Childhood 1.1

Grey.

It's the only way I could describe the initial impression of coming to. My mind was a hazy fog, before red and purple comets flew across my line of sight, fading away.

I don't belong here. It was the first clear thought I had.

Though I was hazy and perplexed, I also felt undeniably well-rested. It was the kind of sleep you never want to wake from. I don't recall how long I’d slept.

The hand of somebody pinching my cheek snapped me out of my stupor.

"Aww, look at him honey!"

"Alva, he's too cute.. I can't take it.."

..Those are probably my parents. They're here to help me whether I like it or not. My parents were by my side as I had closed my eyes. During that time, I had read their lips, and I knew they reassured multiple times that they would stay and comfort me as I went above the clouds.

I can remember my father holding my hand as I fell asleep. He had it in him to hold his tears back, but I could clearly see how his eyes were rimmed red. His hands were warm but they were trembling. Meanwhile, my mother was crying. She was the worst of the five. She couldn't hold it in any longer. She had seen me like this, suffering, for much too long.

Finally, I can rest.

I could barely discern her. I'm sorry you had to be here. She was rubbing her eyes erratically, tremors racking her body as she sobbed beside my hospital bed; "Why! Why, why, why? Why did it have to be us..? Why did it have to be you?!"

I had tried to croak a word, just to reassure her things would be fine after I was gone.

"Don't.."

—

My memories were slowly resurfacing. I still couldn't recollect much, and I knew there was more to think about, but everyone was talking over each other. It was hard to focus.

"What should we name him?"

"..You know I'm horrible with names.. I couldn't possibly take that from you.."

"Well, I honestly already had a name in mind. William, my darling.."

Who the hell are these people?

It hit me like the crack of a whip. I couldn't forget how my parents sounded, even when I had gradually lost my hearing.

Yet now, all those other sounds I'd forgotten to silence were there.

Months had to have passed since I'd heard anything. It should've been overwhelming, but I was only thinking about where I could possibly be. The walls of this place were made of stone. Rain pattered from outside. The bed and most things in this room were wooden and antique.. the window beside the bed was creaked open a tad, causing some water to dampen the frame. I could hear the shouting of a man trying to sell 'tangy and juicy fruits' from here, as well as heavy boots making their way through a muddy puddle.

"He's.. kinda quiet, don't you think..?" The man asked. "Nothing like what those regulars told me about babies."

"Are you taking it for granted?" The woman scoffed. "Don't mess around! I guess our baby is just special. He's already so well behaved! Should we feed him something?"

Regulars.. and babies. Sure. From that, I’ll carefully assume the couple might own some sort of establishment or cafe. My 'mother' swaddled me up tight in a slightly frayed, striped blanket.

I know I'm not a baby.

and I refuse to be, I’ve already lived to my mid-twenties. But I also know the smallest adult couldn't be this tiny without severe limitations...

Maybe I was dreaming, a post-death recall of some sorts, but that felt too ridiculous to even consider at this point. Everything was too vivid to be just a construct of my imagination.

As the woman, Alva if I'm correct, cradled me and cooed, I took in her appearance. She had striking yellow eyes and blonde hair sticking to her forehead. Abnormal. She was visibly tired, but looked unquestionably joyful. She didn't ring any bells in my mind. Nor did my 'father.' His most distinct feature was a winding scar down his right arm that I saw before he crouched down, branching out like a tree from a place underneath his shirt. I couldn't tilt my head because of this stupid swaddle keeping me in place, but I heard some jingling. Am I going to have to eat baby food...

"James. What're you doing?"

Alva sounded wary of James's (now I know) actions. He brought himself back up. With him was a thin box, adorned with intricate gold patterns. It was worn around the edges and an off-white.

A deck of cards?

"What should I make him?" He tapped the box open gently with a smile, all the while acting like he was holding something fragile. As they slowly inched out and he sifted through the small amount, around... 12 or so I had quickly counted, he singled out the ace of hearts. From the other few I had seen, they might all be ace cards, but not of the same suit. I saw clubs and diamonds in there.

"Why're you trying to show off to the baby? We have some food in the kitchen. Don't waste our cards."

"But.."

"He doesn't even know that stuff is yet! Show him when he's older."

"W-waaaa..." Wait, show me. I didn't feel any shame crying, it's what babies do. I was already resigned to my circumstances, so I became louder.

"Oh? Seems like you do want to see, unlike what your mommy thinks. One card won't hurt," James glanced at her for approval, she sighed. "right! Now watch closely."

With the ace of hearts, he held it between his right index finger and thumb, closing his eyes. Starting from the corners and working to the heart in the middle of the card.. I noticed it started to glow a faint red where each of the 'A's and hearts were placed. The glow was barely perceptible; you might think it was a trick of the light. What was more visible was the red seams that started to surface where his fingers were pinching, from the bottom of the card.

It didn't stop until it was completely covered in pulsating, red veins.

He gave it a small shake once the veins started to overlap. With it, the card started to morph and bloat; the veins melting into what was now a handful of bread, steaming in his palm.

