She turns towards me and for the first time in a while, I see her.
Even though I look at my mother every day, I haven’t seen her since my father died. She used to be a beautiful, carefree woman. Now, when you look at her you see bloodshot eyes rimmed with red, swollen from sobbing. Her beautiful, rich brown hair is stringy, dry, put up in a haphazard bun, and dirty. So dirty. My mother hasn’t bathed in a long time.
Despite all this, every day I care for her, calming her and keeping her alive.
But I then realize that, even though she is looking at me, she is not really seeing me. She is in her own world, a world where we can hear my father’s off-key singing in the shower in just the next room. A world where he will, in any second, walk through the door from the kitchen, almost levitating with his characteristic joy. A world where his eyes light up when he takes in my mother. A world where he isn’t dead.
With a sudden burst of anger and resentment, I get up and nearly sprint out of the house, slamming the door behind me. Kicking off my shoes, I turn to my left and start running down the dirt road.
Pit, pat, pit, pat.
The sound of my bare feet against the solid earth gives me a pleasure that radiates throughout my entire being, causing the corners of my mouth to turn up involuntarily.
My mind wanders, and when I arrive back in reality, I am at my favorite place in the world: the lake.
The lake is small, but large enough in which to swim. A forest surrounds the body of water and every now and then I see the colorful shimmer of the scales of a fish under the surface. The early morning sun hits the smooth surface at a perfect angle, reflecting off the water and lighting up the area.
I walk towards the lake which, at this point, is more home for me than the old ramshackle cabin where my mother is right now. I look at my reflection in the water, and my anger morphs into sorrow. Sorrow that my father lies cold and still under the earth. Sorrow that my mother and I must scrounge for scraps to eat each day. And sorrow that my mother is falling apart at the seams.
Suddenly, I am sure: I cannot live this way any longer. It is time for my life to end.
Shaking, my hand reaches under my shirt to my belt, and pulls my ever-present knife from its sheath.
Slowly, I lift the knife to my neck, pressing the cold metal to my bare skin, tip first. The earth seems to be shaking uncontrollably as I press the knife into my neck harder, finally breaking skin. Hot, red blood drips down my chest, a single drop falling into the lake. Suddenly, mountains of water begin to form in the water. The waves crash on my bare feet, bringing with them pebbles and sand from the bottom of the lake.
A large figure emerges from the center, seemingly made of water.
“How dare you!” screams the water giant. I mutely stand there, paralyzed with fear. “How dare you let mortal blood contaminate my lake! You shall be killed!” It raises its arm, which I then see is gripping a gargantuan gleaming sword displaying the reflection of a boy about to die.
Finally coming to my senses and realizing what is about to happen, I yell out, “Wait! No! Don’t kill me! I’ll do anything!”
The monstrous man of water tilts his head to one side. “I have never understood mortals,” he says. “Were you not just trying to kill yourself?”
“Yes, but I was mistaken. I am not ready to die,” I answer after a pregnant pause, surprising even myself with my new revelation.
“Well, you must still be punished. I want one thing: my lying, deceitful son’s heart. He has betrayed me, and he will die. He lives in the town about a mile from here, in a house with white paneling and a blue front door. Throw the heart in this lake once you have obtained it. I must have it by midnight tomorrow night, or you shall die.” With that, water titan disappears and the lake calms, returning to its old, beautiful self.
Long after the water has returned to normal, I am still standing in the same spot, blood slowly dripping from the wound on my neck, stupefied by the task ahead of me. Kill a man?
I start back the way I came, running faster than ever before. Soon, I see the beginnings of the small town in which I live. The very first house has white paneling and a blue front door. I gasp, because I realize the man I was sent to kill was the man I work for, my comrade, my only friend: Mr. Cray.
Gathering all my courage, I knock on the front door. I hold my breath, hoping he might be out for the day, or maybe helping out somewhere in town. With astonishing speed, the door opens, and standing there is a short man with a receding hairline. He has little facial hair, only a short white mustache, and his entire body sags like my old couch at home. Even so, when he sees me, his eyes light up with joy, and it is suddenly hard to believe he is the oldest man in town.
