Michael Troy Radcliffe was a 17 year old attending Montgomery High for the 5th year in
a row. He had a tendency to be pessimistic, and gave people the perception that everything he
said contained some sort of underlying sarcasm. He also had a tendency to be very unlucky, and
he found it hard to make friends. He was lean and tall, with medium brown shaggy hair. He lived
in a farm house a ways away from the city in his parent’s basement. He enjoys playing hockey
and reading about all kinds of legends and myths. In fact, when he was 13, he proved a myth to
be fact, when he found a golden harp in a dense forest during a camping trip, supposedly
belonging to an old banshee that cursed whoever touched the harp to a terrible life and a painful
death. Upon returning to the city and getting a front page story in the local paper, he immediately
sold the pure gold harp for a fine sum of money, regardless of the countless warnings mailed to
him from a concerned old widow.

“Hmm, it’s raining again. How many days is this Tyson, four? Five? Heh, I’ve lost
count.” The dog stood up, stretched and yawned, and cuddled up against Mike on the couch. The
sound of rain pounding on the small basement window soon overpowered the small TV, and
Mike turned it off soon after, deciding that an extra hour of sleep was more important than
watching the game. Besides, he had an exam tomorrow. He swore to himself that he was finally
going to pass Math this year, and with countless hours spent studying and restudying the material
that he had, he was sure to achieve his goal. Mike enjoyed this new trend of weather; it gave him
an excuse to stay inside with Tyson, a 12 year old German Sheppard that Mike got as a kid.
Tyson was more like a brother to Mike than a pet. He always listened, and always knew when
and when not to ask for Mike’s attention, unlike his parents, who, according to them, had little
time to spend with Mike.


As Mike closed his eyes and prepared for a good night’s rest, he saw headlights flash
through the basement window.

“Oh great, look who’s home Tyson, Rob. Looks like he drove himself home from the bar
again. Jeez, what an idiot, I swear dad’s going to kill someone some day.” He heard the porch
chimes get knocked around, and the front door creak open. Shortly after his dad was halfway up
the stairs, he heard the upstairs TV turn off, which usually meant two things. His mom was
awake, and she was ready to give whoever woke her up a piece of her mind. At first, it seemed as
if there wasn’t going to be another fight, but all hope for a quiet evening was soon abandoned
after Rob dropped his beer down the stairs. Shortly after, the yelling and screaming began. Mike
rolled over and turned the TV back on, thinking that he’d be able to fall asleep watching to game.
But the bickering upstairs seemed to drown out the small TV completely.

“Man, they’re really going at it tonight, eh Tyson? Let’s hope that they just go upstairs so
I can get some sleep.”

A few minutes passed and the parents were still audible from the basement. Not clear, but
audible. Mike soon got fed up with their yelling and decided to join in. He sat up in his bed and
yelled at the ceiling. “Hey, can you two shut up? I’m trying to...” The yelling and swearing
seemed different all of a sudden; they were intensifying, almost sounding painful. Mike started to
sweat, his heart beating a bit faster. He thought he heard “Stop it” and “Help me” a few times,
but he decided that it was just his imagination...Then there was a loud bang, followed by another,
and another, and another, like something just fell down the stairs. The screams stopped.


“Tyson! Did you hear that?” The German Sheppard looked at mike sleepily.
“Something’s wrong, their fights aren’t usually this long, or this loud.” He fell back to his bed,
thinking about the current choices he had. He could listen to the rain and try to sleep, or go
upstairs and investigate. He decided that he would be able to muster enough courage to confront
his mother and father regarding the noise. As he walked up the stairs, he could smell the strong
stench of alcohol and gas...and smoke. When he opened the door, what he saw was mortifying.
His mother, beaten blue, was doubled over at the foot of the stairs, lifeless. Mike quickly looked
away, afraid to assume the worst. He started to call out for his dad.

“Hey! Dad! Where are you? What happened to mom?” He looked to the top of the stairs,
where his father was standing defiantly, with a gas can in one hand and a bat in the other. Mike
instantaneously ran to the basement, locking the door several times behind him. He frantically s
earched for his jacket and his cell phone, but neither were anywhere to be found.
“Hey, What’s wrong...Mikey?” His dad was calling out to him in a drunken slur, jiggling
at the door knob. “Come on up here boy...I got a surprise for you...and that wife over there,
hehehe! You like fire, right Mikey boy?”
“You’ve crossed the line this time, dad! I should’ve called the cops the first time you
beat mom! But this time, you might’ve killed her! This is unforgivable!” Mike could feel his
eyes welling up, his throat getting tight. He couldn’t get the image of his mother out of his head,
and now he could smell burning wood. Struggling to keep his tears from spilling out onto the
floor, he opened the basement window and climbed out, the rainy weather welcoming him with
open arms. He turned to look at the house to see smoke pouring out of the top floor window.

