Vector

There are no 'what if's or 'could have's. The future can't be changed- all we can do is walk our unlit paths until we die. That is the meaning of life.

Shall we?

A 'vector' is a straight line segment whose length is magnitude and whose orientation in space is direction. That meant it was an 'arrow', right?

Mutti didn't care about my question. I don't even think she heard half of what I said. She was too busy scrubbing the big soup pot. She looked frustrated and annoyed by my presence. I took a cautious step back.

"Edward, 'Liebling'," Her voice dripped heavy with sickeningly sweet venom, "Leave Mutti alone right now. She is not very pleased with you." I winced. She was angry at me. For what? I don't think I did anything . . . I hesitantly asked, meek eyes cast upwards to the tall, foreboding woman who was my Mutter.

"What did I do wrong, Mutti?"

The pot was dropped in the sink, causing quite a clattering racket. Mutter spun around with Hell burning in her perfect blue eyes. "What did you do wrong?" She roared like a lioness from one of my storybooks, "What did you do wrong?" I trembled in fear. She grabbed a handful of my hair (ugly, horrible brown hair, a curse from who-knows-where she'd often tell me), and shook me roughly, yelling obscenities all the while. I whimpered; she released her grip to slap me.

"You dirty, useless child- you did it again!" She screeched like the bats who used to live in our attic (I missed their company). With a horribly sense of shame, I knew exactly what she spoke of, and I knew exactly what was expected of me. I morosely trudged, with Mutter behind me every step of the way, to the small hall closet. She unlocked it, and obediently I stepped inside. She closed and locked the door. I sniffled.

Marcella skipped merrily by, her pretty flaxen hair dancing in a braid behind her. She stopped to backtrack, and stood before my closet. Malicious blue eyes alight, she pointed and ridiculed me with all the untamed cruelty of a child.

Nothing on earth is crueler than a mean-spirited child.

"Did Little Eddy wet the bed again?" She cooed with sadistic glee, "What a pathetic baby!" "Marcella- please. Your little brother is being punished." Mutter's voice floated over to us, sounding ever so tired. But it wouldn't stop Marcella. It never did. And she would always get away with it. Always.

They say Madness and Intelligence are closely intertwined. If this is true, Madness and Creativity are closer still.

I curled up into a ball in the little Edward-sized space I had dug in the closet's clutter. No one ever went in it but me. I shut my eyes and ears, blocking Marcella's taunts out, and filling my mind with fairytales and fantasies. Lies, lies about how I was a Changeling, and my real family was looking for me, or how I was stolen at birth from various places, or how I was being punished for the various rebellions against the gods in my past lives. The little stories I made up were all I had.

But they didn't save me that night. Marcella was trying too hard. "Do you need a diaper, little baby? Huh? What is it- the fifth time this week? Keep it up, and you'll turn your sheets yellow!"

I began to cry.

I was four.

The Macdonald Triad, sign 1: Bedwetting

I liked being outside. I loved it. Even though it was always raining when I was allowed out, and Mutter wouldn't let me in until I was dry (which meant I had to stay outside till the rain stopped).

I found a dead lizard once- squished by a shoe (probably Vati's). I poked it a lot. Its insides were squishy and reddish-brownish-blackish-yellow. I loved it. I tore through the bushes looking for more dead bodies. I found a few more lizards, a crushed snail, and a half-eaten squirrel. I wanted to see their insides, everything! - but I couldn't. I needed something sharp to open them up, and I didn't have anything sharp.

The next time it rained, I borrowed Vati's special Wehrmacht knife. He probably wouldn't mind- he was sleeping with his Bier. Like always. I didn't find anything dead. I was really disappointed.

But I did find a baby birdy with only one wing. I think it fell from its nest and a fox got to it. I named it Patient I and I became Doctor Edward Richtofen. The sound of the pretend title, as it rolled off my tongue, sent golden warmth throughout my body. That rainy day I learned a bit about anatomy. Patient I was only the beginning.

The Macdonald Triad, sign 2: Animal Cruelty

Sometimes Mutter isn't home. She's busy with her own special job- for extra money when Vati looses another job. She leaves for hours, sometimes even days, and during that time, Vati is in charge.

Vati almost never bothers to acknowledge me. Only when grades come back from school does he look at me. Marcella, with her typical C's and rare B's, gets an unfocused pat on the head. Edward, with his perfect A's, gets a glance in his direction if he's lucky.

When Vati drinks his Bier, he becomes very angry. It scares Marcella, whom he'd never touch. It scares me, whom he'd happily beat sober. If I misbehave, Vati hits me- sometimes with his Bier bottle that makes my head spin and makes me want to throw-up. Then he throws me in the attic.

