Passages of Naught- Prologue.
Collected in these documents were the accounts of five children in the estranged days of Victorian London. Some are diaries, some were dictated in third person by the children themselves in their later lives. They have gone forgotton, but I, Roxas, believe that they should see light. I have repaired these documents and have exposed them for the world to ponder and explore. Therefore, the first chronological document:
Ienzo's Diary Entry Number One.
The year is 1902. At least the year in England is; I really don't know about other places. Now that setting, or some of it has been uncovered, I suppose I should start with my name, status and other things one should dictate in a diary that one writes for oneself but like all secretly desires it to be found.
Psychology, really.
Well, I should be a gentleman and start with my name. My name is Ienzo Aos. I am fourteen years old currently. I don't really know where I live, as I am a vagrant. That is correct, I am homeless; a "street kid." However, I am not alone, if I was, life in "Victorian" London, as they call it (It's a faux pas if you ask me. Give something miserable an eloquent name, and it becomes simply marvelous.) would be miserable.
Unbearable.
Deathly.
Grim.
Dark as the smog filled skies under which I dwell aimlessly, living one day at a time, stealing and begging to get by; the cobblestones are my mattress, and the alleys my domain. Life filled with grandiloqent senators doing nothing, women in fancy dresses. My companions mostly ignore it, but occasionally the trend gets to them.
Ah, my companions. Our little 'gang'. Lets see, Braig; he's sorta the muscle of the group, black hair about shoulder length, and a white streak darting through his locks, probably caused from shock; or at least that's what Even said. Even is the second part of brains in the operation, myself being the first. And Lumaria. He's not really anything in particular. He just keeps us from becoming insane. I feel nothing but pity for the boy. He's only ten, after all. Even is twelve, Braig is fifteen. I am in the middle, fourteen. We haven't a thirteen year old yet.
Nor will we ever. Lumaria was the only exception to this, as he was left simply to die on his own. No more members. EVER. Four is enough. We had another member, whom I was quite partial to; Eleaus. He was fifteen when I was thirteen. He left us suddenly though, and none of us know what has become of him.
But I stand firmly. No more. The real reason Lumaria got to stay was because Even had a soft spot for kids. (Although he was one himself.)
We have no governship, no politics in this group. If we did it would tear us apart. No one was carte blanche, no one in control. In the heat of running, stealing or fighting, whoever was the most kamikaze and brazen was the impromptu leader. Mostly that was Braig, but Even would step up occasionally.
I however tend to shift to the shadows. I myself did not steal this red leatherbound book for myself. Braig stole it for me; yesterday was my birthday. I don't care. Birthdays come and go, they mean nothing. After all, it does not matter when you were born, as our lives all come to an end eventually.
If I am so young, you may wonder; they why can I write and speak so fluently?
Well, I am…prodigious to say the least. I graduated primary and secondary school at the age of seven, and university (A/N: High School in the 1900s) at the age of nine. My parents were not very rich in their time, so I snuck in under the name of a rich kid who had passed away unknowingly before. No one noticed, judged. They were all to wrapped up in their own lives to notice the oddly quiet but wunderkind child who sat in the back.
Wretches, all of them.
I hate describing myself. I abhor describing myself. Need I add more adjectives?
All I can say without wretching from the distaste is that I am short, with hair the color of dark chocolate, and I hide behind it. My eyes are grey. There.
The ink is starting to blot, because it begins to rain now. It does that in London a lot. I wonder if it rains in hell? If so, I wouldn't know the difference between hell and where I dwell currently.
All is well. It is probably one in the morning, as it is pitch black with no sense of light. But it is always pitch black in London. Dismal and dreary. That the end has come for someone, and we just shake our heads in silent monotone, nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone dies eventually.
Everyone wishes, I believe, for naturalism. That something so outrageous will happen to them, and they have to survive on what they have on their own. I am not that stupid. Nature and God himself are far above whatever you may have at that moment, or at any moment. Even the infallible 'instinct.' Ignorance sets thou for disaster.
Well, enough of my
ramblings. They are useless anyhow. No one would want to hear the
ramblings of a fourteen year old who believes himself to be
philosophical.
Good night.
