The Boy Jesus and the Bottle of Myrrh

by Samantha Adalia

On a sunny afternoon in the sixth year of Jesus, his mother Mary showed to him the gifts of the Magi from when he was two years old.

Over the uppermost shelf in the bedroom Jesus called his own, there were three chests. They were all carved and coloured with foreign-looking and elaborate patterns, with an air of majesty to them. A layer of dust covered the chests, for a long time no one had held and opened them. Mary pointed to them now.

She smiled to her son who was waiting for an explanation, then began:

"My child, these chests were given to you as gifts when you were but once a babe. The brightest star one almost could not comprehend was shining high in the night sky. I was watching over you inside, when there were many sounds coming from outside and I knew a host was there to visit.

“Next, I opened the door to wise foreign men who appeared to have travelled from far away in the East, judging by their faces, clothing, and escort. You were in my arms as I answered them, and when they set eyes on you they suddenly bowed down and worshipped you!

“'The King of the Jews! The shepherd of the people of Israel! Praise and glory be to your name!'

“I stood there, marvelling. Then three of them rose with eyes shining to bring to you three gifts."

At last, Mary rose and carried each of them to the window seat to show Jesus.

The biggest chest was an indigo box shaped like the pointing petals of a flower, its cover inlaid with stained pieces of glass forming a star, and polished dark wood lined its opening.

The median chest was made of a light shade of mahogany, the colours of a sunset behind vines that sprouted many a bird and leaf encircled its sides, and an array of gems were clustered on the top.

And finally, the smallest vessel, with dark onyx for its body, was decorated only with shards of mirror that reflected sunlight or cold, bright stars.

"They-they are beautiful. And… they gave them to me?" The boy Jesus' eyes grew wide in amazement.

"My son, you are the only one fully deserving of them," Mary answered with sincerity, making Jesus ponder these words. He turned his eyes to the gifts again.

"What is inside, Mother?"

Mary took the biggest chest first, and let Jesus lift the top. A shining came from inside.

There was a slab of the purest gold, smooth and pristine. Jesus slid his little fingers over it, and imagined it being mined, refined, and welded - which all led to his wonder of the gift at that moment. A gift fit for a king.

He pulled open the second gift, and peered inside. The chest was half full with tiny pieces of resin. Mary told him it was called frankincense - a special incense, offered as a sweet aroma to the LORD. Half of it Mary had already offered in the temple in Jesus' behalf, and brought back promises of blessing from the priest.

Jesus began to wonder why these certain gifts were given to him.

Then, he undid the clasp of the last one. Lying on top of red cloths was a clay bottle. He brought it near to his eyes.

"That is myrrh," Mary said, with a hint of confusion in her voice.

"Why did they give this to me?" Jesus asked.

"I… don't know, son. Myrrh is an anointing oil, and a sweet perfume used when burying the dead," Mary answered, while silently replacing all the gifts from where they came.

***

"Mother," Jesus called up from his room, rolling close the last scroll he had of the Scriptures. He went downstairs and showed Mary the last page of the scroll of Psalms. “I have no more left to read,” he laughed.

“Ah,” she smiled, and thought of a solution. “Your father and I have only just enough to get you ten more scrolls, and I should think our collection can be made complete in the next few years.”

“Why not get the other ten with the gift of the Magi?” Jesus suggested.

“You wise child,” said Mary, ruffling his hair, amazed at her nine year-old’s suggestion.

“Hello, James,” he said to his little brother who was by the window in their room. Then he turned and began taking the gifts down from the shelf. James now looked curiously. Jesus saw his eager eyes, and explained the story behind them. James became excited, his green eyes lighting up.

“Show them to me, please!” he requested.

Jesus opened the chest of gold. “I shall buy more scrolls of the Scriptures with this,” he told him.

“Awww,” James cooed. “But I s’ppose Scriptures are more precious than gold.”

“Right!” Jesus smiled, marvelling at the understanding his four year-old brother had, even now. Next, he took the frankincense. James held pieces of it like sand, and chuckled at its texture.

“Now, this is myrrh.” Jesus took the bottle from the red cloths.

“What is it?”

“It’s a sweet perfume, an anointing oil… used when burying somebody.”