...

"What do ya think Willy? I'll add some jam, let me get it from the cupboards."

"Will he even be able to eat that? How about we have that for dinner instead," Alva mentioned, utterly unbothered by the spectacle that happened seconds ago. "just mash some carrots."

“Ah, you’re right.”

Can this man do bar tricks? He has to be a magician of sorts.

I was skeptical, but I still had to pause. It was gross, but undeniably fascinating. It looked as if the card sprouted roots and became a freakish organism before it was bread. In the midst of my thoughts, Alva kept on trying to quirk up my mouth. She wiped a tear that reached my chin with a thumb, kneading my cheek as if it was dough.

It suddenly reminded me of my real mom again. The echoes of her were strong but crippled by the weight of her dying son, for she wasn't the one wiping my face in my memory. I was.

It was a horrible attempt; my hand had barely reached her face, but it was all I could give to her at the time. She accepted the gesture nonetheless.

I could remember something wet dropping on my wrist as my hand fell. I had grown too weak to hold her.

I stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.

The memories I was being given appeared vivid in emotion. It was all sadness and despair and it should've left something bittersweet on my tongue. Yet, I didn't even get a taste of it. I was empty reliving them. It was nothing and a simmering anger that began to saturate the nothing. Why? I strained my brain as I wanted to dig further. Doing so made me slightly lightheaded.

"I got peas too!"

"Ah! That was fast. Did you prepare them? He’s getting hungry."

My head snapped back up. I almost grit my teeth, but after doing the movement I felt none. ..I'll think about it later, as a mortar filled with (unmashed) carrots and a pestle approached with James as he sat nearby, Alva shifting closer to the edge of the tiny wood-framed bed.

-

I got used to life here eventually, though I struggled in the process.

I wasn't able to explore much. For most of my early years I was confined in a crib in my designated room. My body had to sleep all the time, and I didn’t want or care to fight instinct. The place was small, and I was constantly fed bland vegetable sludge on a wooden rocking chair in the corner. A large bookshelf had also been left there by my parents, perhaps thinking it was decorative. I made the most of it.

I'd hoist myself up and out of my cage, but I could only reach the lower shelves, until I got the idea of moving the rocking chair. After a few hours, I was able to push all the books off the shelf before my father moved the chair back. They chose to keep the entire collection in a small chest under my crib after.

A lot of it was written in Latin. I had little clue what it meant. However, there was also some English I could understand. These were fairy tales, alphabet books, picture books, all exclusively children's literature, but it was enough to keep me occupied for a while. I could gather the kingdom’s values somewhat and its myths, rivals, popular belief, etcetera. I could also connect a few Latin words from English, and after some time, I understood snippets of the tales in that chest. Progress is progress.

I knew before I ever stepped outside that this was not Earth, ever since James showed me that card, but it was only until my 3rd birthday that I was permitted to walk downstairs by myself. The first time I went down, my belief was solidified when I saw the morning scene of an apathetic, middle-aged man in heavy chainmail.

He was the only person in the bar at the time, making a Three of Diamonds twirl and hover just above his hand as he leaned back on his barstool, ignoring the eggs placed in front of him. The rising sun was leaking out from nearby, illuminating the action of it suddenly dipping, then correcting.

The finishing touch was the year on the calendar I glanced at next, pinned on our bulletin, right beside the entrance for everyone to look at; Apriles, Anno Liberatoris, Year 1044 of the Liberator.

My parents own a pub in a kingdom called Animus, if the words I've heard spoken and tales I've read ring true. Our house is connected to said pub and we live a floor above the main bar. Because of this, I was accustomed to hearing people prattle on below about their lives while wasted, a King Richard we supposedly love, lamenting business losses, arguing politics they likely didn't understand, and I didn’t, either - but I was a child, so I had an excuse. There are a bunch of other things I tune out. You don't hear much of value down there.

The few times I've been taken outside, the roads were rocky on the sides but largely paved in cobblestone, horses crowded the well-kept streets, and I could see a large castle in the distance, miles away. From the window by our pub's entrance, I got to see how life worked here. I'd sit there on the table and my parents would bring me food until they'd bring me to sleep. I'd read what was gifted to me by my parents, when they saw I was interested in reading, and I'd watch people drink. I had no physical objectives in mind.

Speaking of objectives, I had also reached a roadblock in a different sense. When I had just turned 3, I stopped getting flashbacks for around 8 months. Nothing here seemed to trigger any past memories, and I'd come to suspect it's because my current life was all too different from what I was used to in the past.

The life in my mind was never dark and populated with skyscrapers and cars I could see below, outside the glass. A car is a kind of transportation vehicle. Like one of those carriage horses. A skyscraper would be a really tall house.

I knew some phrases that felt made up, like 'TV,' 'social security number,' 'internet,' 'pomegranate' and 'mandarin,' but I couldn't for the life of me remember what some meant. Perhaps if I saw a 'TV,' I'd know what it was.

