Chương 1: It Always Seems Impossible Until It’s Done

"What are you trying to say?" Dominic snapped. He felt on edge, his temper flaring with unusual speed.

"You're wasting your life!" the man ground out, slamming his hand on the table that rocked under the blow, an abnormal loss of control for the habitually calm man.

"I'm not!" Dominic snapped, anger rising fast to smother his instinctive flinch. His father couldn't be right. He wasn't right.

"Not everyone wants the nine-to-five dream! Some people want to actually achieve something lasting." His father snorted derisively, crossing his arms over his chest, the movement highlighting his muscles.

"Could have fooled me. You've spent the last two years serving coffees. Is that the height of your ambitions?"

"You know it's not!" Dominic cried, his breathing harsh.

"I just…haven't had my opportunity yet." John's dark face set in even harsher lines at that, then a moment later, his expression softened again deliberately.

"Dominic…listen, I know it's difficult to hear. But no one has been interested in your plays. No one has followed up after you sent them a sample. Or even the whole manuscript! You've been waiting for your 'big break' but–" He cut himself off, looking away, his jaw muscle clenching.

"What are you saying?" Dominic asked with a voice that trembled despite his best efforts.

"Dominic," his father continued, his voice suddenly gentle as he uncrossed his arms and reached towards his son.

"Maybe it's time to realise that your dreams of being a famous playwright are just that. Dreams." Dominic took a step backwards, feeling like the earth had just shifted beneath his feet.

"I…I thought we came here to…to give me inspiration for my next script?" He read his father's response to that in the flaring of his nostrils and the way his jaw set. He always looked like that when he was going to give bad news. He'd looked the same when he'd told Dominic that his mother had left again – and that this time, she wasn't planning on coming back.

"We didn't," Dominic concluded, his heart dropping into his feet, his eyes falling to the earthen floor. Devastation ripped through him. If even his dad, who had always been in his corner, always been his staunchest supporter…if even he no longer believed that Dominic could make it if he tried hard enough…. No. No. Dominic refused to accept it. This wasn't where his story ended. It couldn't be. Perhaps his father thought he was wavering as he stepped forwards, his body language softening with his voice.

"Dominic, I've been talking to some colleagues. If you don't want to train with me to be a plumber, that's fine – Barry, Louis, and Michael are all willing to take you on as an apprentice. You'd have your choice of trades."

"Become a tradesman," Dominic concluded, his tone flat and indicating none of the emotions that roiled within him. Step into a role that had been written for him long ago? Trade the possibility of an extraordinary legacy for something humdrum and safe? He recoiled from the thought. A plumber, electrician, or builder…he knew they were worthy careers – for other people. I don't want my story ending like that.

"Yes," Dominic's father replied, the lightening creases at the corner of his eyes indicating he thought he was winning.

"It's guaranteed job security – and in London we can practically set our own rates given there aren't nearly enough of us. And–""No," Dominic cut him off with a sharp slash of his hand.

"I can do this. I will make it. I swear, in ten years, everyone will know my name."

"Dominic…." His father sighed, suddenly looking tired.

"How long are you going to put your life on hold? No job security, no steady girlfriend…." His father shook his head.

"I'm not asking you to stop writing. I just want you to stop betting your whole life on one dream. It's been two years since you left university, and you're still living at home." Swallowing, Dominic felt a hollow sensation form in his stomach. Was this it? The moment when his father decided he was too much trouble to keep around?

"If you wanted me to leave, you could have just said so!" Dominic accused, transforming his fear into defiance as usual.

"I'd get a place of my own." His father scoffed again, the lines in his face deepening back into a frown.

"You think you could get more than a flatshare in London with the pittance you get at the cafe? You're dreaming, Dominic. You've been dreaming for the last five years. And now it's time to wake up!"

"It always seems impossible until it's done!" Dominic shouted at his father, feeling something crack inside him.

"You and your bloody quotes!" the man shouted back, his fists clenching, his face darkening, his bared teeth flashing in the low light of the oil lamp.

"You want to make a real point? Then use your own words rather than someone else's!"

"Fine! Here are my words! You've never really believed I could do this!" Dominic spat out, the vicious accusation tearing itself out of him.

"You just pretended you did! You are always so practical, so reasonable that you squash any hope of escaping this humdrum life! This is why mum left!" He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth. There was too much horrible, cutting truth to them. But throwing his mother in the face of the man who had raised him as his own when he'd had no obligation to do so was a step too far. Unable to face the hurt that splashed across his father's face, Dominic whirled away and practically ran out of the door.

There isn't enough space in here. Not for the conversation; not for the version of himself his father was trying to force into existence.

"Dominic! It's not safe!" he heard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father reaching towards him with one hesitant hand. He didn't stop. Slamming the door shut, he stomped out into the African savannah, the grass and trees lit with the light of the setting sun. He didn't care where he went, he just wanted to get away – from his father, from John's expectations, from the words that he couldn't refute.