James nodded confusingly, then slid his fingers over the cap.

“Could you open it?”

“I’m not sure, James… I don’t really see why.”

“Well, it’s yours, isn’t it? And I bet it would smell really nice.”

Jesus wrinkled at his dialogue, but because of his search for wonder out of everything he agreed. The cover broke open, and a lovely scent filled the room.

Then Jesus suddenly wept.

The tears surged like waterfalls on the Jordan, sobs shaking him like storms upon ships on the Sea of Galilee.

James was taken aback, but he began hugging him, and with his best efforts tried to console him.

“Jesus, it’s okay, I’m here with you, it’s going to be okay, you don’t have to cry… Why are you crying anyways?!”

Jesus was still crying, and it was a minute until James could get a word out of him.

“Why?” he asked. With eyes blurred from tears Jesus found the cap and closed the myrrh bottle.

“James,” he gasped with difficulty, as if starting to explain why. Yet a bout of sobbing came again, and he struggled to say, “No, you wouldn’t understand yet.”

“Why?” James asked again, but he’d given up already. Jesus stood up, wiped his tears and carried the two boxes up again.

“James, I promise I will tell you when you are old enough to understand. Right now, just know that I cried because when the bottle opened I felt something very sad. Please understand,” he requested his brother sincerely, holding him by the shoulders.

James took pity from Jesus’ hurt face and nodded, trusting his promise.

“Thank you.”

James accompanied him in bringing the gold to his parents. He found he was right when he said that the Word of the LORD was far important than gold, as Jesus delved into and lived them, then, James could see how his life became beautiful because of them.

***

“Jesus, can we look at those boxes again?” James, now eight years old, was playing with him one afternoon.

“Why not?” So Jesus reached up for them with a spark in his eyes.

“Aren’t these boxes beautiful?” he remarked while examining them. James grinned, holding the smallest, shiny one. Suddenly he recalled what had happened before, then grew serious.

“Brother. Do you remember your promise?”

Jesus paused from shaking the chest of frankincense. Wordlessly, they opened the bottle of myrrh again. The fragrance flowed out. And the tears returned. But Jesus held himself this time.

“You know, James? A vision had come over me four years past, and so it was awhile ago. But it is so terrible, so terrible...  I think that if you are to hear, you would be very, very sad. I wouldn’t want to wish that on you! Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

James was surprised again.

“If only you are willing. I want to, but the LORD Almighty revealed it to you, so let He be the one to decide.”

Jesus was also surprised by the words he said. Yet the spirit of the LORD pressed him to tell James.

“All right…” he replied, and silently prayed for his brother not to receive his burden of sorrow.

“My brother, I was on top of a rocky hill, and many people were moving around me. There were some who stood with arms pointing to someone, and had faces full of scorn: they were mocking. And some were falling prostrate, with indescribable anguish evident in their wailing: they were mourning.

I then turned my head towards what everyone was looking at, and shivered at the scene.

Three men were hung upon three crosses. The ones to the left and to the right wore faces of resign to their fate, but it seemed that they were not the ones who received the crowd’s attention. So I looked upon the man in the middle.

My hands went up to my face, for what I could observe about him was horrific. Red wounds were scratched all over him, blood dripped from everywhere, a crown of thorns was on his head, and nails were driven through his skin so he was suspended on the cross. I walked nearer to gaze at his face, then my hands fell and went limp.

Looking down on me were the same wide and bright eyes.”

“No! No! No!” James yelled, and found he was crying painfully too. Unable to keep it in, Jesus joined him.

“You are chosen by God, my brother. But why did He choose you to die?”

James fell down on the floor weeping, bringing Jesus with him. They embraced each other, comforting themselves, but surrendered themselves to the will of the LORD, the comfort greater than their embrace.

***

From the mill Mary heard the noise of a thump from the floor above.

Her feet tread fast on the steps, and hands swiftly swept the curtain to the room of her sons.

Jesus and James were both fast asleep on the floor, a different kind of peace lying over them. Mary gently tousled their fine curly hair, delighted that they were both alright.

