Attention - a web in the making
'He sits motionless, like a spider in the centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them.'
Potato. Potahtoh. Tomato. Tomahtoh. Dublin. London. Dublin. London.
Was the perception of the boy's move to England. And just like any other attention seeking boy, he was part of an ever growing family of five ( well not really since mama died) which was quite unfortunate since papa had always been the stupid one. They inherited almost everything from him. His hair, his mouth, his jaw, his shoulders, everything. Besides, they were already four of them. Imagine how tired people would get of the same face. Imagine the amount of pity the youngest would have got. Oh, that's right, they would have forgotten he existed by then, since their idiot of a father was given the privilege to christen them when they were born. The arrogant beast. James was his name so James would be what their children would be called.
Thank the Lord they had their mother's intelligence. Well, not all of them. James number 4 was always the worst of the batch. Poor chap. He was a carbon copy their father. Other than that, the rest of the James' were more intelligent than a Greek genius. Oh and then there was James number 2... Who sort of died during their trip to the reichenbach where he caught pneumonia. James number 3 promised to revisit that place someday. He wanted to die there too.
Minus the minor mishaps along the way, that left James 1 and James 3 alive and well ( define it however you will) because the sad case, James 4 must have died along the way. It was all a blur, really. After all, their minds were like hard drives, storing only the most important things.
James 1 and James 3 proceeded to further their education by advising their father to send them to school, which he obliged whole heartedly. James 1 advised his younger brother to bear with the old man until he dies for them inherit his land and fortune. James 3 wonders how long that would take and not more than 20 years later, will he wonder how to speed up the process.
Just to make the differences clear between James 1 and James 3 is the most obvious one. James 3 preferred to be called 'Jim' because he hated Treasure Island. It was what one might a call, a bittersweet relationship.
He was so convinced that it was his real name, that it stuck forever.
"Jim Moriarty." said he as he wondered why he bothered to raise his hand for attendance.
"Moriarty? what kind of name is that?" said a stupid British boy with whom he was doomed to spend the whole semester next to. Jim rolled his eyes. If that boy wasn't so big he would have backhanded him right of his chair. Like swatting a fly. Or eating it.
"I'm Irish, idiot."
It was then, The boy began to move vigorously on the spot. His hands covering his mouth. Tears in his eyes. A fit of noises erupted from within his mouth. At first muffled, then full out guffawing. Jim was sincerely confused. What the heck was he doing. Then, using the practical words in his mental dictionary, it dawned to him. He was laughing at me.
"Moriarty, the Leprachaun! Lookin' for ya pot eufh gould? i think i can healp you," said the defect of evolution, pointing to his oversized buttocks. Jim almost covered his eyes. The big boy's voice rumbled louder, if possible, "How do you like that, little MorMor?!"he teased between chortles, with the worst attempted irish accent. Ever.
Naturally, The rest of the class around them joined along, like the hypocrites they were. Jim was wrestling between the anger and the utter foolishness of the creature before him. He decided to use both to his advantage.
A loud smack sounded across the room. The sound of the big British boy falling to floor put a grin on Jim's face. However, it did the complete opposite to the teacher who was ( probably as stupid as Jim's father was) finally back to Earth to realize what had happened.
And while Jim stood triumphantly above his victim, the teacher rose from his seat.
"I'm a pirate," said Jim as he trampled over the larger boy's form, at the same time catching a glimpse of a particular pair of eyes upon him, but before he could react, It was then, he felt a large pair of hard hands lock around his scrawny arms - gripping them painfully tight enough to leave a scar. Which he would be proud of.
He imagined how dramatic this all probably looked. The authorities, so boring and ordinary, desperately trying to contain the genius before them. He loved it. He loved how everyone was just staring right into his eyes. His mother's eyes. He almost let out a glorious sigh. He almost slumped into his captor's arms, as if he had wanted to be there his entire life. Almost. Although, really He just loved the attention.
Little did he know, that 20 years later, it would have been like dejavu. In a courthouse, in front of a jury he had bribed and threatened, in front of the oblivious judge, in front of an audience, in front of Sherlock, his final prey. He was ringmaster in his own circus. He was the star. He was a spider.
And when the cameras blinded his eyes, he put on his best smile.
