BIRTH.
He was born in the most unfortunate circumstances. All the news stations were broadcasting warnings about the blizzard that rocked the German city of Edinburgh and because of this, there were virtually no cars or people on the streets. The wind buffeted the houses, shattered window glass and tore down trees & telephone poles. The snow came in the form of hail pelting against the city structures, demanding entrance. To walk outside during this turbulent moment would be an utter work of a madman, for nobody would want to step out from the safety of their own home in favor of a snowstorm. Even the homeless were offered a temporary place to stay in nearby shelters. Mother Nature was to be feared.
However, in the eve of the night – when the storm was at its worst, a woman by the name of Elisa was awakened from her slumber to a shuddering jolt in her abdomen. She indistinctly felt herself wetting the sheets below her, a sickening sweet smell of her water breaking. A wave of pain caused her knees to bend towards her stomach, writhing as a contraction rolled by.
Her husband, Roderick was awakened by the mewling sounds of his wife and turned on the lamp. Realizing that the baby was about to arrive, he quickly grasped hold of the cordless phone beside him and phoned the midwife.
It turned out that the phone line was down and he cursed the timing – the circumstances. He bent over Elisa, clutching her pale hands and throwing the sheets off of her. He pulled down her pants and her underwear, before he released hold of her hands and wiped the sweat off her forehead. When he looked back down at the spot between her legs, he discovered in shock that blood was spilling out in horrendous gushes -- and the baby wasn't even coming out.
"Elisa – Elisa –" he shook her. She dimly registered recognition in the form of a hissing groan. "Push. Goddammit, push!"
She did and more blood spurted out of her.. This went on for several minutes until finally exhausted, her eyes rolled back and no matter how many times Roderick tried to wake her up, she wasn't responding.
He knew there was only one thing left to do. He hurried down to the kitchen and grabbed the cutting knife. When he returned back to Elisa's side, it was clear that she was already close to dying and he had two choices to make. Save her or save the baby. His hands shook.
A weak hand grasped his shaking forearm. Elisa who was barely even alive was fighting her way back from death. In her last moments, she gasped: "Cut me open" before falling back into her pillow.
And so he did. He trapped his sobs in his throat and with trembling fingers, he pulled back her shirt and began cutting across her stretched stomach, splitting open her body and her flesh to retrieve the child.
CHILDHOOD.
He named him Vexen, a name Elisa had chosen during the early months of her pregnancy. During the first few days of his birth, he couldn't stand to look at him. With those green eyes and the wisps of beige blond hair he was born with, he almost looked exactly like his mother. Now he would live the rest of his life, asking and wondering about her. If he did, Roderick didn't know how he would be able to bear it.
He was a strange child and he was a strange father – made erratic after Elisa's death. He home schooled the child and never allowed anyone to touch him. In public, he covered Vexen's face with a mask. Whenever other children looked at him, all they would see was his green eyes and the hair that spilled past his ears. People often whispered about the odd father-son couple and for a while, the gossip prevented them from going to local supermarkets and convenience stores to buy food & supplies. The simple presence of the two was just unsettling.
The child was born with an inferiority complex. Thoroughly spoiled by his father, he was often given the impression that he was smarter than others. Although this was half-true [he was more mature than other children his age,] this prevented him from making any friends at all. Or maybe it was because his isolation from other people gave him the lack of social skills.
He did however develop a healthy habit of curiosity, although it was more refined than others. Unlike other children, he didn't topple over glass jars and test his parents just to find out what would happen. He conducted scientific experiments and wrote down all his discoveries on a notebook. He accomplished all of this before the age of ten.
TEENAGE YEARS.
When he was thirteen, his father caught pneumonia and died in a fit of hacking coughs and vomiting. Although he should have shown some emotion at his funeral, he had no empathy for the man who had cut him open from his mother's stomach in order to save him -- the man that had struggled to raise him despite cruel remarks from strangers. The funeral service was quick and short. As expected, he was the only one attending. Roderick was a reclusive man after his Elisa's death and nobody appreciated him so nobody really cared if he was dead or alive. He had died a lonely man.
He lived the rest of his teenage years as a foster child, although nobody kept him for more than a year. Like his father, he was unsettling and didn't fare too well with other people. They simply irritated him.
YOUNG ADULT YEARS.
He was eighteen when he was accepted into Yale University. It was there where he got his science major and then his doctorate in chemical engineering. Some things didn't change even though he was in college. He still hated associating with other people. He preferred to work alone and despite other people's disapproval, he was still brilliant. He was even offered a teaching job at the university, but he turned down the very much sought after position. He hated the thought of teaching snotty nosed freshmen who thought that they could breeze by with college while partying and getting drunk.
There was one person in Yale that became his friend or rather close to it. Vexen only gave him the honor of being his acquaintance and nothing higher. His name was Marluxia and although he was in the process of getting his botany degree, it was clear he detested university. After two years, he dropped out and Vexen never heard from him again.
After university, he accepted a job offering at EFCE [the European Federation of Chemical Engineering.] For several years he worked among other scientists to devise chemicals and solutions for much of mankind's problems. He was hailed as a genius, a visionary among the people that knew him; but he shunned this newfound popularity and constantly tried to put others down because of it.