Though, she could smell something pleasant in the room, and found the source as a bottle by Jesus’ side. It was broken open, and the liquid was slowly dripping to the floor. She lifted it up, placed it on the shelf and decided to wait for Joseph to figure out how to close it again.

Later, the mystery of that gift returned to her. Why was this given to Jesus? And another question was presented to her mind. Who is Jesus?

She remembered the words of the Magi, the angel who heralded his birth to her, and even prophets concerning Jesus.

“The King of the Jews!”

“He will be called Son of the Most High.”

“Sovereign Lord… my eyes have seen your salvation.”

The answers to her questions were revealed to her in a new way, and she looked at the boy sleeping in the corner in a different light. She became afraid to touch him as she began to lay blankets over each of her children, because this boy was her King, the Son of the Most High, her salvation, and he lay not five inches away from her.

Do I even dare? she asked herself. But the Spirit of the LORD reminded her that she had found favour in His eyes, and at once she felt immeasurably blessed to be able serve Him. So with a smile and joy brimming out from her eyes, she bade them good-night, and drew the curtain over Jesus and James.

Paano Ako Maging Isang Bayani?

Akó, Bilang Isang Mag-aaral

1. Palaging magsikap para maging mahusay sa lahat ng aking aralin
2. Gawin ang lahat ng paraan para makapokus at magbigay ang aking lahat
3. Sa lahat ng gawain ko, pupurihin ko ang Diyos

Akó, Bilang Bahagi ng Pamilya

1. Alagaan at respetohin ang bawat miyemro
2. Maging mahusay na lider sa aking kapatid
3. Mahalin sila gamit ang buong puso ko

Akó, Bilang Bahagi ng Pamayanan

1. Irespeto, galangin, at mahalin ang bayan
2. Tumulong sa at gumawa ng mga paraan mapaunlad ang bayan
3. Ibigay ang aking lahat para makita itong nag-mamahal sa Diyos ng buong diwa nito

Indescribable

Isaiah 38:12, 

"Like a weaver I have rolled up my life, and he has cut me off from the loom; day and night you made and end of me."

Isaiah 40:12-28,

"12Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand… 15Surely the nations are like a drop in a bucket… he weighs the islands as though they were fine dust… 26Lift your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these?"

Another testimony as to how poetic, majestic, and unfathomable God is. Sometimes I forget this and focus on how my poor arms flail and complain to myself how weak I am. I fail to recall that His grace is sufficient for me, and through my body, however broken it is, His power flows through.

Even though humanity is one insignificant speck in the universe, the infinite creator and God has taken special notice of us, knows how sad and broken we are, and made the ultimate move of love by going down from His mighty seat in heaven to be born on our earth as a lonely human to live as we should've lived, died the death we deserve, and rose from the clutches of death so that our ignorant senses would be broken through and see that He is the living God. All because He made us with His very breath and so He loves us.

In my ten years of faith I still don't understand this.

Journal sa Katapusan ng Linggo

Setyembre 21, Linggo

Nagising ako at kumain ng almusal. Pagka-kain, pumunta ako sa aking kwarto at nagsimulang mag-design ng birthday kard. Kinopya ko ito sa isang doodle kong ginuhit noon, at pininturahan. Sa alas dos, sumakay kami kay Kumar papuntang Dhukuti, isang handicraft store sa Kupondole, para bumili ng pasalubong. 

Naghalungkat kami sa tatlong floor ng store, pero wala pa masyadong bago. Bumili ako ng pasalubong para sa mga klasmeyt ko sa eskwela sa Pilipinas. Nangutang si Abbie sakin ng 565 rupees.

Sumakay kami pauwi, at si Dad naman ay nagpalit saamin sa customer ni Kumar, dahil bibisitahin at magpapadala ng regalo sa kayo Tito Rukman, na lilipad papuntang Dubai. Sinabi ni Dad na pagbalik niya ay pipick-upin niya ako kaagad papuntang Civil Mall para manood ng sine.

Kumain ako ng tanghalian, at inayos ang mga gamit na naibili ko sa Dhukuti. Linagyan ko din ng onting detalye ang birthday kard. Tapos, chinat ko si Misha sa Facebook. Itinanong niya kung bakit kami ng pamilya ko ay tumira sa Nepal. 

