Isak Gunnar Cederström (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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muserevival2016-08-28 12:32 am
isak_cederstrom) wrote in muserevival2016-08-28 12:32 am
Entry tags:
mr #124.2 | Quote
"Strength does not come from winning. Your struggles develop your strengths. When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength."
- Arnold Schwarzenegger
The call had come in the middle of the night, as they always seem to do. In a haze, Isak reached for the screaming device on his nightstand, squinting at the name that came up on the screen. It was his mother. Given that their communication was at a bare minimum while they were in the same city, it was even rarer for her to call at such a random hour while he was an ocean away. He could feel the pounding of his heart in his chest, could feel it echoing in his head.
After what felt like an eternity, he slid the bar across the screen to answer the call. Tentatively, he brought it to his ear.
"Hallå?" Isak asked, his voice thick and rough with the sleep that had been interrupted. There was mostly silence on the other end, but he could hear what sounded like his mother crying. It felt like there was a noose around his neck, tightening with each passing second. He swallowed thickly, clearing his throat to try and prompt her to say something. "Mor?"
There was a quick sniff on the other end, as someone does while trying not to cry but failing miserably. He sat up in bed, turning the bedside lamp on. Rubbing his narrowed eyes at the brightness of the light, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and hoisted himself up.
"Mor, vad som är fel? Är du okej?" His mother let out a quivering exhale. Finally, she spoke.
"Ja," she replied, her voice sounding like it was a million miles away. Isak began to pace around the master suite level of his flat, a hand coming up to run through his hair. He walked to one of the windows and, pushing the curtains to the side, glanced down at the shadowed, muted world outside.
"What is it? If you are all right, what is it?" he asked, his tone growing impatient. It was to mask the fear that was gnawing at his gut, stabbing at his heart. His thoughts raced as he imagined what could possibly have prompted his mother to call him in the middle of the night, crying. Was it Elina? Did something happen to her? Or perhaps it was Elis? Had one of them been in an accident? Had one of them died? He could feel the pieces of himself begin to fade away with each new tragedy that crossed his mind. Just the thought of something happening to either of his siblings made his stomach wrench and threaten to expel the dinner he'd eaten that night all over the bedroom carpet. "MOR," he insisted, pleaded, "Please. What has happened? Are Elina and Elis okay?" He let out a quiet whimper. "Mamma, snälla du ..."
He heard his mother inhale sharply at the use of something as familiar and warm as "mamma." Isak had uttered the word perhaps twice as an infant before switching to the more formal "mor."
"It is not your brother, or your sister," she finally replied, the tone of her voice growing colder with each word. That was to be expected. There was a long, drawn-out pause, as though she were milking every second for dramatic effect. "It is your father." It was Isak's turn for silence. The words had surprised him.
"What about him?" Isak asked, trying to fight off the disinterest in his voice.
"-- He had a heart attack. He is in hospital now. They have stabilized him for the time being, and he goes in and out of consciousness. They are unsure of whether or not he will survive the week." She paused, letting the words and event sink into her son. "I know that you have just left, but ... you should come home, Isak. To see him. In case ..." she trailed off, the muffled sound of a cry escaping her.
Isak was unsure of whether he wanted to laugh, to cry, or to scream. He would have been lying had he said that he did not dream of this day as a child, listening to his father's screaming from down the hall, plotting the best way to keep he and his siblings safe should he decide to act out his anger. He would have been lying if he said that he did not dream of ending the man's life with his own two hands after coming home from school to find that his sister had wet herself in fear. But this? This was how the man was to leave the earth? A heart attack? It was more mercy than the bastard deserved.
"Isak?"
"Ja, jag är här. I'll take the first flight I can." It was as though someone else was speaking for him, though it sounded like his own voice. His mother said something to him, no doubt an attempt to thank or soothe him, before she hung up the phone.
He went and sat at the foot of his bed in a daze, his phone still in his hand. He was unsure of how long he sat like that before he dialed his sister, bringing the phone back to his ear. At the sound of her picking up, he exhaled a steadying breath.