ADULT YEARS.
He was nearing the age of thirty-five when he met Marluxia again. He had expected his fellow Yale colleague to be flourishing under a scientific institute – working among other botany scientists, but it turned out the pale-pink haired had other intentions. He was now involved in one of the most elusive criminal groups in the world: The Organization. Although he wasn't the superior, he ran the Organization in Paris while other members took stations in other major cities such as: London, Madrid and New York.
He hadn't planned to see him again; it turned out that Marluxia had taken the liberty to track him down and meet him after all these years. Although the reunion was supposed to be sentimental as he had recalled in movies, it was nothing but business. Marluxia wanted to propose a scheme he wanted him to take part in.
The idea was this: create a chemical explosive enough to threaten the superiors of the Organization in overturning the authority of the entire organization to Marluxia himself. It was a plan with many flaws, but Vexen agreed to it. Marluxia was paying him a handsome price.
His first sexual encounter was something he wouldn't be able to forget easily. Late at night while he was precariously testing out the chemicals he had created, Marluxia had slipped into his laboratory, bored and restless. He told him to leave, but he stubbornly stayed.
"I've just realized something," the pale-pink haired said, rolling up a joint for a smoke. Vexen detested drugs and bid him to throw that repulsive thing away, but Marluxia kept it anyways. He lit the end with his lighter and proceeded to take a long drag out of it. The smell of marijuana was overpowering and it made Vexen's nostrils wrinkle in disgust.
"You're a terrible at social graces are you? That's why you're always stuck in your laboratory, shut away from society, playing with your chemicals. I've never seen you at ease or with any kind of amusement. Don't you have a woman?"
"Maybe I don't like women," he replied stiffly, mixing his chemicals in the beaker, checking for the level of acidity. "The thought of sexual ecstasy never crossed my mind."
Silence. The clack of a spoon on glass. The sound of the bursen burner working.
"You're missing out on a lot," Marluxia got up from the chair he was sitting in. "Why don't you come here and have a drink? Don't tell me you've never touched alcohol before."
"I have never. Alcohol limits activity in your brain and slowly degenerates your body. It's nothing but empty calories. I rather drink water."
Marluxia sighed. "You don't get it at all don't you?"
After a while, Vexen finally relented. "Fine, I'll have a drink," he grumbled, abandoning his chemicals for a glass.
Several drinks later, they were lunatics – madmen. Every once in a while, a hiccup would escape their throats and a slur of words would come out of their mouths. It didn't occur to Vexen that he would start rambling off the details of his own life to Marluxia. Maybe it was because alcohol made everyone crazy – in a way.
"He was a goddamn father, he was," he said in a wracked voice, speaking of Roderick. "Never let me outside. Everyone thought we were crazy."
"And – and can you believe," Marluxia stumbled over to Vexen, tripping over him. "My father was crazy as well? Tried to slap some sense into me. Made me go to university," he burst into uncontrollable giggles. "Died and guess what I did? Slapped a couple of roses on his grave and burned them. Burned them. Like –" He made a hand gesture in the air, "—that." A hiccup.
"I should have done that. You – you know what? We're living in a crazy world." Vexen did something out of ordinary. He grasped Marluxia on the shoulders. "We're more alike than you think. I – I wonder why –" He fell back to the ground, flaxen brown hair spilling onto the white floor. "—I didn't meet you earlier—" A hiccup.
"I finally know why you don't have women. You're gay."
"Such, lauguage." Vexen sputtered. "The proper word is homophobe – a bisexual – a –"
He ended his sentence by crushing his lips onto his. The result was unflattering – a quick undressing of clothes, discarding of wine bottles and glasses. He was half-naked before a bit of sense erupted in Vexen's highly intellectual mind and he slapped Marluxia away. He fell a few feet away from him, cursing and groaning in pain. Suddenly, the effects of alcohol were beginning to wear away, although he was still disoriented.
"You're sick do you know that? A twisted masochist, a goddamn manipulator. Get out of my house."
"FINE, and you can go back to living your sheltered little lifestyle. I hope you go fuck some of your beakers." Marluxia was still screaming at him even when he closed the door.
Behind the other side of the door, Vexen tried to regain the little composure he had. He pulled back his lab coat over his shoulders and boiled water for his tea. He drank it until the effects of alcohol were diminished and his cognitive thinking was repaired.
And once again, he was alone in this big empty house with nothing but the sound of empty silence filling those lonely seconds. The thought half-terrified and half-relieved him.
DEATH.
As the result of his behavior towards Marluxia, late at night while he was conducting yet another experiment, an unknown gunman entered his house, pressed the barrel of the gun against his head and pulled the trigger. It was suspected that Marluxia had hired the assassin out of spite, but no one ever solved the mystery of the chemical engineer's death. It had earned a small spot in the newspaper reminiscing about the tragic lost of a brilliant mind, but that was it. After the police called off the investigation due to lack of evidence, the file was never opened again. He became forgotten.
He had quietly left this world and like his father, Roderick, nobody cared and nobody appreciated him. Nobody attended his funeral except for Marluxia who scattered roses on his grave and burned them. It was a sadistic ending.