Nahinto ako sa gitna, dahil pinatawag ako ni Mama at sinabi niyang si Dad ay malapit nang bumalik. Alas kwatro pa lang, at ang oras para sa sineng 'The Maze Runner' na papanoorin namin ay ala cinco. Nagpaalam ako sa kanya.

Mamaya-maya, dumating na si Dad. Huminto muna kami sa may ATM machine, at habang hinihintay ko si Dad, may anim o pitong gulang na bata na naka-ankas sa isang motorsiklo ay sumigaw ng, "Hallo!" sa may bintana ko. Ang cute naman! Mayroon rin mga binatang hipster na nag-skateboard sa sidewalk. Inisip ko na nagiging moderno na ang Kathmandu.

Pagtapos ng isang magandang ride, dumating kami sa Civil Mall ni Dad. Umakyat muna kami sa fourth floor para i-claim ang binook namin na tiket. Sunod, bumalik kami sa ground floor para magkape. Umorder ako ng 'Blended Oreo Cookies Shake' sa Himalayan Java, ang Starbucks ng Kathmandu. Inamigo ng aking Dad ang mga manager nito. (Palaging inaamigo ni Dad ang mga manager kaya palagi kaming may discount ;D Para ibalik ang pabor, nagiimbita kami ng maraming mga tao sa negosyo nila!)

Nang medyo naubos ko ang shake, isinama ako ni Dad sa Barista School ng Himalayan Java na malapit lang sa café. Palagi niya binibisita ito pagka nasa Civil Mall kami, dahil na-iinspirado siya at iniinspirado niya ang mga tao sa loob nito. May klase pa pagkapasok namin, at nagtitinginan kami ng mga estudyante. Nginitian ko sila habang kinakausap ni Dad si Tito Ram, ang manager. Palagi akong naiinteresadong makining sa mga usapan ni Dad, dahil marami akong naaaral dito. May sinabi siya na i-eenroll daw ako sa isang kursong barista sa susunod na taon, at pagnatuloy ako ang magiging pinaka-batang estudyante nila. Sumaya ako.

Sumapit na sa four forty-five, at umakyat na kami papuntang sinehan. Excited na excited ako pagupo ko sa silya sa gitna ng sinehan para sa 'The Maze Runner'. Excited na may halong takot sa gitna ng palabas. Excited pa rin paglabas sa mall at pauwi, pero wala masyadong masabi dahil andaming nangyari sa 'The Maze Runner'.

Kumain kami ng lechong manok galing sa Bhat-Bateni pang hapunan at ako ang naghugas ng plato habang binabasa ang sample ng librong 'The Maze Runner'. Wala nang ibang makausap kaya sinabi ko sa kaibigan kong si Isaiah na nanuod ako ng 'The Maze Runner' at dapat gawin niya rin yoon sa Facebook. Natulog ako bago mag hating-gabi.

People Whom I Admire

Malala Yousafzai

I admire Malala Yousafzai, because at a very young age, she had made and still is making a stand for education for every child, girls and boys, in her country Pakistan in the midst of oppression from the Taliban. Her story is one that inspires, pushes me to actually do something about the difficulties that surrounds us everyday, and even made me shed a tear.

Shane Claiborne

I admire Shane Claiborne, for his radical attempts with living his life the way that Jesus did, for breaking bonds in the numbness of Christianity in America, for loving the poor and the untouchables as Jesus did with nothing to lose.

Paul of Tarsus

I admire Paul, because of his fierceness and love to share the Gospel of Jesus, having no fear of prisons, whips, shipwrecks, snakes, swords, governors, and all troubles known to man. 

Benedict Cumberbatch

I admire Benedict Cumberbatch, because of his depth, prowess and flair in portraying movie, series and biopic characters, like Smaug, Sherlock, Khan, and Julian Assange. He also possesses a compelling atmosphere and charisma, which is even present in real life. I also applaud that in his talent, he reveals how under our ragged crusts, we were originally created as beautiful and magnificent creatures.