But that's ok.

I found some old boxes filled with matches up there. There's also a trunk, and there's always a leaky pipe somewhere. I know how to build the perfect fire- one that's tame enough to keep alive, but one strong enough to keep me warm (it's cold up there!).

Sometimes I find papers, old photographs and books. I sacrifice them to the Fire Gods and dance, laugh, and smile as I watch them curl and blacken in the licking flames.

The Macdonald Triad, sign 3: Pyromania

In school, I was quiet. Teacher tried many times to get me to 'make friends' with the other students- but why would they care about me? Little Edward, Creepy Edward- Know-it-All-Bedwetter. I just stayed in my corner at reccess, watching the other children play, idly doodling on scrap paper.

Once Teacher walked by, no doubt going to force me to go and play with all the other six-year-olds outside, but she stopped before my desk. I quaked beneath her, afraid.

The fear of disapproval makes one strike to be a good person.

"Why Edward," She murmured kindly, smiling gently, "This is beautiful! It's a very pretty picture." I just stared at the pretty blonde woman, trepidation raging through my skinny form. "It's p-pretty?" I stuttered, still frightened. 'Kindness' was foreign to me. It was something I had never known as a child, something, actually, I have only recently learned of. It's . . . shameful . . . and sad. I didn't know then, how to react to 'kindness'. It was something I didn't know how to deal with.

"Would you mind if I hung it up?" My eyes widened. Hang it up? T-that was something that was only done to Marcella's artwork! She- she was the favourite child . . . I shook my head no. It was just a worthless doodle of a winding staircase. Nothing more . . . Stupid really . . .

The fear of being powerless gives on the motivation to seek out the power that lies in knowledge.

"Oh." Teacher sounded sad, as if I had disappointed her. I waited for the anger that had always fallowed disappointment. It never came. I didn't understand. She wasn't angry? No, no she had to be. She had to be!

Everything I knew . . . was it a lie?

The recess bell rang and all the children returned. The lesson began, and I silently observed everything. I knew if I learned and studied hard, I could become anything I wanted. While all the other children wanted to become fireman and ballerinas, I wanted to be a scientist. Teacher knew this, but she looked at me with eyes that pitied. Was there something wrong with me?

At the end of the school day she walked up to me as I was gathering my things. She handed me a note to give to my parents. I delivered it obediently. Mutti read the letter and she gave it to Vati. Vati read the letter. I was punished.

Severely.

What did I do wrong?

"I'm sorry!" I screamed as I felt kicks and sharp glass rain down upon me, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Fear is a driving force and a creator of order.

I cried. I was six. I was so very little. "You filthy, rotten little boy!" They roared, before throwing me into my closet. I stayed in the darkness for hours. It was dark and I was so lonely. The pain overwhelmed my senses. I couldn't find any strength to cast my mind into my fantasies. I sat in anguish with drying tears on my cheeks.

I spent so much time in the closet. I was so hungry.

I heard footsteps and voices pass the closet often. I knew better than to shout for help. Such an action would only hurt me. I cried more, and then the yelling came back. It came back louder and meaner in my head, and it wouldn't stop.

It hurt.

Was this my punishment?

What did I do?

"Hey Bed-wetter." My first glimpse of light in so long- Marcella, my older sister, in the open closet door, "Mutti says if you behave you can come out for a bit." Her nasty smile grew murderous, "But only a bit!" She shrieked with laughter. Timidly I left the confines of the closet. Marcella sneered. "You're such a baby! You're always so scared of everything! Maybe that's why you wet the bed?" She laughed loudly and sauntered off.

A baby? Scared of everything?

I WAS NOT! For the first time, I felt hot. Like my blood was boiling within my veins. I glared at the direction Marcella had gone, a painful frown etched on my face. An idea formed in my mind, and the screaming in my head became less angry, more . . . . enthusiastic. My frown faded, being slowly replaced by a smile. A giggle fell from my lips, followed by another, then another, until I could barely breath.

I stole into Marcella's room. It was a pretty room, a decent size, with selves of neatly arranged dolls. Porcelain dolls, ragdolls, baby dolls, lady dolls . . . more giggles fell from my lips.

From the shelves I picked out her favourite doll- Elise. Vati had bought Elise for Marcella. She adored it. It was an elegant doll, with a painted porcelain face and a lacy powder blue silk dress. My smile grew bigger. More laughter, louder laughter, escaped my lips.

Nothing I had ever drawn had ever looked as beautiful as the porcelain shards scattered on the floor.

To disregard fear is to fall into Madness.