Those Dark Nights [The Past - Closed]

OROKI VINSDEL.

THOSE DARK NIGHTS.

The sound of the respirator was haunting. Oroki stood outside of the door, but he could hear it. The inhaling and exhaling. A machine, that was the only thing keeping his Grandpa alive. It was a weird thing to think of, and reminded him a lot of Darth Vader. But, it didn't look like that. No, his Grandpa was not some cyborg, rebuilt stronger so that he could fight another day. No, he was an old man dying of cancer.

His Grandma exited the room, stopping beside him. Tears were streaming down the side of her face. She looked so tired. Oroki was only fifteen years, old, but he could see the wear and tear on her. She had been fighting so hard to be the strong one, to hold back her feelings of despair. He walked over and wrapped his arms around her. It was a good idea to tell her it would be okay? Wasn't it?

“Everything will be okay, Gram,” he said. She buried her head in his shoulder. He was a good foot and a half taller than she was. He let her cry there, for long moment, rubbing her back, fighting back his own tears.

“You should go home,” Oroki said. “Get some sleep. I'll stay with him tonight.”

She withdrew from the embrace, rubbing the wetness from the corners of her eyes. She seemed so haggard, so broken. Even being an older woman, typically her face was so animated, so happy. Bad things had happen to their family, terrible things. Oroki's father had died in the car crash, before he was born. His mother was paralyzed, in a wheel-chair for the rest of her life. Yet, his Grandma had always been cheerful and optimistic, always the one to point out that it was going to be okay.

The roles had changed. Or maybe, Oroki just didn't understand the gravity of death. How could he? No one he had loved had died, not yet. He was just a kid, a freshmen in high school. Sure, his grades were awesome and many referred to him as a genius, for his age, but he never felt that way. Knowledge came easy to him. It was emotions, in all their illogical complexity, that he struggled to understand. So, he simply suppressed them as much as he could.

“You're growing up to be a fine man. God bless you Oroki,” his Grandma said and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You stay strong. I think I will take you up on that offer. Sleeping in that chair has been killing my back. He's out right now, asleep. I'll be back in a few hours.”

“Sleep as long as you want Grandma. Tell Mom that I love her, okay?” Oroki said.

“I will honey,” she said and walked away.

With his Grandma gone, Oroki took a deep breath and entered the room. The scene was far more mundane than he had been expecting. The strongest man he had ever known, the wisest man, lay in the bed, his eyes closed, his mouth covered by a plastic mask. Beside him machines beeped and clicked and the respirator hissed as it inhaled and exhaled, for him. His lungs weren't working on their own anymore. It would only be a matter of time before the rest of his body gave out.

Oroki sat down in the chair next to him, reaching to his hand. It was clammy, he wasn't used to that. He wondered, what would a dead person's hand feel like? Would it be even colder, would it be stiff?

One of his Grandpa's eyes opened, just slightly. He stirred, wrapping his own fingers around Oroki's grip. Even in his most vulnerable and weakened state, the old man still had a strength that surprised Oroki. He thought he saw his Grandpa smile beneath the mask, but he couldn't know for sure.

As far back I can remember, Grandpa has always smiled when he saw me. Even when I did bad things, or got in trouble, he smiled. He's never held anything against me, he's always told me the difference between what's right and wrong.

“-roki,” his Grandpa said, between ragged gasps as the respirator forced air into his lungs. “Yo-ur--Gra-dma, she—eft?”

“Yes Grandpa,” Oroki said. “I told her to get some sleep, that I would stay with you.”

He thought he saw a smile, again.

“G-od boy.”

Oroki grimaced. Sorrow crept up in the back of his throat, lingering there like some sort of evil curse. Why couldn't he smile back? How come the only thing he could do was frown. His Grandpa deserved better than to see him frown. Why couldn't he smile?

“I'm so sorry Grandpa,” he said. “I'm scared. Really scared.”

“-t's o-ay. The tab-e, draw-r, I h-ve some-ing f-r you,” his Grandpa said and gestured towards the small end table next to the bed. It was covered in flowers, fancy vases and get-well-soon cards. Oroki found that kind of inconsiderate. His Grandpa wasn't going to get well. He was going to die.

Well, it's not like they make 'Have a fun trip to the after life' card, he thought and shook his head.

Opening the drawer, he saw a small metallic object. Producing it, he realized it was his Grandpa's lighter. It was the most beautiful lighter he had ever seen. It had a silver casing, swirled with golden designs. His Grandpa had shown it to him a few times. It had been passed down in the family for generations. Many years ago, before Oroki had been born, his Grandpa had been an avid smoker. He quit after he started to get sick. It took many years for him to get this bad, but it was the lighter, the heirloom that had eventually got him where he was, lying in a bed, unable to get up or to even breathe on his own.

“K-ep it,” his Grandpa said. “As a rem-nder, I-w-ill al-w-ys be w-th you.”

Tears fell from Oroki's cheek, splattering on his jeans. He held the lighter tight in his grip.