Adam Young (Owl City and Sky Sailing)

I admire Adam Young for his music he produces in his monikers Owl City and Sky Sailing, in which he has made successful a thousand times over the transporting of dreams and daydreams into songs that perfectly capture them. His songs are written in marvellous poetic prose, and he is a multinstrumentalist: he provides his simultaneously straightforward and intricate voice for the vocals, programs notes, a diverse array of sounds, and synth-workings, and plays the keyboard.

Cory Aquino and the People Power Revolution

I admire Cory Aquino and the People Power Revolution for demonstrating the true essence and ingrained values of humanity which was smothered by the corruption of evil. In the presence of adversity, which was Ferdinand Marcos' dictatorship, they, instead of using violence to achieve peace and fighting fire with fire, chose to resort to the way of Jesus, which undermined the oppressions of their world with love, humility, benevolence even though they owned only few, and amazing grace.

Dad and Mom

I admire Dad and Mom, because they are my parents, and good ones at that. They have given much to raise us children up, embodied foundational principles into our hearts and minds, taught many a good lesson, are selfless, became not only parents but bosom friends, taught us the art of joy and celebration, led me to Jesus Christ, and above all are glorifying God always. Without them, of course, I will not be here talking about people whom I admire. So, along with my admiration, I would also like to thank them with all my life.

And even though they are all people capable of failing in some measure and are already broken as all people are, I choose to honour the good and beautiful in them.

Paghusga sa Mga May-hirap

Paano maipapakita ang magandang pakikitungo sa kanila?

Sa Mahihirap

Kaibiganin at mahalin sila, unawaan ang paraan ng pamumuhay nila, sumali minsan sa pamumuhay nila, isali sila sa pamumuhay natin kahit anong paghusga ang ibibigay satin ng ibang mga tao, ipagdasal sila, at pakainin sila at damitan.

Sa Pulubi

Tumigil sa paglalakad, ngitian sila ng totoo, kaibiganin at mahalin sila, samahan mo sila, kausapin at unawaan sila na parang bago mo makilala ang matalik mong kaibigan, pakitaan sila ng magandang ugali para sila ay maturuan kung paano, ipagdasal sila, at pakainin at damitan sila.

Sa May Kapansanan

Tulungan sila kung kailangan nila noon, wag silang titigan na walang galang, kaibiganin at mahalin, pagdasalan na mawala ang kapansanan nila.

May karapatan ba ang tao na hatulan ang panlabas na kaanyuan ng kanyang kapwa?

Sa mahihirap

Wala. Lahat naman din ng tao ay mahirap sa espiritualidad katulad nila.

Sa Pulubi

Wala din. Kahit nakalagay sa kanila ang maskara ng kahirapan, tao parin sila sa loob, at kailangan nila ng tulong matanggal ang maskara na iyon. Walang matutupad kung hindi tayo lahat magtulungan.

Sa May Kapansanan

Wala. May sakit na nga sila, bakit pa kailangan masaktan silang muli?

Nota ng awtor: Sana nga lang may isang araw na pwede ko itong isagawa lahat sa aking buhay, dahil iyon ang datos ng Diyos… pero hindi pa ako makatangal ng maskara na laging kumakasya sa paghusga ng lipunan ko na mataas, komportable, at maginhawa. O, Hesu Kristo na sumama sa mga mahirap, minahal sila - anuman ang paghusga sa Kanya o sa mga mahirap, o, mga kapatid ko na may parehong puso, tulungan ninyo akong tangalin ito.

Wake up

A/N: Originally written on April 1, 2014 after my younger sister had nightmares and a scene from my dream previous my waking up; planned to be the 28th chapter of 'Ensemble of Shards'; second version given as a gift to a dear friend on his seventeenth birthday, and this final rendering an entrant to a writing competition hosted by @RinaPOV.

~

Jakob Bennett was an actor. He was fourteen, and was pretty good at it. And, of course, Jakob Bennett was also something else. Though, I don’t know which way to put it in. The other thing he was can be hard to pin down.

Well, you know, a mare is a sort of horse, which you can ride. But nightmares aren’t the sort of horses you could ever ride on. So it wouldn’t be correct to say that Jakob Bennett was a nightmare rider. Jakob Bennett had the nightmares riding him.