Another characteristic of my old life was the sheer sterility of it. Everything I currently remember was always lit harsh and white, an endless day. I'd lay in my bed and stare at the only black item in my room - an analog clock - since it was the only thing I could bring myself to do besides sleep. When I was there, you could compare me to an ant. Maybe even less than one, since I didn't do anything. I was weak in a world much larger than my ambitions, which had already faded since I knew I had no future.

I had grown increasingly frustrated after the steady flow of information of my past stopped. This was ultimately broken when I was shopping with Alva, who was grabbing apples, oranges, and other fruits that weren't those gross carrots she always bought for cheap. I started speaking coherently around this time as well, since my teeth started growing in. I had attempted talking to them prior, it always came out slurred. Now I could actually say sentences. They were ecstatic, for some reason - they wanted to tell it to everyone they knew.

"Charles! Oh, you wouldn't believe it," Alva had chirped to the food-vendor. It was my first time formally meeting him, but he had a special place in my heart as I could recognize the face of the man that repeated all until afternoon: 'Tangy fruits! Best you'll get in our province! Perfect for your pie! Apples, berries, plums, pears!' Until you could hear the strain in his voice.

"Look at my baby boy. He can walk and talk, as you see, and, oh - he can even read by himself! At two, without any help! Isn't that just short of amazing!"

The food vendor regarded me as I strained to grab a large apple from his crates that were displayed, rubbed it against my tunic, and placed it in Alva's weaved basket.

…?

"Shouldn't ye be trying to help him? With the reading," He asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Alva said with a dismissive hum. "we just give him the things and he absorbs them like a sponge. I have a feeling I'd hinder his progress if I tried something. I can barely read myself."

He let out a mildly amused whistle. "Well, look who we got here, the young schoolmen," He leaned forward on one of his crates. "'say he can read?" He grabbed the board to his right, unhooking it from where it was hanging. "Wha's the lad's name again?"

"William."

"Will then, can you read this for me?"

He tapped the top line.

I stared at him for a few moments blankly before I started reciting the words he pointed at.

"Apple, 1 aluminum chip per 2. Plum, 1 aluminum chip eash. Sch-trewberry, 1.." I heard myself and stopped. I discovered early that I had a slight lisp when pronouncing my 'sh' sounds, rearing its ugly head, and it wouldn't completely disappear until I turned 6. Does this benefit me? The answer was evident.

I shook my head, but the man kept tapping.

"Keep going! What's wrong, gettin' shy?"

Shy? Far from it. I just didn't need to do this. I looked to the side.

"You can read that, darling. I always see you under the tables, reading..."

The vendor raised a brow and was about to hook the sign back up, "Miss, I hope you consider I'm no fool. At that point, he's starin' at the words, not understanding them.

…

I know, he's your kid. You gotta love him and all, be proud, but how can he understand anything if you don't teach him? But don't try.. y'know. You Arkleys..." He trailed off.

"What?" Alva immediately narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to continue.

"Agh, apologies, my big mouth flaps too much sometimes."

"You ought to wash that mouth before you wag it."

The food vendor was about to move on before his brow furrowed, hypocritical in the audacity he heard. "What'd you just say to me, lady?"

"Did you not get that? I said, maybe you should watch-"

This went on another minute or so. I watched them get increasingly heated, Alva began to point at the man accusingly, the man threatened to never give her a discount for bulk purchases ever again if she kept this up. I considered that sign he was holding. He had tossed it off to the side to focus on the argument.

-

Charles Foreign Fruit Stand

Apple - 3 aluminum chip per 2

Plum - 2 aluminum chip per 1

Strawberry - 1.50 copper chip per pound DISCOUNT: 4 aluminum chip per pound

Mulberry - 1.75 aluminum chip per pound

Pear - 1 aluminum chip per 1 OUT OF STOCK

Cherry - 2.50 aluminum chip per pound

Orange - 3 aluminum chip per 1 DISCOUNT: 1 aluminum chip per 1

Pomegranate (NEW) - 3 copper chip per 2

-

"You think I will not give you no more 30% sale either? Treating you like a friend, showing hospitality at my business, serving you my food-"

"Just blabberin' at this point, I only go there in leisure-"

"Pomegranate?" I interrupted, causing them both to look my direction. "Where's that?"

The two quietly glanced at each other.

There was silence for a long moment before the vendor responded:

"What's a pomegranate, huh? Those're the special ones, just got imported," He misinterpreted, not to my surprise. He opened up the one crate that had a lid on it, which was under the table. "If ya wanna know, she" he jerks his head towards Alva, "has to pay double."

Alva's eye twitched, but she turned her attention back to me. "Do you wanna try it?"

"A few would be nice." I nodded.

"..One, please," She carefully smiled as she pulled out her small drawstring, refusing to continue this conversation further as she handed him 4 copper chips, "and see? He can understand just fine," Having to have the last word once she got her change back, grabbing me by the scruff like she did the handle of her basket.

--

Notes: I was hesitant to keep the entire first chapter together (as its around 7k words)... But I'll be uploading it either tomorrow or later! Comments/likes appreciated!