Ienzo Aos.
BORDEROMG
Document Two: A dictation from the Man they thought was lost, but was there the whole time.
Ienzo sighed. He did a lot of that lately.
"Honestly, Ienzo, I haven't the clue why you are in such a fuss." Even paused, looking from a magazine he discovered lying in the gutter. He loved solving the tangles of soaked, smudged words. Something idiosyncratic of him; he needed to keep his mind busy at all times. He probably had a mental disorder.
"I am in such a fuss, Even, because I know not where Braig and his idiot friend Dilan are? We need things to live, Even. I certainly can't get them."
Even snorted. "You need a haircut." He added, changing the subject.
Ienzo replied with a 'Im-so-amused-but-not-really' look.
"Funny, Even. This is impossible. One, we could not afford it, two; I do not trust you with a knife, albiet close to my face, as far as I can throw you."
Even growled, shook his head, refreshing his senses momentarily. He did this when he tried to get his brain back on track. Probably had ADD, or something. But even he could not be mad, (he was a grouch most of the time.) as today was actually nice. Sunny, which was uncharacteristic of London, albiet in Winter. Well, it would be winter in two days.
It was sunny, but as cold as an alternate hell.
The scientist scowled, furrowing his brow in concentration. Even was odd in appearance. Probably not as odd as Ienzo, with his brown hair flopping over his right eye, completely concealing it, in combination of his…stunted…height. But Even was definitely different.
First of all, he was probably the only blonde person in the dark side of town, with the exception of Dulor the barkeep, but he was Austrailian. Even said that didn't count.
Stranger still, his hair was almost feminine, hanging down to his chin, jaggedy at the edges from lack of proper hair. Although the most striking thing about Even was his eyes; a frosty green, like spring itself, but with a coldness like winter. He wore glasses as well, spiney, wrangled frames, barely holding oval lenses in place. Even came into possession of them through a nurse whom he was begging for money for, but he called her 'mister' and the lady took him in for examination.
Even was lost in thought, and tended to look angry when he was. But the naiive one of the group, Lumaria, couldn't tell the difference.
"Even? Are you mad?"
"No." Even replied bluntly.
"Oh."
Lumaria looked down, his face that of a child who had seen too much in his short life. Not all of it necessarily bad, but all of it powerful. He was odd as well, with long, wavy, uneven hair going to his shoulders, the color of autumn leaves. Eyes aquamarine.
He was four years younger than Ienzo, yet about two heads taller. This was probably Ienzo's source of loathing towards the kid.
Although he wasn't too keen on social cues, none could say he wasn't bright. He was intellegent, but moreso manipulative. He was usually serious too, but on days like this, he reverted back to being a child again. He was only ten.
"Cheer up kid!" Came a brusque voice, characteristic of a gruff old man, or a teen with his voice changing. It happened to be the latter.
"Braig. Where have you been?" Ienzo deadpanned.
"Getting stuff." The forementioned replied sardonically.
"Be more specific, and more importantly, weren't you with Dilan today?"
"He's on holiday with his family."
Even gruffed, and mumbled under his breath. Lumaria looked down at his toes.
"Quit being so sore." Braig barked at the two, who straightened up, and flew right.
"What stuff did you bring, anyway?"
"Food. Potatoes, and an egg, but it was rotten, so I threw it at an old carriage."
"How thoughtful of you." Lumaria rolled his eyes.
"Hey, man! It wasn't worth stinking up the alley!"
"Braig, you're as dumb as hell." Even said offhandedly.
"We can't all be freaky genius children like monotone Ienzo and even Even."
"That was unnecessary." Ienzo droned.
"Hey, that's what you and science boy get for having weird names."
"Even is not a weird name." Even defended weakly.
"Yeah, if it's spelled 'E-v-a-n, so really, your name is even. Like even numbers."
"You can't even count to two." Ienzo spat, cursing himself internally for saying 'even'.
"Do you really want to insult the guy who brings you food?" Braig threatened emptily.
"Shut up. All of you! I hate it when you fight!" Lumaria spat.
"Whatever. It's five o'clock. Let's eat." Lumaria's tone, turning to a murmur, now freaking out about his consequence for insubordination.