--

The nightmares had started when Jakob was eight. The first one had something to do about a cold, cold lake, in a far-off place, with the blackest pine trees circling  it. And Jakob was in the lake, the chilly blue-green of it engulfing him. He could not get out, however he tried.

Jakob screamed awake, and his parents came to his aid, asking what was wrong. He lied, and murmured that it was a mouse that must’ve scurried over him. They put the blankets over Jakob again, and went back to their room, whispering about pest control. But Jakob couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. And he tip-toed over to a drawer which had a night-light that he said he was too old for to use.

The second night held another nightmare. Jakob didn’t breathe a word of this when he went down to the breakfast table, looking weary-eyed. It wouldn’t have made a change anyway, as he had forgotten that he had a bad dream the night before. He thought he had played too much on his DS video game, tired from repeating levels over and over.

But when darkness fell, the memory of it returned. He tried not to sleep, head propped up on a pillow. But gradually, his eyelids gave up. The nightmare tip-toed into his dreams.

Jakob awoke, and found tears dripping on his cheeks, and staining his blanket densely. He clicked his night-light open, and thankfully he flew into a dreamless sleep. Though, there would be a shadow sometimes, creeping on the edges of his slumbering mind. Yet he remembered the night-light, and the darkness would leave.

Two weeks he kept the light on. But the nightmares grew stronger. The night-light made no difference. Two years did they haunt him with no cure.

He could not feel himself anymore, this tiredness weighed on his school and acting career. On the night when he saw blood on his fist - he had bit down on it - he wanted the secret out. His mother took him to a therapist at day.

“You have bitten your fist, kicked your bedpost, cried awake, couldn’t move, and found yourself in the town park at dawn? Hm... Yes... Oh? You don’t remember you had this dream last night?” The specialist flipped some notes and wrote some more.

“This is pavor nocturnus, or Night Terror, my dear. Children eventually grow out of this disorder. But I suggest we meet more times after this.” She looked at Mrs. Bennett, and smiled.

The counseling was alright, but it wasn’t enough. Then they tried medicine: diazepam, antidepressants, for eight months, and they lessened the terrors for two more years. It was good, only one nightmare a week or none at all, a contrast to Jakob’s day-to-day terror spell from the former years.

“Mom,” Jakob said before sleeping. “Didn’t she say that children outgrow this? I’m thirteen.”

“They’ll go away tonight, hon.”

Jakob felt the fluffy bedcovers on him, a goodnight-kiss, and heard the door click close. He rubbed his eyes and felt the night-light switch by his nightstand. Feeling safe, he yawned.

A few minutes after Jakob was sound asleep, the door clicked open. His mother walked in, as silent as a cat. She glanced at the night-light by her son’s side, and could not stop the tears trickling away from her eyes. She knelt to his side with soft carpet brushing her knees, clasped her palms, and began to pray for Jakob.

--

Presently, Jakob and his mother were on their way to the movie set. The dawning sun shone over the sleek, black Land Rover. Jakob leaned on his window, tired with the lack of sleep. He played with the window switch, and stared at the moving pavements and grey highways glinting with sunlight. Slowly, his green eyes closed. His fingers found the empty paper bag of his McDonald’s breakfast, and placed it away from his lap.

Jakob always - since he turned fourteen, and as people whose fear have long passed still do anything to prevent them from coming back - slept when it was afternoon or if he really, really had to, at night when all the lights in the house were turned on. But nowadays, after he was cast into his first film, he found it hard to do just that.

Mrs. Bennett smiled from the driver’s seat, seeing her son grasp sleep peacefully through the mirror above the dashboard. But she lifted her eyebrows in concern when she remembered that the set would only be forty-five minutes away and he would have to wake up.

Jakob reviewed his script before his scene came on. (He didn’t really need to; after all the crew dubbed him “Jakob Two-Takes” for his perfect deliverance on set, but it doesn’t hurt to check.) Then his green eyes flickered in terror when he read one of the scenes he had skimmed over yesterday.

No, Jakob. You have to calm yourself. You can do it - after all, it’s just acting. He banged the script over his head.

“Jakob!” called the director.

He drew in a long breath, and went to the director beckoning him by the kitchen.

--

“You didn’t have to do this, Mom.”

