The origin
994 Words
“Son. Look at me. I’m fine. Trust me, I’m completely fine.”
The little one stared up at his father — smiling, lying through his teeth, reassuring him that everything was okay when they were both drowning in a house swallowed whole by fire. A fiery grave disguised as a home.
“Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re okay. You’ll make it out. You have to live. Kids are a gift from God, my dear — they’re meant to smile. Stay away from pain. Smile, always.”
Zyran shook his head, that little head not yet made for grief — not understanding why it sounded like a goodbye. But it did. It so f*****g did.
“Zyran... my boy. Close your eyes.”
His father — crushed beneath what used to be their home — was pleading.
“W-Why, Dad?”
He didn’t want to. Something inside screamed no. He was terrified that if he closed his eyes, his father would vanish — taken by the flames to someplace unreachable, to nowhere.
“Just do it, my obedient son... I know you always listen to your old man.”
That word. Obedient. His soft spot. His downfall. It always was.
So he obeyed.
Five minutes. Five endless minutes of silence, except for the fire’s hiss — like a snake slithering through wood and memories.
He opened his eyes.
And he would never sleep the same again.
His father’s body. Smashed. Split open by a concrete block that exploded his insides like a piñata from hell. And yet — not a single scream. Not one sound. His dad had suffered in silence. Why? To protect him. To smile for him.
Then something wet brushed his leg. Cold. In the middle of this inferno. He looked down.
It was his father's intestine — curled around his leg like a sick leash.
Zyran crawled back — eyes wild, lungs forgotten — when something soft touched his hand.
His heart stopped.
He looked down...
And found his father’s head.
Cleanly severed, lying there like a puppet cut from strings. But the worst part?
The smile. Still there. Painted in blood. That same comforting smile... just redder. Wider. Deadlier.
The crimson lips. The bloodshot eyes.
And the smile. Always the smile.
---
Zyran jerked awake — gasping like he hadn’t breathed in centuries. Bed sheets soaked, eyes burning, hair matted to his skull.
His dog, Dodo, licked at his leg like nothing was wrong in the world.
“Goddamn it, Dodo…” he groaned.
The pup just wagged his tail and jumped onto Zyran’s chest, licking away the nightmare. Zyran fell back, letting him. He was annoyed, yeah — but he didn’t push him away. Not this time.
He got up, dragged the curtains open. Sunlight stabbed his eyes.
He hated sunshine. Too bright. Too... alive.
Probably Dodo’s doing. Damn mutt always loved mischief.
Baggy black tee. Torn black jeans. Sneakers. That’s it. He was out the door.
One last glance at his house. Small. Wooden. Cheap as hell. But it felt like home — especially with Dodo chasing butterflies in the yard like life wasn’t a cosmic joke.
He hopped on his bike. Rode to university.
People stared. Girls whispered. Something about the way the wind clung to his shirt and traced his abs like it knew him too well. His hair — jet black — blew across his eyes, soft but dangerous.
He didn’t care. He never cared.
He parked at the far end, away from the noise. Shoved on round black-rimmed glasses. Walked with his head down.
First class: psychology. His favorite — not because he wanted to learn, but because he wanted to see how little others understood.
The professor talked. Words spilled. Nothing stuck.
He knew more than that paid puppet could dream of.
An hour passed like a decade.
Next period off. Sanctuary.
He sat alone in the cafeteria’s dead corner, silence a balm to his bruised soul. Pulled out his black notebook. Breathed in the emptiness.
And of course — chaos had to follow.
In came the “bling” brigade. Glitter, ego, and spoiled milk for brains. Rich kids with shiny smiles and rotted hearts.
“Eyoo, a newbie! Look, fellas!”
“Hello there, man!”
Ignored. Instantly.
Mike — self-proclaimed alpha of nothing — grabbed Zyran by the collar.
“What’s with this attitude, you son of a b***h?”
Zyran didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just slid his notebook away like their voices were white noise.
“Ooo, the silent freak ignored Mike!”
“FREAKING SPEAK UP!”
Mike yanked Zyran close.
Mistake.
Their eyes locked. Zyran’s silence screamed louder than any threat. It rattled.
Something ancient burned in those eyes. Rage? No. Ruin.
Mike let go like he’d touched fire.
Spat on Zyran’s face — the last brave thing he’d ever do.
And ran.
He’d never look Zyran in the eye again.
Mike noticed something before fleeing — a patch of foundation at the corner of Zyran’s lips. Like he was hiding something. Like maybe… just maybe, he had a slit mouth.
---
Zyran went to the bathroom. Bag clutched tight.
Stared at himself in the mirror.
Why always him? Why always the target? The one to break? The one left behind?
The one to apologize for pain he didn’t cause?
“Everything’s gonna be okay. I am okay. Kids are the gift of God. They need to smile always. So I… I need to smile. Always.”
He repeated his dad’s words. Again. And again. Like prayer. Like punishment.
He smiled. A real smile. Almost.
But tears betrayed him.
He held the smile in place with his fingers — pulling the corners up, holding the mask together as the tears streamed.
A smile is the scariest thing in the world.
The most deceiving.
The most dangerous.
Don’t trust it.
Not even God can see past a smile.
People rot with a smile.
And no one notices.
- Writer
