Raw thrill Before the End II

The next day, Peter found another chance to visit the old man. Upon arriving, he saw the old man still working on the same painting. As soon as the old man noticed Peter, he said, "Ah, you’ve come again! Honestly, I didn’t expect that. Welcome back, my little guest."

"I was very curious to see this painting, so I came," Peter replied. "Will you finish it today?"
"Absolutely!" the old man exclaimed.

"But before that, you should take a tour of my humble home. Would you like that?" the old man asked with excitement.

Peter eagerly nodded, but there was nothing remarkable to see in the small hut—just a broken cupboard, some canvases, and strange paintings hanging on the walls. Each painting featured a child's face.

Suddenly, Peter’s foot landed on a rug, and the hollow ground beneath gave way. He fell into what seemed like a basement, pulling the old man down with him as he instinctively tried to grab his leg.

Peter screamed in pain as he landed. The dimly lit space gave off a suffocating feeling as if it were not meant for any living being.

He turned to see the old man lying nearby, blood spurting from his head. It seemed he had hit something metallic during the fall. The old man lay motionless. Peter tried shaking him, but there was no response. The old man was dead. The sight terrified Peter, his breathing quickened, his heart raced, and an overwhelming unease took hold of him.

He thought to himself, "It's my fault he’s dead." Tears streamed down his face.

Suddenly, a voice echoed, "There’s no need to cry over this wretched man. He is gone now."

Startled, Peter looked in the direction of the voice. In the corner of the basement, he saw a boy of his own age, chained up. His clothes were tattered, his body emaciated, with bones protruding from under his skin. There was no glow on his face, no life in his eyes. The boy stared at Peter with an unsettling gaze.

"You can free me from these chains. I won’t harm you; as you can see, I’m in no condition to," the boy pleaded.

With trembling hands, Peter released the chains from the boy’s wrists and ankles. The chains had cut deep into his flesh. Once free, the boy staggered towards the old man’s lifeless body, staring at it for a long time as tears rolled down his cheeks as if regretting the very existence of the old painter in his life.

He said nothing after that. Leaning on Peter's shoulder, he slowly emerged from the basement.

Once outside, the boy said, "I have never enjoyed such a cold morning in my life." A soft smile appeared on his face, and his withered expression brightened. Overwhelmed with joy, he cried and hugged Peter tightly. "Thank you so much, my friend."

Peter, still in shock from everything that had happened, stared at the boy with astonishment. "Who are you? Why were you chained there? Did the old man imprison you? Why?" Peter asked, his tone filled with curiosity and concern.

"Who am I? I don’t know. Perhaps I don’t even have a name. As for that old man, I have no idea who he was. To me, he was nothing but a monster. He imprisoned me there and stole my life from me.

That madman believed he could trap my life in a painting. He claimed he could capture anyone's life in a painting. He was insane and delusional.

Perhaps he was my father. But no, because there was no mother here for me."

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A/N:- Thank you so much for reading
Here is part one........