AN:Well, here's something I wrote a while back.
I don't own Half-Life, of course, and all that yadda-yadda.
Never figured I'd post any of my stories, but, I guess it's time to start a new chapter. (That was a pun. I hope you got it.)
For starting things off, this is a tad depressing. But, well..... that's just how it goes when you're giving backstory to a mute character at two in the morning.
Ah well. Onto the yarn.
Gordon liked playing with his action figures.
Armies of weathered green soldiers fighting admirably against hordes of dinosaurs, the occasional giant robot thrown in for good measure. After all, what were armies SUPPOSED to do…Fight people? Yeah, right.
Not in Gordon's mind.
He'd always been such an outsider from the other kids. Never had the same thoughts in mind, several awkward steps ahead of the curve. Luckily, that spacious gap between him and the rest didn't account for too much, and all the children in his neighborhood seemed to love him. After all, what pigtailed little redhead doesn't like a guy who could figure out how to get to the cookies on the top shelf?
He couldn't stop talking, either. For what would seem as hours, he'd drone on and on to his mother, explaining what things he had figured out that day. At the age of three, he'd figured out how door handles worked. His mother had smiled and patted him on the head, a tired but proud look in her eye.
So tired.
Why was his mother always so tired? It bothered Gordon's driven little mind. He would sneak about the house, watching her, trying to figure out what made her so restless and heavy-eyed all the was acting so differently than she had before, and little Gordon just couldn't figure out why.
What had changed? Everything was okay, right? He hadn't broken anything lately, and daddy was home more often. Wasn't that what made mommy sad before? Daddy was gone so much because of his job. But now, daddy got promoted. He was home so much more now, and he would take Gordon out for drives in the car, something that had always excited the burgeoning young genius. He would spend the entire ride figuring out what he could; playing with the locks, rolling the windows up and down, eyes lighting up when he connected the movement of the crank to the movement of the glass. He was particularly excited by the air conditioning system… so many buttons and dials! He just had to figure them out. He had to!
It was always enough to distract him from his search for his mother's ailment. More and more, his father took him for rides. Never one to miss a detail, Gordon started to notice his father's face, too.
His eyes were underscored by many rows and layers of dark bags, bleeding red bumps at his lips, and a growing patch of red on the side of his neck. That was because his neck was itchy, thought Gordon. He sure did scratch it a lot!
Gordon's mind slipped back to the dials and buttons on the car's dash as his father came to his customary stop, rolling down the window and speaking in whispers to someone in the cool blackness beyond the doorframe. Gordon had been interested at first, but once he found that it was just boring, adult stuff- his dad always said he was doing business- he quickly lost interest. He just play with the knobs until his father was done, and then he'd watch the pretty lights of the other cars on the road blink and fizzle in and out of existence while they drove home.
This was commonplace for Gordon now. Daddy seemed to take him for rides all the time now, and so Gordon never really noticed just how much color his mother's face had lost.
Her cheeks were sullen and crinkled, red rings around her eyes accentuating the appearance of age and extreme duress that had been so suddenly brought into her life. She still seemed to be fine, though, still cleaning constantly as she always had, so Gordon never thought twice. When he tried, he was always interrupted by another car ride.
One night, though, daddy decided to go out in the car by himself. That's alright, Gordon thought, I'll just have mommy to myself for now! As they sat down for dinner, he began to tell her the story of his day, only breaking his barrage of hot air and vocalizations to glance at a pale-skinned, bright-eyed man that had passed by their house, locking eyes with the boy and smiling in what would have been a disturbingly calm way to anyone who had to count their age using more than one hand.
He looked back to his mother, and….she was staring at him. Her eyes were hollow, her cheeks white and sagging, her mouth slightly agape, drool only just managing not to pour from her jaw.
He tilted his head and called to her. Mommy, he called, several times, before suddenly she stood, Gordon becoming suddenly aware that she had something in her hand now. It was long and silver in color, a long curve of metal ending in a prickly-looking tip. Gordon just stared, confused.
"You…you ruined my life, you little bastard. You took away my husband, you took away my body, you took away my mind, and you've taken all our money……But I could let that go, I really could, if you didn't talk so goddamned much. Do you really think I care what your tiny fucking mind has to think? Yes, turning a door handle makes a door open. Welcome to the fucking world! Enjoy your fucking stay, you little shit, because I'm sure as hell not getting a kick out of mine."
She hissed at him, her eyes flashing duller and duller, a madness taking over her breathing, her chest heaving more and more as her body quivered. She had been jabbing the silver thing at him with every word she had said, and while she had only just pricked him a couple times, he was still in tears of pain, if only from his mother's sudden betrayal.
But then she raised the object high above his head, arms quivering the entire way. Gordon curled into a ball, expecting her to prick him with it again.
But it never came.
All that followed were sickly, wet sputtering sounds, and a sudden shower of warm liquid.
"Mommy?" He whispered, finally daring to look up.
When he saw her neck and face, he immediately knew what happened.
At the age of four, he knew what blood was. He knew what knives were, what they could do if used improperly, and he also knew would happen if someone sliced their neck open with.
He knew all this, and yet it still baffled him to see his mother like this. How? Why? Was this even possible? Mommies can't die, right? That's what she had told him when she was sick…
Innocence is sadly something that is always shattered at its purest.
As her body fell limply and heavily on top of him, pinning him under her gushing neck, bathing him in the liquid that had once given his mother life. He was borne of her blood, and it was of her blood that his childhood met its end.
For hours, he laid there, salty tears mixing with salty, metallic red. He was in a stupor- he never even noticed his father arriving home, or the paramedics hauling the empty, bloodied husk of what once was his mother off of him.
Gordon only had one though in his mind.
This was how it had to be. This is what mother wanted, right?
For years as he transformed from boy into man, he would keep this promise.
Until the world ended or his life stopped short,
Gordon Freeman would never talk again.
AN...AGAIN:
Don't really know what I should say, other than, review please.
Thanks in advance, more to come in the future after I sift through my archives some more.