Hi, guys!
This is my first story of this kind ever (I mean a fanfiction), and I hope you'll enjoy it. Also, I have no idea how this story will progress, and at which pace. I'll appreciate every review! Thanks. :)
1. The Start Of It All
At the time, he was just nine years old. During P.E., a football's ball hit him straight on the head. He fell, unconscious. He woke up not even a minute later. Of course, it was nothing serious. That was how everyone assured his mother; he just needed a little rest. And everything was well.
Or so would people say. But, life wouldn't be life if it didn't throw a dice for you, and, of course lost; as it rarely won. The incident happened in the middle of October. The story begins in February.
He was just a third-grader; the school he went in everyday was a small and an old one. Teachers never smiled, the desks were always dusty and his classmates weren't the friendliest people; at least to him.
He had a couple of playmates, but even they avoided him from time to time, as his temper was always getting the best of him. He also had an interesting tendency to pout at the strangest times. Teachers would catch him staring at nothing from time to time, and it made them uncomfortable. Some kids said they even witnessed him talking into thin air, debating and musing about. Nobody knew what he was actually doing. He was a mystery.
His appearance was something he would easily get riled up about. He would blush when you would mention his emerald-coloured eyes, and would then stutter, trying to say thank you. His hair, although golden and resembling the meadow honey when it shone in the sun, was messy all the time. No brush was a rival for that nest. His mother tried growing it out while he was still a toddler, but it was of no use. It couldn't be tamed. So it was decided, it would be kept short.
But if you wanted him to get fussy and redder than a tomato, you would mention his eyebrows. All the males in the family had them; they were something like a heritage. They were thick and bushy, and as prickly as his hair. He once fought with his brother; older by six years; and won, just because his red-headed brother Reilley said they were thick enough for a squirrel to make a nest in them. That boy's name is Arthur Kirkland.
He still clearly remembers that day when everything changed. It was the seventh of February, and it began like any other day. His mother woke him up; he dressed, and sat to eat with his brothers. There were four of them. Reilley, the youngest after him, was sitting to his left, while the other brothers, Rhys and Alistair, seventeen and twenty two respectively, were sitting across the table. Reilley was making a fuss about not being able to ride his mountain bike to school, Alistair was grumbling about not being able to drink when he wanted, while Rhys just ate in silence. It was Saturday, and that meant no school today for any of them, so Arthur dreaded what would happen. Will they gang up on him and bully him until he started crying, or will they make him act like a servant?
He wasn't scared of Rhys; he knew he wouldn't do anything to him, but also wouldn't help unless it was critical. He sighed.
At that moment, he felt dizziness. He slowly stood up, and the world started turning around, up and down. In front of his eyes rings of colours appeared; red, blue and yellow spun, spun and spun. He needed to barf. He thanked God that they had a bathroom near the kitchen, where they ate. By now, everyone noticed his behaviour. It was unusual, even for him.
"Arthur, what is it?" That was the calm voice of Rhys, who now watched him with attention.
He couldn't allow him to be worried. He just shook his head and tried exiting the kitchen into the hallway, but crashed into the wall next to the said exit. With his hands, he oriented himself, and somehow ended up in the bathroom. He staggered, and then his knees gave away. He emptied his stomach not only into the toilet, but onto the floor as well. He couldn't stop. What was happening?