Even put a hand on the youngest one's shoulder.
"He's right."
Braig growled, but could not deny the fact that he was hungry.
Thus, they ate potatoes. Raw.
BORDERSSUCKHOLYSHIT
Document Three: Even's Journal.
Never had I had a more quiet meal. Ienzo was always quiet, but the others were alarmingly so. I've never seen Braig shut up except in his sleep, and even then he talked. Subconsciously, of course. But today was pleasant, to say the least. I've never seen anyone so not miserable. Myself included. But, once it turned to sunset, and the streets became awful again, the mood faded.
London was hell at night. The inferno itself.
Except dark.
Dark like the
blackest of soot, the darkest of coal, the richest of ebony. And it
usually rained in the winter, never quite cold enough to snow. It was
freezing rain, too. Miserable stuff. The only light came from
streetlamps, usually one in many blocks that had not been smashed by
delinqents. But the way its light reflected austerely off the smooth,
wet pavement seemed like the street was just waiting, gleaming for
the hooves of a funeral cart to come by, just to break the morose
silence.
The alley itself, an inlet from the dirty London streets was yet another dead path in this labyrinthe we call a city. It was nothing special. It was a dirty inlet on the corner of Perth and Esment Street. People threw their trash there often, and we had resorted to this in desperate need of food. Extreme desperation. We had some standards.
Why? We needen't
know. Why would anyone care about the standards of street children.
I shiver in the rain subconsciously, but this time, my body, normally tame to the cold, was shaking violently. It was never this cold in the winter. I could feel the rain solidify the moment it hit the ground. Even in the air. It was cold, excruciatingly so.
Braig could sleep through a twister, I swear.
Lumaria, on the other hand was convulsing in his frantic sleep. His fingers were turning paler by the moment, his breath hitching.
Hypothermia. I pity the poor man without a blanket and no street smarts tonight. Neophytes to street life often die on these nights. No one, even on the streets, helps them. The less vagrants the better. Less people, bigger quota, more food. It boils down to survival, and that's it.
Frostbite and her sister Hypothermia are lurking dangerously to the roseate-haired boy next to me. I sacrifice the sack I use as a blanket. I can handle it. I have done so until I found Braig those years ago. My body takes naturally to chill. However, the boy could not. I layed my blanked over him, still warm from my body heat. Lumaria whispered something incoherent, and smiled in his sleep, his convulsions stopping completely.
"Good Night. Or as close to one as we could get. Things will get better for you." I whispered in the sleeping boy's ear.
Lumaria whispered in his sleep, this time it was decipherable.
"Even."
I smiled for once.
I cautiously stepped away from the sleeping form beside me, creeping along to my corner in the back of the alley. My surreptitious journey was cut short as I picked on the rustle of pages nearby. I froze, and crept stealthily to the edge of the alley. I expected a drunk or something, but I saw someone very familiar.
"Ienzo?" I whispered, under my breath, so soft even I could barely hear it.
Ienzo looked up from, as I now see, is a book. A book with blank pages. A diary? Similar to my own? The pale boy furrowed his brow and continued to dictate further.
Even though I am the third member in our group, (Braig and Elaeus were first, but Elaeus dissappeared.) and Ienzo a close follower; I've known him for eons. We converse, but it's forced, terse conversation. Ienzo is eloquent, however he isn't verbose.
Ienzo was odd,
to say the least, his quirks the eptome of uniquity. He was a genius,
as well. He had a heightnened sense of smell and keen sight. (Of
this, I envied him.) But he was a depressed and stoic individual,
conservative and if personalities were colors, his would be of the
utmost opaques. However, the oddest things I've noticed about him
is that, NEVER in my life have I seen Ienzo sleep.
Not once.
Insomnia to its finest.
It leads me only to the conclusion, that he is terrified of sleep. No one could survive like this without becoming at the least sporadic. His energy is induced by fear. His nocturnal pattern has become so habitual, that his body has adapted to not sleeping. What I wonder most is: What could have happened that could have caused his insomniac behaviour?
I shook my head of thought, and observed Ienzo once more.
