The Past

This is the story of Vian and Juan, their past, when they were very young. I hope you enjoy it, and don't cry too much...
In a world of innocence

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don't let go

”Mom’s ill.” the young boy shook his head, scratching his dirty cheek. “I know, but don’t think about it, she’ll get well soon.” The first boy nodded to his older brother, then dried his nose. It was cold outside, snow fell from the sky, and their fire had died out days ago. They were both covered in blankets and all the clothes they could find to keep out the cold. The oldest boy looked towards the bedroom door again. Their mother was in there, coughing, he could hear her. “We have to get some food.” He said slowly, then turned to look at his brother again before asking “Will you go with me to the village?” the younger boy shook his head “What about mom?” his brother nodded “You stay here then, and take care of her?” “But Vian…” “No buts, I am leaving now, we need food.” Vian, twenty years old, studied his younger brother for a few moments. He then shook his head again. “I need your help Juan.” The younger brother bit down on his thumb, he hadn’t quite stopped sucking on it yet, and he still slept in their mother’s bed. “I’ll go then…” he answered after a few seconds of silence. Vian nodded and pulled down his hat to cover his ears, then did the same to Juan’s.

They went out, into the wet and cold of winter snow, the tyranny of the wind, the brutality of nature’s wrath. “Vian, don’t let go.” Juan said, holding his brother’s hand. Vian gave his hand a slight squeeze, dragging him through. “I never will.”

The storm had gotten worse, and the two brothers couldn’t tell what was in front of them no more. Juan tripped and slipped out of Vian’s hand. He curled together in the snow, shaking his head “I don’t wanna go.” He cried, sucking on his thumb, tears rolling down those soft cheeks. “Come on Juan, come on!” Vian yelled at him and pulled him up standing. They took ten more steps before Juan fell again, this time with his face first into the snow. He started crying loudly and screamed in frustration. Vian hugged him close, sitting down next to him, rocking him in his arms. “Don’t let go Juan.” He said, but Juan just kept crying.

They slept in a small cavern nearby, trying to keep each other warm by lying close. Vian held around Juan and protected him, and Juan was first to fall asleep. As they woke that morning they were even hungrier, and the storm had become even worse.
The village had been empty but at least the storm had died out. Their way home was a lot easier, but they returned home empty handed, to a house with a mother who’d forgotten them. “Don’t ever let go.” Vian said to his kid brother, and then vanished.


Juan opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling. For a moment he felt like screaming, screaming in frustration, but he kept his head cool. His entire body was sweaty and warm, and he pushed off the girl lying up against him before crawling out of bed. He picked up his pants, strapped the belt in and walked on deck. Here he studied the moons, wondering if he had ever let go.


In his giant bed Vian laid, studying the ceiling, thoughtful. He was saddened by a stunning dream, and he felt the sting to his heart as he looked upon his hand. Six hundred years had passed since they’d found their mother lying in bed, dead. He got up from his bed, leaned against the wall and looked out his window, studying the moons, wondering why he’d ever stopped holding on.


Copyrighted by Cecilie Hornstrup Nemeth, DK ©