“Good Evil” – Part Three

Over the next few weeks, Akio came to Cole’s re-purposed monastery precisely at ten in the morning, then adamantly left—Cole hoped he was going home, whenever he exited—at 3 in the afternoon. The young boy, against Cole’s better judgement, morphed into something of a friend during this short interval, and every time he visited Akio had a nice pleasantry for Cole, along with a glowing smile. Akio had come to hang about so much, in fact, that Cole had begun to wonder if the boy was trying for an apprenticeship. As more time passed, his suspicions of this started to dissolve, as more and more of their visits ended up predominantly in the flourishing garden in the old monastery compound. 

Within the first week, Akio showed interest around the lake-side of the walls, where bamboo surrounded a tiny pond filled with lilies, frogs, and fat minnows. In the shade of the white brick wall, during the hottest part of the day, they would sit in the cool, green atmosphere, and converse of things either happy, or exceptionally dark. Eventually, Cole even trusted a few of his murky secrets to Akio, and in response, the boy shared with Cole.  

“Do you want to know why I come here so often?” Akio asked one sweltering summer afternoon. He stared down into the cool, clear water in front of them, pretending to focus on the fish.  

Cole felt the slight change in the boy’s aura of peace; he sensed a foreboding admission coming. Cole grunted a response while whittling a piece of bamboo into a spike. Akio’s eyes lifted a little; now they focused on the purple water lilies, their throats a dazzling mixture of purple and yellow.  

“It’s because my parents fight. I think they’re going to get a divorce soon. After…”  

Cole ceased whittling. He knew what it felt like, to have parents fighting. The second step-father he had had fought with his mother almost every day, for seven months, until they finally gave up and the man left. He recalled feeling so angry at that man; every fight was about the same things: money, drugs (that step-father was into marijuana), or physical intimacy (which Cole thought they were lacking). He folded his knife and slipped it into his pocket. “After what?”  

Akio took a deep breath. “After my sister died, five years ago—that’s when it started. We grieved a while, then things took a turn. Now, my mom wants to leave.”  

“How did your sister die?” Cole gently prodded.  

Akio’s eyes went back to the minnows. “She committed suicide.”  

Cole felt those three words stab his soul. He filled his face with as much compassion and pity as he could muster, then reached over and placed a hand on Akio’s shoulder. Akio shook his head. “Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault.”  

They sat in silence for several moments, when suddenly Akio brightened again, as though he had never said anything depressing in the first place, and he turned to Cole with a smile. “Hey, I just had a great idea!”  

Cole lifted his eyebrows in response.  

“I was thinking, since you have such a rough past with your mom, and I have a rough past with my own parents, we should do something to commemo—” he paused, tried again, “Commenor—what’s that word? Like make a pact, or shrine to show we won’t forget the things that hurt us but plan to push past them.” 

“I think you’re thinking of ‘commemorate,’ but the better word for that would be a memorial.” Cole wasn’t sure he enjoyed the idea of making a memorial for his mother—she certainly wouldn’t be in his life again anytime soon. But maybe Akio was right. A promise, not to any friends, but to themselves that they would always push past the hardships.  

“Yeah, a memorial. So, what do you say? It can be small, like carving our initials in a piece of bamboo.”  

Cole picked up the branch he had been carving on, and he nodded. “So just the initials, then. What are yours?”  

“Akio Iliad Chambers.”  

Cole smirked and sliced the letters into the wood. “Mother a fan of Homer?”  

This drew a laugh from Akio; he glanced back down to the minnows but didn’t stare long. He peered over Cole’s shoulder at the carving. “C. C. R.?”  

“Not Creedence Clearwater Revival—don’t even start—my middle name is Caio.”  

Cole finished making the cuts, then handed the piece to Akio, who held it like a holy item. The young fellow beamed at it. Suddenly Cole realized, the act hadn’t been for the both of them really—it had been for Akio. 

“You promise not to end up like your sister?” Cole asked; he closed his knife and put it back in his pocket.  

“Yeah. And do you promise not to end up like your mother?” 

Cole smiled.  

“I promise.” 



[Probable End of Story]

This was written for a creative writing class and had to be exactly 10 pages long, therefore, I had to give it an ending a bit early. If anyone would like to see this story continue, please comment below! Otherwise, I’ll find another story to series-ify.