He sat at the curb, his knees huddled to his chest, his torn linen shirt all but worn bare, his homemade pants constructed with old sacks and twine loosely hanging at his waist, his hole-filled shoes constantly moving to conduct warmth. He wrote furiously by the light of the moon, which occasionally he would steal a glance at, glaring vehemently as if the satellite had caused him great travail.
Shock ran through my body as I stole a look into silvery blue eyes, usually dead to the world with listlessness, filled to the brim with emotion, glaring with fire, and sadness. The wrought-iron fence across the street guarding a cemetary and a decrepid moseleaum, reflected in the gleam of feeling, a surreal gaze to those usually dull eyes.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"Even."
Big mistake.
"Ienzo? Is that you? I've been trying go to sleep, but.."
"Even. You are lying. You were watching me for five minutes."
That vehemence in his eyes was gone. Dissappeared from the world, like it never happened, and it left me wondering if ever did happen.
"Ah,"
"Even, go to sleep."
I didn't feel the need to argue. I didn't need that malevalence directed towards me.
"Ah, Good night then, Ienzo."
Ienzo nodded in my general direction.
I merely crept back to my corner, scared at the now frightening Ienzo, trying to rid myself in the spike of emotion so strong it was haunting. Never would Ienzo cry. That gleam would remain a crazed expression until that boy learned humility. Not going to happen.
Oh the Irony, he was stuck up in a homeless way.
I smile to myself, a light chuckle tingling my lips, repeating itself as Braig snored loudly.
Noapte Bune (Good Night in Romanian.)
Even Michaels.
Document Four: Ienzo's Journal Second Entry.
I'm not going to put 'dearest journal' or anything, because that would be useless, as this is an inanimate object. Not a person. It has no heart, no life, therefore it is nothing. Just a thing.
It's sad really, that's what they used to say about me. Nya, I'm a hypocrite now. First a cynic, now a hypocrite. How many more levels of smartarse-ity are there?
Cursing only works if you are Braig.
I know Even is in the shadows watching me. He never really had talent being surruptitious. I'm going to stop writing for a moment…
Even was lucky. He caught me being human. It shocked him, obviously. His eyes were wider than the Thames river. He never was good at putting on a façade. Even he had thought me inhuman. An anomaly, a mutation, a thing. Someone who I had expected to be my somewhat friend in this hell. Ah, well. I'm probably over reacting. Even was just shocked because he was caught in the act.
I fear I'm going senile at an alarmingly young age.
The pound of rain had stopped long ago. Now, we are greeted by a foreign substance. Snow. White, and peacefully silent. The streets dare not breathe, it would disturb the unperturbed void God had given to us. It feels like the symbol was sent for us. All of us.
Something good was going to happen. I let a smile grace my lips for once.
It faded, and I curse myself for believing in such ingnorance. The snow is going to be black with filth by tomorrow afternoon.
Such was the way
of the world.
But for once, I will let myself be peaceful. Just to watch the snow fall in its calm achromatic silence, filling the darkness with a light illuminated by the moon. The refraction making everything light. Something so monochromatic should be disconcerning. But it erases the filth that we have to endure for so long. It feels like we are in a temporary place, an idea even I would submit to, despite its ignorance.
I want to see the moors again, the calm front, the swaying tall grass the rocks place idly on rolling sloping hills-
I'm letting this fantasy slide.
I hear a noise. Instinctively, I double-take to glance at Even, who is now in a sound slumber, Lumaria tucking himself in the crook of his bony arms.
I almost smile warmly. But this cuteness was interrupted by the noise, now constant.
A shuffling, like boots.
I snap around, seeing a figure immerging coming closer behind a curtain of white. I examine it. It's relatively tall, about as tall as Lumaria, who was almost as tall as Even who was about six-foot-one.
The shuffling
comes closer. I'm trying to stay alert, but I feel my eyelids
drooping, and I'm falling backward.
The swishing is
now faster, getting nearer. I feel faint…
A hand is holding my head up, my head…I'm gonna…
--
Chapter One, Part Two: Myde
Document One: The Rememberance of Myde, as told by Ienzo Seven Years later.
