Chapter 2 – Much Smaller
Headmaster Smith was a mystery to most students. If not for the few minutes he spent making early morning announcements through the PA system his existence would be entirely questionable. Although there have been instances on school grounds where students claimed to have spotted the infamous headmaster, they have only ever remained rumours.
The last time Armin could recall any gossip on said headmaster was from months ago. A student in one of the upper classes decided that defacing school property, using a graphic portrayal of a certain teacher, would make for a brilliant April fool's prank. They were interrogated and found guilty, which due to the student's past record listed the offence as his last strike before suspension. So despite his very limited list of delinquencies, Armin couldn't help but feel anxious.
He sat just outside Mr. Smith's office with his mother by his side. A woman of average height, lackluster blonde hair–a clear contrast from her son's healthy head of hair–and a smile that Armin believes to be the manifestation of angels. She gave Armin a reassuring nod when he chanced a glance up at her. The lack of conversation made him uneasy and he was certain that the case was the same for her.
"Armin?" The secretary's call through the office door interrupted the little boy's thoughts.
"Yes." He stood abruptly, his mother following suit.
"Mr. Smith will see you now,"
With a curt nod, she scooted back into her seat at a small desk by an entryway, a plaque on the wall read 'Headmaster Erwin Smith' in embossed golden type. Armin peeks over at his nervous mother who tailed him into the office.
"Good evening Mrs. Arlert, Armin." Erwin gestured to two seats facing his desk, "thank you for coming in today on such short notice."
"I'm going to get straight to the point here." He folded his hands on the desk as his guests seated themselves, a smile hinting at the corner of his lips.
"Armin is a very gifted child," he starts.
Mrs. Arlert lets out a long breath and shifts comfortably into her seat, "yes, we're very proud."
"He outshines most students his age in his classes. Specifically in Science and Maths. But," he pauses. "His teachers have been reporting some troubling cases of ostracism."
Armin's mother passed a worried glance towards her son, "he's not very social to begin with," she says under her breath. The little boy shrinks visibly into his chair, his gaze stuck on a particular spot on the carpeted floor.
"Hmm," Erwin mused, leaning back into his seat, "this may be the first time you're hearing of this, but our school has an Advanced Placement program for students of Armin's talents. Although we make it a point to introduce this option no earlier than in 5th year, I have the feeling that this program is the perfect fit for your son. It may even introduce him to students with similar interests. I would suggest you consider it."
Erwin stood from his chair then, rounding his desk to where Armin sat.
"Now, our school is participating in a national Science Fair in two months time. I would like to introduce you as a special member on our school's junior team. Would you be interested, Armin?" He asked.
The boy looked up, his legs swinging beneath him, "I don't know."
"I believe you can do it." Erwin smiled. The glint of curiosity in Armin's eyes proved encouraging. It was not uncommon for 9-year-olds to be so self-conscious but Armin–as Erwin had been informed–was found holding himself back in front of his classmates frequently. Although teachers continue to boast about his advanced thinking processes as reflected on his exam papers, he seems to create an alternate persona when it comes to being in front of his class.
"I think you'll do great darling," Mrs. Arlert prompted. Armin turned to his mother, her hand rested gently on his, urging him on. The boy looked away to think.
"Okay," he decided.
"Great!" Erwin walked back to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a few sheets of paper. "Now, you need to understand that this will probably take up most of your free time after school." Erwin set the sheets in front of Mrs. Arlert. Armin nodded.
His mother signed the papers and exchanged a few formalities with the headmaster before they were finally excused. Their walk back to the parking lot felt a lot shorter than their way in. The little boy who held his mother's hand skipped along the pavement, a satisfied smile on his face as he concocted many new ideas for the fair and thought of the friends he would make.
On their drive home, Armin talked animatedly about all the ideas he had for the Science Fair. He had never been in one, so the thought of working on a project of such a scale excited him. He made a mental note to go through his textbooks later.
The Arlert house soon came into view. It stood snug between two townhomes, a little distance away from Armin's school. White bricks and dark grey tiles decorated the structure, while a light green door hung at its center. The grey sedan rolled into the driveway. A short trek across their front yard brought them to the front porch where Armin stopped to check on his science project; a small bed of bean sprouts.
They walked into the house, his mother taking Armin's coat and hanging it on the rack along with hers. Armin stopped upon finding his grandfather standing by the hallway, his brows knit together in a frown.
"He's here." His voice wavered.
There was a pregnant pause before Mrs. Arlert responded with an urgent request towards her son.