“Hello, Jason! Are you here to work? You are not due until tomorrow!” he says.
“No, Mr. Cray, I...have to talk to you,” I say, my voice shaking. How will I ever bring this great man to his demise?
“Well, come in, come in! I have just made some tea,” he says.
I step into the brightly lit house, taking in the familiar surroundings.
In the center of the room is a plump, white loveseat sitting on a lush dark blue carpet. In front of it is a crackling fireplace, giving warmth and sunshine to the already bright room.
Behind the living area is a small, mahogany table with two chairs around it. Mr. Cray gestures for me to sit in one as he goes into the kitchen to retrieve the tea. He comes back and pours steaming liquid into two mugs, pushing one towards me. I accept it, but do not drink, for no matter how sweet a man Mr. Cray is, his cooking is horrible.
He sits, waiting, knowing I will talk when I am ready. Gathering my courage, I take a deep breath and begin, relaying everything that has happened from when I arrived at the lake to this very moment. After I finish, we sit quietly for a minute, and then Mr. Cray speaks.
“I give you permission to kill me.”
I stare at him in astonishment, not quite believing what have I just heard.
“What?” I say.
“You heard me. The good knife is in the kitchen. Make sure to wash it when you are done, as it cost me much,” he says nonchalantly. Finally coming to my senses I shake my head violently.
“You have done crazier things. Remember when you jumped into that sword fight with those two local boys? Or when you insisted you were the strongest boy in town and that Jenkins boy broke both your arms in a wrestling match?” he says, as if this will somehow convince me to take his life.
No. No matter what he says, he will not persuade me to kill him.
I shake my head again, storming out of the house and back down the dirt road to my house, where I fall into bed and asleep almost instantly.
That night, I dream of what I will do to fix my predicament. Will I let the water giant kill me? Will I run far away and hope he doesn’t find me? What do I do?
I am jolted awake by my mother’s daily wailing, and realize by the sun’s position in the sky that it is almost noon. I’m late for work! I run into the living room. I hesitate, wondering if I should comfort my mother like I always do, then dash out of the house, hoping I don’t change my mind and lose more time.
By the time I get to the white house with the blue door, all thoughts of my mother have dissipated, replaced with thoughts of the upcoming workday with Mr. Cray.
I knock on the door and wait. And wait. And wait. Three knocks and more waiting later, I find the door is unlocked, and, thinking maybe he said come in and I just didn’t hear, I go inside.
The fireplace is not crackling with a fire as it always is. Looking around, I see no sign of Mr. Cray. The house seems uninhabited, devoid of the master’s lively spirit. I look in the kitchen with a feeling of dread, almost as if I know what is to come.
I find a dead body on the floor, his eyes closed and peaceful, his shirt being engulfed by a growing red stain starting at a gaping hole in his chest.
Putting the pieces of the puzzle together, I look up, my head shaking, to see a red, bloody heart on the kitchen counter, with a note next to it.

My dear friend Jason,
As you have probably realized by now, I have sacrificed myself so my father shall not sacrifice you.
I am old, and my time was nearing anyway. Also, when you told me of your predicament, the most peculiar feeling coursed through my veins, a feeling that told me this is what I was destined to do.
Please do not feel that you must repay me, as it was I repaying you – repaying you for being my only friend. Many say you are a reckless and conceited boy, but please do not listen to them, and know that you are amazing.
Farewell, my friend.
Mr. Cray

A small wet spot suddenly appears on the crisp white paper. A tear. Yes, I am devastated that Mr. Cray is dead, but that is not the reason for my sorrow. My tears have come because I cannot believe that someone would do something so amazingly kind for me, and realizing that this man has done exactly that sends a warm feeling coursing through me. Someone cares.
Later, I will go give the heart to the water titan. Later, I will help my mother cope with her sorrow. Later, I will grieve for Mr. Cray.
But now is not the time for that. Now is the time for me to understand that someone in this huge world cares enough for me to give me his life. I will cherish my life now, more than ever, because someone thought it was worth enough to give up his own.