I remember that day. Cold as hell, it was. Had to be the most cold day of my life. The first time I ever saw that face, the face I will never forget…
I remember everything. Every breath, every waking detail. Even's expression that day, the second I woke up. Its easier to write down.
The Day I Met Myde:
Even stared at me. He stared at me like I had just died, then come back to life instantaneously, which I somewhat did. I guess going withiout sleep for months gets to you after awhile, and I had a relapse, and I remember thinking I had lost consciousness at a very crucial time, and the memories pre-coma flooded back to me. The man, er, boy! Where did he go? I grabbed Even by the shoulders of his worn wool sweater, fingers getting caught in the various holes. It was so vivid to me, I even remember the scratchy rough texture of the red monstrosity.
"Even! Where is he? Where's the man?!" I was lucid. That man could cause effect to our docile lives. He could steal our stuff! Our friends. Well, I should speak for myself.
Even looked down.
I heard a voice that I did not recognize.
"Whoa. Is he alright?"
"I hope so." Braig grunted, kicking me in the side.
"Damn you-." I shot up like lightning, really not in the mood for these insiduous acts of annoyance. But I stopped when I saw a face foreign to me.
A face that can not be put into words. However, I will describe it as best I can.
There was a boy, he couldn't have been older than my age. He had shaggy blonde hair, but it wasn't really blonde, sort of a mixture of brown and blond. It was messy as hell, sticking up in ways that defied gravity. He had blueish eyes, and loose clothing that depicted nothing but poverty. I snorted.
"We do not take charity." I scoffed.
"Y'know, Ienzo, you can be a real bastard." Even spat, suddenly. I stared at him shocked.
"What?!"
"Myde saw you lose consciousness, and softened your fall. He waited all night in the cold just for you to wake up, because he had the crazed thought that it was his fault you were down for the count. Don't bullshit him. Would you have waited? I wouldn't. Hell, if I knew it was you, I wouldn't want you to wake up!" Even shouted all in one breath.
I spun my head around.
"Myde? Who's Myde?"
Even's beet red face could be reflected in even the disgusting brown slush of the street. That was saying something. It was like frozen tar, except worse for your health.
"After all that?! That's all you could get out of it?! WHO'S MYDE?!"
The boy stepped forward. I remembered noticing how unmarred his skin was, akin to mine. His cheeks were rosy in the cold air, his black clothing swaying in the post snowstorm wind. And just like I predicted the night before, the beautifully monochrome blanket that had quiet the city was now brown and disgusting like mud. Except worse. I was lost from my thoughts, when he spoke, a soft voice that depicted someone full of happiness. I remember being annoyed. But I think his voice sounded like it disguised a singer's voice. But it was hoarse from the cold, so the music did not shine through just yet.
"Actually," he said sheepishly. "I'm Myde. Myde Render." He offered a hand. I ignored it.
"Um-…"
"Thank you for your charity but now that I am awake, I'm afraid you are no longer needed, so therefore, good day."
I swore if I had access to a heavy mahogany door, I would have slammed it in that kid's face.
"IENZO!" Lumaria and Even shouted simultaneously. Lumaria's face afterwards turning the same shade as his hair.
"Yes?" I droned.
"Ignore him." Even said. "He's just cranky. Why don't you stay, a little lon-;"
"No. I don't believe that Mr. Render would want to share the company of street kids. I'm sure he has a family who's worried sick about him." I was seething malice at that point.
"IENZO!" All three, excluding Myde who was staring at his feet like they were soooo interesting, shouted.
"Actually." Myde whispered. "I don't have a family. Well I do, but they--.." Tears began to fall from blushing cheeks.
"It's okay." Lumaria stepped forward, giving the boy a hug.
Soon, the happy façade of Myde came back, but his eyes were full of a sadness of one who endured many hardships. One who had been in pain.
"Wait-!" Lumaria shouted as Myde walked away, glancing at me one more time, before moving among the throngs of people.
"I cannot believe you. You are unscrupulous." Even spat, biting his words at the ends profusely.
"I—Even!" I called.
"Do you even have a heart?!" He shouted. Braig just shook his head.
"I'm going to drink. Dilan and I are. Now, I actually believe I need one."
