Pathetic

In his cavernous, wicked voice, the tenant responded to this disruption of his sleeping hours.

"Who the hell is that? I'm eating!"

"It's Miron."

A short silence followed this reply, and then the old man laughed a surprised but mischievous laugh.

"What do you want, boy? If you have so much time to waste as to visit me, then you should first think about finding a way to survive."

The young visitor replied, unperturbed,

"It doesn't matter. I'm just here to buy something."

"Oh shit! You should have made that clear earlier. But first," and he changed the tone of his voice which sent a shiver of repulsion through Miron's veins "I need to be sure you can afford to buy it."

"Yes." Miron's response was one of unquestioning calm and certainty.

"Oh great, I always love it when they pretend to be sure. Especially you, my boy. So come on in! Come on in."

Miron pushed open the sinister door smeared with crude spells and entered.

The janitor was sitting in an old chair, a dented bowl of soup in his hand with fleshless bones floating miserably on the surface. Miron approached him and handed him the plate of cakes. The janitor first looked at the beautifully made sweetness whose taste admitted no doubt, smiled wickedly, and stared at Miron.

"You may be only a child, and you look as innocent as anyone at that age, but in the end, I wonder if you are not more corrupt than the master."

The young boy did not even give him the satisfaction of responding to this insulting provocation. Disappointed and frustrated, the janitor asked.

"Very well. And what do you want in return?"

Miron looked around the room, every space of which was occupied by various broken objects, with more than obvious disgust. The room was a perfect reflection of its occupant, small, dirty, messy and smelly, with no chance of change. The walls covered with dark green wallpaper with floral patterns did not match the old, discarded furniture, nor the floor covered with a carpet of banal colors and already worn down to the bone.

"A weapon. An effective weapon, let's be clear." Miron finally answered in a neutral tone. "One that could help Kei and me survive as long as possible."

The janitor laughed openly at Miron, as if he couldn't express himself otherwise. He shrugged, picked up the cake, and leaned heavily against his old chair, making himself as comfortable as possible to enjoy the desert.

"Tell me, beautiful child, besides this good dessert," he said, pointing to the pastry, "why should I help you?"

"Because resisting as long as possible is the purpose of this sordid game, and which will certainly be even more fun for my case". Then Miron took up the janitor's words. "And then, watching others suffer is the only thing that can give some joy to the empty and grim existence of losers like you".

Miron calmly faced the hateful and overwhelmed gaze of the janitor, who wished he had a single argument to rebut these poignant words but unfortunately knew he had none. After an indefinite time, he finally settled for a shrug.

"The last gesture of hope, eh? Look for the weapons you need so badly in these useless things, boy." And he pointed nonchalantly at the pile of debris that filled his room. "You'll probably find at least one. I'm feeling particularly generous tonight. I, for one, am going to take as much time as I need to savor this little treat you've generously brought me."

From wrought iron tools to utensils of various qualities, to worn clothing and knick-knacks by the thousands that piled up in a corner near a dead earth fireplace, countless used, dirty, and broken things did indeed fill the dilapidated room of Athok's sole janitor. Moreover, the latter was watching him at work while tasting the fruit cake with greed and satisfaction.

"Thank you for this little dessert, my boy. But I stop you at once, none of these old damaged objects will be able to save you. This is fate, you must accept it and submit to it. Everything dies here. But if I may give you some advice, call it fate for the more romantic individuals of your kind. It doesn't really matter anyway."

The unwanted visitor stood still for a moment and then replied, an ambiguous smile on his lips.

"I wonder what could have gone wrong on your way so that you could have come to this point where even the children recluse here prohibited from their will and whom you torment so much do not envy you."

The janitor had come to a standstill, too, but remained silent, now staring at the young boy, who had resumed his search for a supposed sufficient or salutary weapon in the heap of defective objects that filled his private place, and which perfectly reflected his existence. But the doomed and oh-so-hurtful young boy was not done.

"You who were fortunate enough not to be sealed here, you remained there in such squalid and pathetic conditions that we even manage to sympathize with you, we who are certainly the only ones though furtively, who consider your life pitiful, when you yourself had long ago given up on it, and it is certainly not your masters who will do so for you."

Miron, who continued to search more and more, lifting and removing useless fragments to go deeper, suddenly stopped. He seemed to have finally found what he had come for. Or more precisely it was the object that found him. A whistle engraved with an explicit design - a young boy blowing into the object repelled terrestrial or winged monsters with the sound produced, plunging them into frightful pain. He took it and at the touch of the metal piece, he felt like a burning sensation and then coldness briefly taking hold of his body, while a crack occurred deep inside him, faint but quite disturbing, and which took his breath away for a moment. He shook his head to compose himself and tried to repair it as best he could. Then he hid it under his clothes, stood up and turned to the pitiful guard and tutored him.

"And to answer your question, or I don't remember if there was one. You're right, I want to live and I'll fight for it, unlike you who are totally incapable of doing anything but continuing to wallow on your old couch in this dark, abandoned place. Maybe I'm one of those romantic beings you just mentioned, just because I'm strong. And the innocent person that I am will probably never understand your vile and defeatist thoughts. But one thing is for sure, it's a good thing. Because no one should ever become like you."

The janitor, who was tasting with an almost innocent joy the pastry of which he usually received a tiny piece only once a year, stopped dead in his tracks, stood still for a second, and then put down the half-swallowed dish. He bit his lips until they bled and then, without Miron, who had the intention of leaving, expected it, laughed a cruel and malicious laugh.

"Ah well, then they were all right. You are a big mouth. And yet, isn't that all in the end?"

Miron glared at the repulsive worker.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I think you understood what I meant, young mage. You just threw what you all think of me so much at me, doing it while thinking yourself a judge, a being apart and invincible. But all in all, isn't all this just futility, for you are doomed without a chance, and that, whatever you do, whatever you are."

Miron, his face neutral and diaphanous, only sketched a slight movement of the head.

"Oh I see. So it was really like that, eh, young judge." grasped the triumphant janitor. "Realizing perfectly the situation as only you are really able to do, you had preferred to behave like that to simply advance the ineluctable in order to suffer less, and especially before abandoning yourself like me."

This time, it was Miron who did not answer because he refused to deny reality as his interlocutor had ended up doing.

So he made another significant gesture and said, admitting the irreparable.

"You're right, I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of making their insanity last on me. But I guess since I'm finally chosen, it doesn't matter much anymore. For everything will be decided tonight."

With that, Miron turned away with conviction and left the room. Back at the main building, he walked down a long dark corridor that led to the dormitory where Kei was waiting for him, probably very anxious as usual, and having gnawed his finger to the bone. But the young boy, since he had found his strange weapon and especially since this sparked a disturbing effect inside him, did not feel well. As he kept walking, he put his hand to his chest and groaned.

"What's wrong with me?"

The orphan was already in a terrible state of anger and annoyance when a woman suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor and walked towards him with resolution.