"Hej .. har du hört? The time has finally come, Elina. It is finally here."
Word Count | 886
- Arnold Schwarzenegger
The call had come in the middle of the night, as they always seem to do. In a haze, Isak reached for the screaming device on his nightstand, squinting at the name that came up on the screen. It was his mother. Given that their communication was at a bare minimum while they were in the same city, it was even rarer for her to call at such a random hour while he was an ocean away. He could feel the pounding of his heart in his chest, could feel it echoing in his head.
After what felt like an eternity, he slid the bar across the screen to answer the call. Tentatively, he brought it to his ear.
"Hallå?" Isak asked, his voice thick and rough with the sleep that had been interrupted. There was mostly silence on the other end, but he could hear what sounded like his mother crying. It felt like there was a noose around his neck, tightening with each passing second. He swallowed thickly, clearing his throat to try and prompt her to say something. "Mor?"
There was a quick sniff on the other end, as someone does while trying not to cry but failing miserably. He sat up in bed, turning the bedside lamp on. Rubbing his narrowed eyes at the brightness of the light, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and hoisted himself up.
"Mor, vad som är fel? Är du okej?" His mother let out a quivering exhale. Finally, she spoke.
"Ja," she replied, her voice sounding like it was a million miles away. Isak began to pace around the master suite level of his flat, a hand coming up to run through his hair. He walked to one of the windows and, pushing the curtains to the side, glanced down at the shadowed, muted world outside.
"What is it? If you are all right, what is it?" he asked, his tone growing impatient. It was to mask the fear that was gnawing at his gut, stabbing at his heart. His thoughts raced as he imagined what could possibly have prompted his mother to call him in the middle of the night, crying. Was it Elina? Did something happen to her? Or perhaps it was Elis? Had one of them been in an accident? Had one of them died? He could feel the pieces of himself begin to fade away with each new tragedy that crossed his mind. Just the thought of something happening to either of his siblings made his stomach wrench and threaten to expel the dinner he'd eaten that night all over the bedroom carpet. "MOR," he insisted, pleaded, "Please. What has happened? Are Elina and Elis okay?" He let out a quiet whimper. "Mamma, snälla du ..."
He heard his mother inhale sharply at the use of something as familiar and warm as "mamma." Isak had uttered the word perhaps twice as an infant before switching to the more formal "mor."
"It is not your brother, or your sister," she finally replied, the tone of her voice growing colder with each word. That was to be expected. There was a long, drawn-out pause, as though she were milking every second for dramatic effect. "It is your father." It was Isak's turn for silence. The words had surprised him.
"What about him?" Isak asked, trying to fight off the disinterest in his voice.
"-- He had a heart attack. He is in hospital now. They have stabilized him for the time being, and he goes in and out of consciousness. They are unsure of whether or not he will survive the week." She paused, letting the words and event sink into her son. "I know that you have just left, but ... you should come home, Isak. To see him. In case ..." she trailed off, the muffled sound of a cry escaping her.
Isak was unsure of whether he wanted to laugh, to cry, or to scream. He would have been lying had he said that he did not dream of this day as a child, listening to his father's screaming from down the hall, plotting the best way to keep he and his siblings safe should he decide to act out his anger. He would have been lying if he said that he did not dream of ending the man's life with his own two hands after coming home from school to find that his sister had wet herself in fear. But this? This was how the man was to leave the earth? A heart attack? It was more mercy than the bastard deserved.
"Isak?"
"Ja, jag är här. I'll take the first flight I can." It was as though someone else was speaking for him, though it sounded like his own voice. His mother said something to him, no doubt an attempt to thank or soothe him, before she hung up the phone.
He went and sat at the foot of his bed in a daze, his phone still in his hand. He was unsure of how long he sat like that before he dialed his sister, bringing the phone back to his ear. At the sound of her picking up, he exhaled a steadying breath.
"Hej .. har du hört? The time has finally come, Elina. It is finally here."
Word Count | 886