Even sat in the corner, keeping company with a now eleven-year-old Lumaria.
It was his birthday.
I groaned. Even's words haunting me as he glared seethingly at me.
Do you even have a heart?
Do you even have
a heart?
Do you even have a heart?
…Have a heart?
My eyes were wide in horror. What did I say? And before I knew it, I had bound into the throngs of people.
To go look for a stranger.
A stranger named Myde. A name I wouldn't soon forget.
Document Two: Myde's Thoughts in which he dictated on a taffy wrapper and a napkin.
Why the hell am I writing?
The oddest thing has happened.
I met someone,
someone I thought would be kind, but was cold.
Ienzo? Was that his name? He was strange. Cold, stoic, unfeeling. But I could see through that ruse like it was sheet ice. I have a talent for that, you know? Seeing people for who they are. I learned something from that thing I called mother once. I learned the most important thing: Don't let your guard down, just let others think you have.
Bullshit.
But Ienzo… He doesn't leave my mind for some reason. His face. That face…it is so similar to my own. A face of someone broken. The face of someone who doesn't want to be broken anymore. The face of a façade. A blank wall to hide behind, void of all emotion.
His companions were hospitible. Even and Lumaria…and Braig, was it? It was nice to meet people. I miss kindness.
Ienzo. What an odd name. My current residence: The bench behind the bushes behind a tree in Rutherford Park. I'm not sleeping in the tree. That is just too cliché.
-Myde.
Document Three: Ienzo's Journal: Fourth Entry
No one is going to get into our band of misfits except the four of us. It's been that way since Lumaria joined.
"It's only going to be Braig"
"Even."
"Ienzo."
"Lumaria."
"BREAK."
"Right then, down to business." I had said.
I sit here now. But not in the alley. No. I'm in a park, on a bench. Just pausing in my two day search for Myde. Yes, I have been searching for two days, and it's about two AM on the second. I have not the sightest clue why I am searching for this guy. It makes no sense to me, but I feel like I have to. Hell, I don't even know the guy. My fuel for going is the words Lumaria said before we left.
"Ienzo. Would it kill you to make it five?"
"Quite variably." I had said, coldly, running into the pandemonium that was Parson Street.
I take it back.
Why? No clue. But the first step is finding Myde.
Until later,
Ienzo
Document Four: The incident as remebered by Ienzo.
There was a rustling in the bushes behind me. I was tired and was not thinking very coherently, so the only legibly understandible thing to a half-comatose person was:
OHMYGOD IT'S A BEAR!
Thus, I had effectively jumped ten feet off the ground.
But it wasn't a bear. Although it looked like it. The fuzzy hair hung behind the fence of where I was sitting. Was it a dog? A stray?
I absentmindedly pet the furry thing.
"Poor thing. Looking for someone? Something." No response.
I sighed. It was probably dead. Damn.
The rustling started again. But this time, a head popped out behind the fence, followed by arms and a torso. I almost screamed.
The 'furry thing' rubbed its eyes. I froze. It wasn't-I wasn't-
….
….Oh.
Dear.
God.
"MYDE?!"
In response, the mentioned shook his hair, blinking.
"I-Ienzo?" He blinked sleep from his eyes.
"H-Hey, Myde."
"What're ya doing here." He murmured, obviously still drowsy.
"Er..I was..er..looking for you." I mumbled, suddenly bashful.
"Oh Oka-WAIT. Did you say you were looking for me.?"
"Yes." I said almost incoherently.
"Why?"
"I just, er, wanted to say—."
I was interrupted when a pair of warm arms grabbed me tightly, cutting off all possibility of breathing.
"GACK! MYDE! CHOKING." I gagged.
"Oops. Sorry." He said, letting go. He was warm. I wasn't thinking, due to the foreign contact, and said something I really, at the time regretted, but not that much later.
"Hey, you can stay with us for a while, I guess, until you find somewhere else to go."
"Really? Thanks!" He smiled brightly, but his eyes showed emminent sadness.
"Myde?"
"Huh?"
"You aren't happy, are you?"
Myde looked at his feet.
"Is it all that easy to tell?"
The trees made their own song, rustling in winter wind, the snow on the ground fading away.