The Genius’ War

Xavier looked at the suitcase lying open on his bed. It contained only a few items of clothing for the time being. His books, notebooks and personal belongings were still on the shelves. Leaving a house was not simply walking out the door. Everything that had accumulated over the years had to be taken or left behind. And some things, however small, were too heavy.

He walked to his desk. The notebook in front of him was open, ink stains on the corners of the pages. He had written at this desk for years. He had sat here building worlds, hiding in words, writing even when he was silent.

But now... There must be one last poem in this notebook. Perhaps it would be the first and last poem he would write to his family.

He picked up the pen. As the tip touched the paper, the words began to flow.

**"This house was never home, but a place I stayed,

A borrowed silence where shadows played.

The walls whisper secrets I never told,

The echoes of footsteps, distant and cold._

"So close the door, let the dust remain,

Let time erase what could not be named.

This house was never home,

And now, finally, I bid it adieu."

Xavier took a deep breath at the last line. He put his pen down on the notebook and read the poem for a moment from beginning to end. Everything he had felt for years, but had never been able to express, was hidden in those lines.

The ticking of the clock on the table echoed in the silence of the room. The wind outside made the window shake slightly.

He closed the notebook and leaned in front of the case. He placed a few books inside. Then he took an old photograph out of the drawer - a picture of himself, Elliot and his mother, without his father. His brother was little, smiling. His mother looked tired.

He held the photo in his hand for a moment, then put it down beside the suitcase. There were things he needed to get for his brother. He wouldn't leave him here. He would never do that.

He continued to pack. Piece by piece, with each movement, he dismantled his past and put it into the suitcase. But some things didn't fit. Some things were simply left behind.

He took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The house was silent as usual. Footsteps made the floorboards creak slightly. The faint light from the kitchen told him that his mother had taken her usual place.

Xavier stepped inside. His mother was sitting at the window, staring blankly out. Behind the glass was a grey, cloudless sky. Her hands were clenched in her palms, her fingernails digging lightly into her leather armpit.

Xavier cleared his throat. His mother turned her head, her eyes pale and tired.

"I'm leaving," Xavier said. There was no anger or emotion in his voice. Like a statement of fact.

His mother said nothing for a few seconds. Then she shrugged and turned her eyes back to the window.

"It makes no difference to me," she said quietly.

Xavier felt something tingle inside him, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Was it sadness? No, he no longer expected anything from his mother. Over the years, he had long since given up wanting her care and love.

"You're not worried about me, are you?" he asked. His voice was cold.

His mother laughed slightly, but there was neither happiness nor sadness in her smile. It was like an empty echo. "What difference does it make if I'm curious?"

Xavier shook his head. He knew it was useless to say more. He stepped back and left the kitchen.

As he crossed the corridor and headed for the door, his father's voice stopped him.

"Xavier."

The voice was deep, sharp and harsh. Xavier stopped involuntarily, turned his head and looked at his father. He was dressed in military fatigues. His streaked grey hair, combined with the hard lines of his face, made him look like a stone statue.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of money. "Take this," he said and handed it to him.

Xavier didn't raise his hand. His eyes were on the money, but he wasn't interested. This could have been the gesture he had been waiting for all these years - if it really meant something. But his father was a non-existent figure in his life. Giving him money now, on the eve of his departure, was like completing an unfinished task.

"I don't want it," Xavier said, looking his father straight in the eye.

The man's expression did not change. His hand lingered in the air for a moment, then he put the money back with a sigh. As you wish.

Xavier looked at his father for the last time. Maybe I'll feel something, he thought. Anger, pain, sadness... But there was only emptiness.

He picked up his suitcase and headed for the door. He stopped as he touched the doorknob. Elliot watched him from above. Fear of getting lost was in his eyes.

I'm coming, aren't I?" the little boy whispered.

Xavier nodded. "Yes, soon."

Elliot nodded, looking a little more relaxed.

Xavier took a deep breath and opened the door.

As he left the house for the last time, he felt the weight inside him slowly dissipate. These walls, these memories, this emptiness... He couldn't hold them anymore.

As Xavier headed for the door, his father didn't stop him. The man's face was as stern as ever, but there was a faint shadow in his eyes.

Xavier stopped. He looked into his father's eyes. He had always been like this, a man who hid his emotions, who wore silence like armour. But this time... There was a crack in his gaze.

Perhaps for the first time, Xavier realised that he wanted to say something but couldn't.

Did he want to speak like a father? To tell him not to go?

'I should have been a better father' Or just 'I'm sorry'?

But no words came out. A man who had been silent for years was now silent.

Xavier looked away from his father. A feeling of pity rose in him, but he quickly suppressed it. Regret was part of losing. But for some things it was too late.

"Goodbye," he said quietly, for the last time.

His father didn't answer. The hardness in his face disappeared for a moment as he looked after Xavier. But it meant nothing now.

Xavier opened the door and stepped outside. When the wind hit his face, he felt an emptiness and lightness at the same time. He was free now. But this freedom came at a price - and the look on his father's face reminded him what that price was.