"Armin, dear please go upstairs."
The boy shied away obediently, the patter of his little socked feet against the hardwood stairs the only sound that ghosted the suddenly heavy atmosphere. Once he had secured himself behind the closed door, Armin crawled into bed and pulled out a deck of cards from beneath the frame and started reading.
Chubby fingers flipped through the first card.
Gramma Loreto. 2 inches. Commonly known as Royal Gramma.
Round ears picked up footsteps trudging across the lower floor. The low murmur of conversation followed.
Next card.
Plattax Pinnatus. 17 inches. Commonly known as Dusky Batfish.
The voices buzzed faster. Next.
Diodon Holocanthus. 19 inches. Commonly known as Porcupine Pufferfish.
His little body twitched at a loud echoing thud. Next.
Chrysiptera Cyanea. 3 inches. Commonly kno–What do you want from us?
Armin slipped in deeper under the covers, pulling his trusty flashlight along with him.
Next.
Nemateleotris Decora. 3 inch–You are not welcome here.
The little boy could only barely make out his grandfather's hoarse speech as he read.
Next.
Synchiropus Splendidus–I'll take him. I swear I will.
Armin gasped upon hearing the unfamiliar person. He had only ever encountered the man through the walls of his bedroom. There was no name to match with the gravelly voice, and no memory of a face that may belong to it. But if there was one thing Armin was certain of, it was that this voice was not friendly. He wanted nothing to do with it–especially if it required being in the same room as the owner of the voice.
He hummed the words in his head to block out the noise. Every card that slipped through his fingers a chant of facts and numerical details, an unspoken wish that the foreigner would make itself scarce. He clung to the truth that they held, eyes hard focused on the faded ink and bent corners.
He flipped through another, another, another, and another as the voices continued to increase in volume. In the midst of the garbled noise, he could suddenly make out the sound of faint footsteps creaking its way up the stairs and towards his room. He forced the voices in his head to yell out louder, for the words to leave their mark on his subconsciousness in order to mute out the commotion below. He let out a surprised whimper when the door to his bedroom creaked open gently and the kind face of his grandfather peeked through.
"It's alright son. There's nothing to worry about," he approached Armin's bed carefully.
Armin pushed away the covers as his grandfather took a seat on his bedside. The boy crawled into his grandfather's lap, curling into his arms in a tight embrace. His grandfather rocked back and forth, humming a calming melody. Armin listened. His small ears picked up the notes in the song and focused on that. It was all he could to do to block out the clamor that terrified him from below his bedroom floor.
Soon, he fell asleep.
In his dreams Armin was flying. He dreamt of vast oceans and tall mountains, wide-open meadows dotted with flowerbeds and streams that veined through the land, and friends—friends without faces, with voices that mumbled rather than formulate proper words and phrases. He couldn't recognize them although heir movements felt familiar and their speech patterns were comforting. They were friends and he was at peace.
The next time Armin opened his bright blue eyes, he was surrounded by a myriad of colour. Lights scattered across and through his bedroom window to reflect off of his mirror and model airplanes. Curious, he blinked again and rubbed at his face for good measure, noting that his grandfather was nowhere nearby.
"Appa? Mom?" He called out.
When no response came, little legs pushed away at spaceship decorated bed sheets as the little boy crawled out. He made his way down the stairs where the lights shone brighter. He registered the colours red, blue, and white as strange noises flooded his senses.
By the time he had found his grandfather, he was standing between two gurneys on his front yard, an impending nervous breakdown at his fingertips. His small hands curled into fists as he bit down on his lip hard. Processing everything took a while. And upon taking it all in, cold seeped into his bones, a kind he had never felt before. It enveloped his entire being and bled through his chest, across his back, and around his head.
He shivered.
It wouldn't stop. Not when he watched as two men in uniform ushered him and his grandfather into a patrol car, or as they pulled up into a tall looming building boasting a red cross on its façade, or as he was seated in a room of people he assumed bore the same panic-stricken expression on their faces.
When the doctor returned with his grandfather–a clinical tinge in his dark brown eyes–it dawned on the young boy that this was all he had now. That his world had just gotten so much smaller.
NOTE: First off, my sincerest apologies for how long this took. I am generally a slow writer but I hope the time taken is worth it. Second, thank you so much for the feedback and comments I've gotten for this story. I really appreciate all of them, especially considering how very short it was.
Once again, I appreciate any constructive criticism you have for me!
[ peach ]