A look at the hut to the right of theirs made his lip curl – the French couple had left a rubbish bag outside again. They'd been warned not to do that for fear of attracting unwelcome attention. Dominic thought about knocking on their door and demanding they take it back in, but a glance over at the parked cars showed the absence of theirs. They must have gone for a night drive. Dominic's feet slowed as nerves replaced the anger boiling inside him.

At Balule Satellite Camp in the Kruger National Park, all that stood between him and the local wildlife was a low wooden fence – and they weren't supposed to go out at night because of it. And there was an odd sense of pressure this evening. It was unusually quiet too. Maybe that was what had set both his father and him on edge – their arguments didn't usually flare up so quickly. Dominic glanced up at the sky, thinking that maybe there was a storm looming, but the sky was clear. Strange.

Then, a moment later, he shrugged and dismissed it. They'd only been here for three days – what did he know about African weather? Glancing back at the hut he'd come from, Dominic felt reluctance at the idea of returning so soon after their argument. It wasn't dark – he would be fine for a little while yet. Instead, his feet took him to the sanitary block. Standing at the sink, he found his gaze drawn inexorably to the mirror.

He inspected himself objectively in the flickering light, seeing the unmarked skin on his face, so different from the lines decorating his father's. He winced as he thought about the man – and the hurtful words he'd spat. He promised he'd apologise for them – he knew his dad meant well. After all, despite years of trying, Dominic hadn't managed to write a play that anyone would take. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

But it hurt so much to think that his father had lost faith in him. John had been the only one who had stuck by him, had supported him through thick and thin. To think that even he was giving up…. Dominic stared at himself. At his thin face, dark brown hair, and brown eyes, currently full of fiery passion. He tried to imagine himself in twenty years' time wearing a plumber's work clothes, lines on his face identical to his father's. That spark gone, replaced by dull defeat.

Just someone else in the street, no one special. Unknown. Unnoticed. He pushed himself away from the sink almost violently. No. No! He'd never denigrate his father's job – it had put food on the table for Dominic, and John had helped many people in his own way. But it wasn't for him. The bulb above the sink flickered more violently than before, actually winking out. Dominic tapped it with a frown and it came back to life, though with an odd sort of multicoloured corona around it.

Dominic blinked and the colours disappeared. He glanced around at the other lights in the sanitary block. They looked normal. He ran a hand across his face. His arguments with his dad always set him on edge, but they hadn't set him off balance so much before that he started seeing things. He watched the bulb for a moment, but it stayed alight, not even flickering as it had earlier. Taking that as a good sign, Dominic nodded and splashed cold water on his face, feeling renewed determination.

His argument with his father wasn't the end of the world – it was a test. The dark night of the soul. The moment when the character was tempted to give up. And the best thing about it was that when the character pushed through with renewed determination, that was when real progress started. Dominic stood up, meeting his own gaze in the mirror and seeing the renewed life there. If his father wanted him to get out of the cafe, fine, he would. But he'd do it his way.

His English degree hadn't lived up to its promises, in his opinion. It certainly hadn't got his foot in the door at any of the major theatre productions. But it could help him elsewhere. Maybe he could write storylines for game designers? That was pretty similar to script-writing for the theatre and games were a growing market. There would surely be someone who needed a talented script writer.

He'd loved the storylines of the few role-playing games he'd played and could see himself doing that without losing himself. His imagination and enthusiasm, briefly dampened by his father's lack of faith, returned to him. Enheartened, he strode towards the door to the sanitary block. Dominic stopped abruptly as he opened the door and realised it was darker than he'd thought it would be. He hadn't been inside for that long, had he?

He glanced towards the horizon and saw that there were still hints of light on the horizon. Not that late, he murmured to himself. Yet it looked as dark as full night. Then he looked up and saw the deep blackness above his head. He frowned. That was odd. The one good thing about this place was the beauty of the stars at night. Yet here, he couldn't even see Venus. Maybe clouds built up while I was inside, he wondered, though part of him denied that that could be possible.

It had been cloudless before he'd gone inside – what kind of clouds developed so quickly that they swallowed the sky in less than fifteen minutes? But he couldn't deny that what lay between him and the hut was a sea of darkness. He reached for his phone, but found an empty pocket. Dominic cursed as he remembered he'd left it on his bedside table – he hadn't thought to grab it when he stormed out. Dominic swallowed as the camp's guidelines about not walking around in the dark played through his mind.

The sanitary block was bright enough, but the solar-powered lamps were inside and didn't illuminate much of the area around it. The light that was supposed to be just outside the door hadn't worked since they'd got here.

"I can't stay in the sanitary block all night," Dominic murmured hesitantly to himself, glancing around at the very basic accommodations.

