Is life always like this? Will it ever change? Will it stay the same forever? Those questions have always echoed in my head. Maybe because I've been asking them for as long as I remember.
I slowly opened my eyes. I could only see the roof of my room. A roof that had covered my head my entire life. My head felt heavy, but my body was telling me to get up.
Maybe I should go outside for a bit, I muttered to myself, reaching for the doorknob.
The door creaked softly; the more I pulled, the more it started squeaking. I opened it and stepped out of the room. The stairs creaked under my footsteps as I descended to the ground floor.
"Are you awake, son?" I heard my mother's voice from the kitchen, warm as always.
"It's unusual for you to sleep during the day. Are you okay?" she asked, stepping toward me.
I stopped halfway down the stairs and smiled.
"Is it really that strange that I'm taking a nap?" I said with a smile.
"No, no," she laughed. "If you say so. I was just worried, you know how I am."
I approached the front door and noticed how she seemed happier today than usual. I turned my head, taking in the room around me—furniture, the kitchen she had come from, the sofa where my parents used to sit, the table where we ate—but nothing stood out as much as her presence. Her smile could be seen from a thousand meters away.
She was my mother. The woman who had always been there for me, raising me since the day I was born. Her brown hair fell to the middle of her stomach. Her eyes sparkled with happiness so brightly they almost blinded me. She was tall—about 180 cm—and wore the sweater I had tried to sew myself, which had ended in a huge failure. I hadn't expected her to wear it, or even that it would end up looking like a sweater at all.
I thought sewing was easy since I watched her make sweaters every day. She had offered me a chance to try it, and I had ended up with something unrecognizable. All the threads tangled, and in the end, my creation looked like nothing.
Yet here she was, wearing it, and somehow she had turned it into something beautiful. Seeing it on her brought a smile to my face.
"You look… kind of in the mood today, aren't you?" I said.
"I am!" she replied, her smile wide across her face. "It's a good day today, isn't it?"
"I guess so…" I said, turning toward the front door. "I am going outside to get some fresh air."
As I opened the door, I realized something was missing. My father wasn't around. Maybe he was outside? But I heard nothing from the street.
"Where is father?" I asked.
"He is still at work," she replied.
"At work? At this time?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "To be precise, he said he's going to the Kinuki Bridge…"
"KINUKI BRIDGE!?" I exclaimed. Isn't that the bridge that…
"Yes," she interrupted. "It's the bridge that separates humans from the monsters—the Trolls who have been terrorizing us for over 300 years. I despise them. When will they stop? What did we do to deserve this?" Her happy face slowly turned to worry.
I should not have asked about the bridge.
Her smile faded completely. Tears started forming in her eyes, and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her sweater.
I stepped forward and hugged her. "Don't worry, mother. Please don't cry. Everything will be okay. I'm here with you. It's just work, okay? Father will come back. He's there with soldiers who will help him. After all, he has a family waiting for him at home. Please, mom, stop crying. Wipe away those tears and don't let me see you like this again, okay? If you do, I'll get mad at you."
She looked at me, curious and confused, as if she couldn't process what she just heard. Finally, she spoke quietly.
"You will get mad at me, you…?"
"I was just joking," I said with relief. "After all, how could I make you stop crying like a crybaby? Look at you, over 30 years old and crying like a child!" I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Her face went through multiple expressions—sadness, happiness, annoyance, shame—but eventually, she started teasing me back.
"You know who cried like a baby?" she asked. "Oh yes, you, Lazar. And when someone tried to separate you from me, who cried then? Oh yes, you again."
I felt ashamed. I had been standing there for a minute, overwhelmed by embarrassment.
Suddenly, she hugged me from behind. Her warmth and gentle pressure calmed me. I could stay like this forever, I thought. She leaned against me and whispered, "If someone had told me that my son would comfort me instead of the other way around… I would not have believed them."
After a while, she stepped back. "Didn't you want to grab some fresh air? Come on, my crybaby, go on."
I turned toward the door, but she called me again.
"Hey, Lazar. Come a little closer."
I obeyed, confused.
"Do you know what day it is today?" she asked, a mysterious smile on her face.
Hmm… I don't know, I thought, though I had a hunch.
"Today is January 6th, 1862/8. The Giving Day," she said proudly.
Ah, of course… The day parents give gifts to their children—an old custom.
She ran to the kitchen and returned with a small box, wrapped in red and white, smaller than her hands. "Close your eyes!" she instructed. I obeyed. She placed the box in my hands and told me to open them.
Inside was another box, this time wrapped in blue. Inside that, a thin silver earring, shaped like a chain. Three chains linked together.
"Your father and I have been thinking about what to get you. You never ask for anything, so we decided this would suit you."
I hugged her gently. "Thank you, Mother. I really like it."
Just because I never ask for anything doesn't mean I don't want anything.
She smiled, almost like stars were shining in her eyes. "Let me put it on for you. It'll hurt for a moment, but it's over quickly."
She pierced my ear gently, placed the earring, and handed me a mirror. I smiled at my reflection and thanked her again.
"I'm going out now, okay?" I said as I opened the door.
She smiled. Outside, snow covered everything. The air was cold and crisp, and the sky was clear. Two paths lay ahead—one toward the village, one into the forest. I chose the forest, passing a bench, a house, and finally entering a world of softwood trees covered in snow. Countless traces marked the path—both human and animal.