the damsel in distress stuck in a tower. Or he may not be the wise and ruthless prince who would charge into the tower to rescue her.

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Disclaimer: This work of fiction is completely the author's imagination; any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or not, is entirely coincidental.

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Have an amazing week, guys. 💕