"Between our promises and my faith in you, and the events unfolding before my very eyes, which truth should I believe?
And how can the fog we created ourselves to conceal our true selves and motives ever dissipate?
Where is life taking me away from those I hold dear? With whom will I be gathered in the midst of my estrangement? And to whom shall I return after the wounds that have torn my soul apart?
I am Clarity. I wish to take you with me on my short journey—to those who will love me, to those who will despise me, and to those who will appreciate my efforts and my humble turns. I love you all."
Clarity ...
On the fifth of February, in a city teeming with chaos and noise, winter was a harsh, unrelenting reality. Between the grip of the ruling authority and the lawless gangs that roamed its streets, rain and snow fell without pause.
In a small, quiet house, a boy sat on his bedroom sofa. He looked down at the dog nestled in his arms, his brown eyes reflecting a sorrow that mirrored the cold outside. His long, curly blonde hair fell to his shoulders as he whispered, "It’s freezing out there, Nody. But my heart... it's colder."
"Mother left me alone with nothing but a strange farewell note," he murmured to the dog. "I cannot blame her. I am the reason she reached this wretched state." He recalled the neighbor’s shrill voice from that day: 'You will weep blood for what you’ve done to your mother!'
"I’ll wait for her return," he promised, his voice trembling. "I will be the son she deserves. Nody, you might wonder what I did. She was wonderful—always forgiving. When I returned from school, bringing my problems home with me, I would throw plates just because the food wasn't to my liking. Now, I can barely swallow a bite. I treated her with such disrespect, even as she bore the pain of losing my father and the agony of my immature selfishness. I am truly sorry to her . I wish I could turn back time, even just for a moment."
A painful sigh escaped him. "You sympathize with me, don't you, little friend? I don't deserve it, but let's be friends. My name is Clarity." He managed a faint, bittersweet smile. "Mother named me that. She said on the day I was born, the sky was clear, the sun shone bright, and the sea was calm—the fog had vanished. She thought I was her new beginning, her sought-after happiness."
Clarity lay back on the sofa, clutching Nody to his chest, trying to smother the sharp, familiar ache in his stomach.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. A series of insistent knocks echoed through the house. 'Who could that be? Is it Jake? Oh no...' Clarity jumped up, his face pale with tension. He rushed out, whispering to himself, "Please, don't let it be Jake."
He took a deep breath and shouted, "Who's there?"
"Open the door, you ungrateful wretch!"
It was the tired, raspy voice of his elderly neighbor. Despite her harsh tone, a wave of relief washed over Clarity—seeing her was far better than facing Jake. He opened the door. The woman stood there, clutching a food container, her eyes filled with cold disdain.
"I didn't come here as a neighbor," she spat. "Your poor mother sent this."
Clarity's heart raced. "Mother?! When was she here?"
"She was here this morning. Enjoy your meal, you ungrateful boy," she scoffed, turning to leave.
Clarity chased after her, begging for news of his mother, but she remained silent, refusing to offer him any comfort. She looked at him with icy sarcasm. "See your bare feet in this snow? That was your mother’s state as she searched for you while you were out playing with your friend Jake. I will never forget her pale, broken face that day."
Clarity sank to his knees in the freezing snow. "I will change, I swear! I’ve left Jake, I’ve left the gang! Believe me!"
"I don't care," she muttered, slamming her door shut.
He rose heavily, heading back toward his house, only to freeze in his tracks. A group of men stood outside.
"Jake?! And who are these men with him?"
Jake, a young man two years his senior with cold, hard features, was pounding on the door, shouting Clarity’s name. Clarity backed away, his mind racing. He had to escape, but how? The gang was already breaking into his home.
As he retreated, he collided with someone. He turned to find a young man dressed in all black, his sharp features partially hidden by a mask.
The stranger signaled for silence, his eyes fixed on the men. "Did you suddenly become their target? What happened?"
Clarity shoved his hand away, confused and wary. "What is going on? Who are you?"
The stranger tilted his head, brushing black locks from his eyes. "You are Clarity Smith, eighteen years old. Jake’s favorite companion in the Northern Unit. You’ve been with the gang for three months, haven't you? Then, after losing money and 'realizing your mistake,' you decided to live in peace. Ha! As if that's possible."
"Who are you? How do you know all this? And why are you acting like I was part of some global syndicate?"
The stranger smirked. "As if I’d tell you. You should know this house is now property of the gang. Instead of standing here watching, you’d better learn how to deal with them."
"It's my house! I pay rent!"
"You can't face them," the stranger warned. "These are the lackeys of the thug Charlie. He likely chose this place to rest—or to stay forever. You lost it long ago. Look."
Clarity watched in horror as Jake and his men stepped inside, completely unbothered by his presence. Jake didn't even glance his way.
"That's your punishment, kid," the stranger muttered with a cruel laugh, before vanishing into the night.
Clarity was left sitting on the pavement in despair. He couldn't face Jake, and he couldn't face the gang. He realized then that some mistakes don't end just because you wish them away; they leave scars that must be paid for, over and over again.