"Dad?" he called out, not willing to be too noisy. He was hoping that his father would open the door and use a torch to look for him – at least then he'd be certain of exactly where their hut was. But there was no movement, not even when he called a second time, slightly louder. Dominic liked to think that his father wasn't ignoring him purposefully, but it was quite possible that he'd decided to bury his hurt in a book – he always became half-deaf when enraptured by a good narrative. They were similar in that way.

Dominic sighed, chewing his lip. Wait and hope? Or chance it and move? Flickering light behind him drew his attention back to the sanitary block. With a sense of unease, he saw that the light above the sink was flickering again – and it wasn't the only one. The main light in the room was also flickering, and increasingly violently. He swallowed, then nodded to himself. Not much choice if the lights are giving up here too. He started stepping quickly towards where he recalled the hut was.

It had only just got dark, and he wasn't that far from their hut. It will be fine. Behind him, the door to the sanitary block clicked closed – shutting off the flickering light from inside it. Dominic swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet of the night. With no moon and minimal illumination from the stars, Dominic found it hard to see even the hand in front of his face. I'd kill for a streetlight, he murmured to himself with forced jocularity.

Even the night sounds were different – the birds that had been singing their final songs of the day when he'd left the hut had fallen silent. Yet the cicadas that usually played their orchestra at night were also absent. The savannah was eerily silent, and the sense of pressure he'd felt earlier had only increased. It felt like the world around him was… waiting. It must be a storm, Dominic told himself, glancing up at the void of the sky again, imagining the clouds that must be there.

Any moment now, there will be some lightning. Yet the sky was silent and still in its all-consuming blackness. Dominic shivered despite the warmth of the air around him and hurried a touch faster. A clinking sound up ahead made him pause for a moment to listen. Rustling too. Dominic remembered the bag outside the French couple's hut that he'd seen earlier and put two and two together.

"Hey, put your rubbish away properly, would you?" he remonstrated loudly.

"Don't want to attract animals." There was only silence. Dominic sighed.

"The silence is deafening," he muttered to himself. Drawing on what he remembered of his school French he continued in his best French accent, "Vous puttez votre… uh… garbage dans le maison, por favour." He shook his head and muttered to himself, "Wait, no, that's Spanish." Still, silence. There wasn't even any rustling anymore. Had they gone inside without even saying anything?

Then a low rumbling snarl rolled out of the darkness and every story he'd ever heard about places like this flashed through his mind with startling clarity. That was not a French guest. I need to get out of here! He pushed himself to start moving again, but his feet were suddenly clumsy and he tripped over an unseen obstacle, landing heavily. The tang of metal teased at his nostrils and he swore mentally – he was bleeding. Worse, he suddenly realised that he couldn't hear the snarl anymore.

Which meant he had no idea where the animal was. Throwing caution and all advice to the wind, Dominic scrambled to his feet and ran, desperate to reach their hut before it – the thing that was hunting him, his brain screamed – could get him. He ran further than he thought the hut was – had he overshot? There was silence behind him, but that wasn't reassuring – his ears were far less sensitive than any prey animal's in the savannah, no matter how much he strained them.

Then a heavy weight landed between his shoulderblades and shoved him forwards. Dominic broke his fall with his hands, then rolled off to the side. Fire raked lines along his back as he landed heavily on it, and a loud snarl made his blood turn to ice a fraction of a second before that weight landed on him again. His mind put together the weight, the claws, the snarl, and the rotten-meat scented breath, and came to a terrifying conclusion. Lion! But Dominic wasn't ready to die – not like this.

Not before he'd done anything that mattered! Raising his hand between himself and the lion, he desperately pushed away the teeth that struck for his throat. The lion bit deeply into his hand instead and Dominic screamed in pain. His other hand scrabbled for something, anything, and found a rock.

"Take this you bastard!" he shouted, beating at the lion's head with his impromptu weapon. The lion snarled, but backed off. Dominic pushed himself into a half-sitting position hesitantly – not knowing where the lion had shifted to was almost more unnerving than having it on him.

"Dominic!" His father's voice came from an unexpected direction – he must have got turned around in the dark. Relief mingled with new fear poured through Dominic – if his father came closer, he might be attacked by the lion too!

"Dad! There's a lion!" he shouted.

"A lion?! I'm coming! Use your knife!" Dominic saw the flicker of his father's torch play over the savannah. In its flash, he saw the figure of the lion, and the image etched itself into his mind – thin, with the beginnings of a mane around its head, and a snarl on its face. It was leaping towards him. Knife. Right. Something he could use. Something he could do. Dominic's good hand flew down to the blade that his father had given him when they arrived at the park.

He had just enough time to pull it out and hold it out in front of him with a wordless shout before the lion bowled him over again. Teeth set around his neck and a thunderous snarl echoed in his ears. Warm liquid poured over his hand, but pain raked across his shoulders, and dug into his chest. His throat had a crushing grip around it. His chest screamed for air. Blackness. [Processing] [Error] [Processing] [Solution retrieved]