“Good!” He yelled. “You deserve to burn, father! You sick man, you murderer!” He was
about to start the hour into town when he remembered that Tyson was still in the basement. As
he started back for the house, he heard more yelling coming from the house. By this point, the
whole upstairs and roof were on fire. He darted through the front door and down the basement
stairs to witness Tyson cornered by Rob...with a gun.

“Dad! For the love of god, what the hell are you doing?! Why are you pointing that gun
at Tyson!” Mike struggled to spit words out, the smoke clamping down on his lungs.
“Watch this one, Mikey boy! Trainin’ 101! Imma bag me a real good sized buck!”

Mike couldn’t speak. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Rob loaded the gun
just as Mike dived towards Tyson to intercept any shots fired. Mike wasn’t afraid, didn’t hesitate,
and didn’t second guess. He had never acted on sheer instinct before. Everything had to be
analyzed, and the most beneficial choice was always taken. But none of that mattered to Mike in
that instant. All eyes were on Tyson, and Mike knew that he’d have to step in. Following the
deafening bang, a single bullet rambled from the gun’s barrel cleaving through the flesh and
bone of Mike’s former shoulder and burying itself in the German Sheppard’s hind leg. The pain
surged through Mike’s entire body. He gasped for air and fell to the ground, muscles constricting
and tightening, unable to breathe. Sharp piercing screams shot out into all directions of the night
as blood and tears poured from Mike’s body, sloshing all over the ground. Rob was holding the
gun to his face when he fired it, and the kickback knocked the butt of the rifle into his forehead,
knocking him out instantly.

Mike truly believed that he was going to die, but something from inside of him was
pulling at his heart strings, demanding him to soldier on, and save the life that was most
important to him. Barely conscious, Mike staggered to his feet and reached out to Tyson. With
the wounded dog slung over his still intact shoulder, he stumbled up the now flaming stairs and
out of what used to be the front door. Running solely on will, Mike’s instincts decided that any
direction was safe, so he began to run towards the tree line. Twigs and branches grasped and
pulled at him, and tears were blotting out his vision. His lungs scorned from the searing hot
smoke, he strained and fought for every breath he took. The light rain had turned into an all out
thunder storm, and the intense downpour not only made all surfaces lucid and slippery, it also
drummed up a thick fog. Now Mike was running blindly through the forest. At one point Mike
even tried to and slow his pace and calm himself down, but the heart stopping images kept on
flashing in his head, the blood curdling screams put on repeat, echoing louder and louder in his
mind. All this time, Tyson was crying into Mike’s ear, a helpless innocent animal which
deserved a much better fate than this, dying from the barrel of a drunken, neglectful man.

Mike didn’t know the lay of the land this deep into the forest, and didn’t know of the
harsh terrain, specifically the small waterfall south of his house. As he waded his way through
what felt like a fairly deep river, a rock caught his foot, sending Mike into the water and Tyson
straight forward. The last thing that Mike saw was the rush of water shoot towards his eyes, and
then an overwhelming pain shot from his head down into his spine. It felt as if he had just
smashed his skull into a rock. With pints of blood trailing behind him, Mike tried to stride his
way to the wounded German Sheppard lying on the side of the river bank, but was swept off his
feet and down the river before he could realize where he was, or what was happening. His
attempts of reaching for something to grab hold of were only met with water pouring down his
throat, and before Mike could react, he found himself in freefall.

Time seemed to stop while he was falling. And when Mike opened his eyes, he had a
total recollection of his life. He remembered his 5th birthday, and how proud he was to get his
first pet.  He remembered the exact words that he said when the shop owner brought out the
small, newly born German Sheppard pup.

“I’ll love you so much, puppy! You’re going to be my best friend! I promise I’ll take
care of you every day!” These feelings were met by more recollections, His 8th summer, when he
broke his arm, his 11th winter, when he got a date with the cutest girl in school, only to be
rejected when he presented her with flowers in front of the whole class. And his first camping
trip at 13 when he first learned the legend of the Harp, and when he found it for himself with
Tyson at his side, every step of the way. He remembered posing with the Harp for the local
paper, headlined “Local boy proves 500 year old legend true.” He also remembered the old
woman with one arm, telling him that he was cursed for toughing “Myr’s harp”, as he recalled
her telling him.
“What are you talking about, old lady? I’ll just sell this harp, and I’ll be set for life! My
dad says that gold’s selling for loads these days.”
“But is it worth a life of agony? Are you willing to sacrifice your future for greed and
gluttony? No man has ever lived past ten years after touching that harp!”
“Or so the legend says, old hag. It’s clearly just an exaggeration of some bad luck! I’ll be
fine. You’re just jealous that you can’t cash in on an awesome find.”

It was at this point that Mike realized the truth, that the old woman was right. He knew
why his life was so miserable, why he was failing school, why no relationships ever worked out,
why he always lost bets, and why he was considered unlucky. The harp really was cursed.
Maybe if he wasn’t so stubborn and occupied with the benefits of the harp, he would’ve been
able to see the consequences as well. “So it’s true,” he thought. “It’s really true. So many
regrets,” He repeated in his mind. “So many regrets.”