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I see you on the big screen. You look bigger now but you still produce the same lovely sound as you did before. Although I smile now, seeing that you are still alive, I still remember the pain I felt on the day they took you away. Oh, how heartbroken I was when I saw your tiny hand reaching out to me.
I am sorry, dear. I wasn’t strong enough then, and I am still not strong enough now.
People keep calling you Till. Is that your name? I wish I could call you that while I hear you sing again, nuzzle my cheek to yours, and say, "Good job."
Even though the sounds are still pleasant to hear, it pains me to listen to the sweet sound that was once produced by an unburdened heart. Now, it sounds so hurtful, as if you’re forcing yourself to sing.
But it can’t be helped, right? You need to keep singing. I see what happens on the stage—you need to be better than anyone else. Because if you’re not, there will be silence. And my dear, please never be silenced; do not let your voice end.
My one regret is that I didn’t stop you from singing. If I had stopped you, would we still be together? Could I continue to care for you?
I would put a blanket over you, and even when you kicked it off because of your sleeping habit, I would still put it back again.
It can’t be helped, I say, and I don’t even know if regret is the right word. But how could I stop you, when you sounded so lovely? When you looked so happy with your bright smile, as I patted your head?
So I pray, I pray, I pray every day for Anakt. I pray multiple times a day. I thought if I said it enough times, Anakt would hear at least one of them and grant you the blessing of living one more day. I have never stopped praying, not even for a single day.
Other people are confused. Why do I care so much for a mere product? I want to ask them in return: for you, someone I love, how could I not?
My love for you doesn’t need an explanation; it doesn’t need words, because I simply know that I love you. I will die for you if needed, I will change places with you.
I hug the air imagining that it’s you who filled up the space. Till, my son, can I call you that? Just as I love you, I wish for another person near you to love you as I always do. That wish is also part of my prayers.
I wish someone to continue caring for you, for someone to wipe your tears, for someone to protect you. In my stead.
I know I am being selfish. My decision to encourage you to sing, and now my multiple prayers to Anakt. I know I will be punished for how greedy I am. But it’s okay—I don’t mind if something bad happens to me, as long as you live and are loved. I don’t mind carrying whatever punishment comes my way.
I see you on the big screen again. It says "Round 6."
Why do you look sad? You look so defeated. Are you hurt? I reach out my hand, trying to stroke your cheek. It’s so far away. I’m sorry, dear, that I can’t comfort you from here.
I want to make another prayer so that you won’t show another pained expression. Just as I clasped my hands together, I saw that black-haired man touch his lips to yours.
What is he doing? Why is he choking you? Don’t lose your spirit, Till. Fight back, please fight back! My mind is a mess, what could possibly be happening—
I saw him glance at the scoreboard, and when I followed his line of sight, I noticed. Oh.
Just as fast as my racing heart, the black-haired man named Ivan was shot.
His bloodied corpse fell to the floor. It’s not the first time, and I hope it won’t be the last time you stand before a corpse, because that means you win—you get to live for another day.
I recalled my memory of that man, Ivan. After glancing at the scoreboard, he smiled. He smiled, knowing you had won. It suddenly hits me how blessed I am because Anakt answered not just one but two of my prayers!
Thank you, Ivan, for being the answer to my prayers. I know it’s wrong to feel happy about someone else's death, but Till is the most important person to me.
Thank you for sacrificing yourself for him.
Thank you for loving my son.
Thank you, Anakt. I will always pray to you! I will remain devoted to you for showing mercy upon my dear!
I will give whatever is mine to show how grateful I am.
.
.
.
I regret saying everything. Oh how such a fool I am, for what they take is also my punishment.
For everything means including you as well.
As I watch your picture disappear from the screen, I cry.