Forgotten Tears

It's in your eyes, what's on your mind.
There is no mercy just anger I find

Within Temptation - "A Dangerous Mind"

Forgotten Tears

Part III – „Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death”

Homework for literature lessons lay on the desk, and Durer was already writing the extra one. He did it because of boredom. The tutor hadn’t come yet, and Durer really didn’t like waiting. When he finished the extra homework, he decided to ask his Father what’s happening.

“Why the tutor hasn’t come, yet? He’s never been late.”

“I’m afraid he won’t come ever again.”

“What?! Why wouldn’t he come?” Durer didn’t expect to hear something like that.

“I paid a big sum of money to the revolutionists so they won’t hurt us. I can’t afford your education anymore.”

He just couldn’t believe it. It was like a big blast which destroyed all his hope, and all his dreams in one moment. He won’t go to the university. Never ever. He won’t escape the prison called home. The only way to do it was to find a job, but he didn’t have any useful skills. He felt the anger growing bigger.

“Maybe you would afford it if you didn’t spend so much on alcohol and whores.” He said to his father bitterly.

Bollanet wasn’t pleased. He slapped his son hard, so the boy landed on the sofa.

“Don’t tell me what should I do with my own money!” He raised his voice. “Without me you would be already dead!”

“Isn’t it your duty as a parent to protect me?”

“Oh yes, it is. And your duty as a son is to obey me.” With that he undid his pants, and Durer already knew what it meant. “Show me some respect and please me!”

“You’re sick! Fathers shouldn’t do such things to his own child.”

“Be a nice boy and do it.”

“I refuse!”

Refusing Bollanet had never been a good idea, but Durer at least tried. He just couldn’t stand the humiliation he received and wanted to keep some pride. Bollanet’s reaction was taking off his belt and using it to beat the boy. The hard leather was leaving red, burning marks on skin. They would vanish, but at the moment it hurt a lot. Durer gave up eventually because he didn’t want to get more beating. He took his father’s penis into his mouth, hoping it would be over soon. In the moments like that he felt like a trash. Worse then whores who visited his father. They were paid at least, but he got nothing. Nothing but the pain and misery. He tried to ignore the cock moving inside his mouth, and the hand pulling at his hair, but the feeling of being used never left him.

Bollanet took out his cock and came all over his son’s face. Durer didn’t cry, but looked totally defeated.

“You belong to me. Remember it.” Bollanet looked at him with a feeling of superiority.


It rained that day, but Durer didn’t care. He ran in no particular direction. His clothes were soaked, but he didn’t stop until he felt exhausted and knelt in the mud. Dirt covered him, but he seemed to totally ignore this fact. He just knelt there, and his eyes were focussed on the empty space.

“Sir, you’ll get a cold!” The maid found him, and covered him with a jacket. “Please, come with me.”

“Maybe I’ll get pneumonia, and die... and everything will be over...” He muttered.

“Please, don’t say such things. Someday you’ll find a job and leave home, but you have to be strong.”

He let the maid bring him home, but he always did. It was always like that.


The feeling of insecurity had become a part of everyday life of all people. Paris stopped being a safe place. It was a difficult time. The time of changes, but also the time of blood spilling. And young Durer was aware of that fact. He knew, he shouldn’t go to the city alone, but he did it anyway. The consequences he would regret bitterly.

There were two of them. They attacked him when he was walking down the empty street. They took him by surprise. When he passed the corner, he was hit by a blunt object. He didn’t lose his consciousness at that moment, but he fell to the ground, and saw two men with sticks, approaching him. Before he could say anything, they started beating him. He didn’t know how many times they hit him, but when he woke up, all his body was aching. His shirt was ripped in a few places, his hands and legs tied up. He laid in the place he didn’t know. It looked like a basement, with only one, small windows near the ceiling. He felt the taste of blood in his mouth. They had been rough. Through the door he could hear voices.

“It was better to just rob him and kill him there.” Said one of them.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Do you know how much money we can get if we sell him? The noble kid, and the pretty one. He’s to valuable to kill him.” Replied the other one, and then Durer heard them going away.

Once he had thought his life couldn’t get any worse. Now he realised it actually could. However, he felt more angry than scared. Someone had already used him, and he had no intentions to let anyone else do the same. He would rather die than let one of those filthy men touch him. He had to get out of here as soon as possible. He watched the place carefully. There weren’t much things that would help him. Mostly food and wine.

‘Wait... wine?’ Durer thought. The bottles were made of glass and glass was sharp so he could use it.

He crawled towards bottles and used his feet to break one of them. When he succeeded, he held the piece of glass in his tied hands, and tried to cut the rope with it.


“I’m going to check on him.” Said one of the men. “He should have already regained his consciousness.”

He went downstairs, to the basement, and opened the door. He stood shocked. He didn’t expect that he would see... no one. Very slowly, taking hold of his pistol, he entered the room, and when he noticed the broken bottle, the door closed and he got hit from behind by a wooden box. When he fell to the floor, he accidentally dropped the pistol, which the boy quickly picked up and aimed at the man.

“Just don’t do anything stupid.” The man raised his hands. “Put down that gun, kid, and I’ll let you leave.”

Durer said nothing, and was still aiming, with anger in his eyes.

“You don’t want to do that, do you? Put that gun down and on one will get hurt.” The man continued. Then Durer pulled the trigger. He was already a good shooter so the bullet pierced the man’s chest and killed him instantly.

The noise brought the other man to the basement. He had a pistol with himself as well, but the boy surprised him, hiding behind the opened door.

“Drop that gun!” Durer aimed at him.
The man was more sensible than his friend, maybe because he saw his dead body lying on the floor. He did as he was told.

“Turn back!” The man did it as well. He heard the boy getting closer. He felt the pain in the back of his head, and everything went dark.


He woke up tied to the chair. The teen stood in front of him, his expression suggesting he won’t be nice.

“What are you going to do?” The man shivered.

“You wanted to sell me, bastard!” Durer punched him.

“The noble kid like you won’t understand how hard the life can be.”

‘I know it better than you could imagine.’ Thought Durer, but he didn’t say that. He undid his pants instead. “Tell me, do you like lemonade?” He asked, looking at his prey like a devil. The man had bad feelings about it.


“The wounds are not serious, but it will hurt him for some time.” Said the doctor, examining Durer’s bruised body.

“Bastards! I would rip their heads off!” Bollanet was pissed. “I told you not to go to the city alone. Why did you do that?”

“I was looking for a job.” The teen answered expressionlessly.

“What for?”

“Didn’t you tell me you had a problem with money? If I left, it would help you, wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t make me laugh. You’re too young to live on your own. Beside, this house is the safest place now.”

The doctor finished his work and left, as well as Bollanet. Durer sat in his room alone. He put the shirt on and took the sheet of paper. He started writing.

Dear Gerard
I’ve never felt so torn before. I’m not sure how should I start this letter. I’m not even sure if I should tell you this. You may hate me forever when you hear it, but this thought is killing me. It returns over and over again. Sometimes I think I’m cursed. Everything’s getting worse. I killed the man, Gerard. I killed the mad and did nasty things to the other person. But it’s not the worst. The worst thing is that for a short moment I felt the joy and ecstasy which can’t be compared to anything else. For the first time I felt like having power over someone. I got intoxicated by this feeling, like a drunk person. And now I’m scared because I’m beginning to be more like father, even though I don’t want it. What should I do, Gerard? What should I...

He finished abruptly and destroyed the letter. He hides his face in his hands, but no tears came out.