J.J. gave his parents a look which had a lash of accusation. Then, he relaxed, but with the anger still evident.

“Good night.”

They watched him loudly push his chair back to the table, and leave the room. J.J. climbed up the stairs in a huff. He turned the gold-tinted knob of his bedroom door, not giving any notice to the ‘Keep Out’, and the Stephen Hawking signs on it. He went inside and slumped upright on his bed.

“Cut!”

--

Jakob flopped on a plastic chair for his hour-long break. There was another scene he had to do later, so he decided to get some sleep. It was five o’clock in the afternoon, and as long as it was light outside it was alright, he thought.

--

The sun had almost gone down when he woke up. The white script was on his lap, unmoved. He got up and walked over to his mother, who was arranging some props on the set to his right. Mrs. Bennett saw Jakob wave the script at her. She read the part where Jakob's finger was pointing at. The finger was trembling.

“Look, Jakob, you can do this,” she told him in a soft tone. “It’s only acting, hon.”

He hugged her suddenly, and she saw the glint of tears in his eyes.

“Son… I know it’s the trauma from the night--“ Jakob was softly sobbing. She thought it better not to say the word. “But you have to act this, Jack. Do it for J.J., do it for me. Hey, I’ll even ask the director to shorten the scene. Okay?”

She pat his back and ruffled his thick ginger hair. Jakob rearranged himself, rubbed his eyes, and trembled, “Okay.”

The bedroom was darkened, set for J.J., Jakob's character, to be filmed in for a short scene. Jakob sat on the bed, trying to push back the fear. Calm down, he said to himself, You have to calm down. You have to feel as J.J. feels, not what Jakob Bennett feels, for now. For just a short, short moment, they can film it and it’s over, quickly, and you will never have to do it again.

The director walked to him, and briefly whispered, “Remember, you are going to fall asleep. And after a few moments you have to wake up. Wake up as if you were bound deep under the water, and when your bated breath cannot hold you, you surface on the lake.”

Jakob gulped, and muttered, “Thanks for the vivid representation.” Even if he forgot all his past nightmares, the first one would always be clear like the ring of a bell. He caught his mother giving a thumbs-up, encouragingly. Reluctantly, he slid himself between the fleecy, dark blue bedcovers.

“Action!”

J.J. gave a sigh, and brushed the goldish ginger hair covering his forehead with a slightly shaking hand.

Mrs. Bennett looked on from behind the cameras, waiting for him to close his eyes. Her petition for this scene to be cut short had been approved. Especially the one where J.J. had to be shaking and kicking the pillows in agony. Thankfully, all he had to act now was closing his eyes and opening them again. That wouldn’t really be difficult for a nightmare parasomniac.

But Jakob was struggling to keep control of his self as he was lying down in the darkness. No, J.J. mustn’t feel what Jakob Bennett feels… J.J. … is supposed to dream about the parents, and not Jakob dreaming the… dreaming the… nightmares…

Mrs. Bennett saw Jakob with his eyes still wide open on the bed. Oh, Jakob, my word…

“Cut. Jakob Two-Takes, let’s have another take,” sympathized the director. Jakob blinked and took a sharp breath. “Take Two.”

Then the cameras rolled. J.J. prolonged his eyes from closing. It’s too dark… I can’t… close them… screamed the Jakob inside. The terror was beginning to lightly wrap him.

“Cut!” His mother went to the bedside. “Jakob Mikhael Bennett. Do as you are told.” Jakob looked at her with dark, pleading eyes on the verge of tears. She kissed him on the forehead. “Let’s go,” said the director. The cameramen clicked play.

Jakob closed his eyes.

“Jakob! Jakob! Jakob!” The crew scattered all around him, efforts in vain. His mother fell on her knees, the tears shaking her fragile frame. Jakob always woke up from the nightmare when she shook him to wake up to her, those hard nights back then. And she would comfort him until the tears stopped falling. Anything, anything, just to save her beloved son from the fear.

The icy lake was there. He gave a last, desperate cry, held his breath, and dove in from the quay as the pine trees began to crash down on him.

“Jakob! Jakob! Wake up! Wake—“

Jakob didn’t open his eyes.