Sorry it took me so long to update, have been busy with American Sign Language stuff and NFAN updates. But, it's here now! YAY!
DATE: 21/22 of June
AGE: 14
STATUS: Human
My father was not happy with me for purchasing the robotic feline. I bent my head in shame, kneeling on the rough wooden panels of our living room, his words lashing me worse than the strike of the whip I knew he would soon use. In front of me, the box holding my new friend gaped like a black hole ready to suck me in—and willingly, I suppose, I would've succumbed. I was afraid of my father more than anything. In fact, I think he was the only thing I truly feared when I was so young, so naïve. I didn't regret my purchase, but I regretted how I brought it up. Perhaps, if I were as wise then as I am now, I would've snuck around my new pet until I had managed to fully repair its broken pieces. But I wanted to show my mother the instant Rikku and I returned with Constantine's new shoes, and for my impatience I greatly suffered. I couldn't look at my father's angry, stormy eyes as he hovered over me with that dreaded lash in his hand.
My mother stood at his side, and I could feel her worrisome eyes bearing holes into the material of my shirt. I kept my back arched so I wouldn't have to face her, either. It took everything within myself to calm the tears that threatened to pour. I just wanted them to understand how I did. Maybe then, things would be different.
"What do you think you're doing, buying that piece of junk with perfectly good money?" snapped my father angrily. His voice filled the cabin, repeating itself when bouncing off the wooden frames. They pounded into me with every echo responding. "You're too damn childish for your own good. When I was your age, I was out there helping my father do the crops and run the business; a year later, I married your mama! I was a full grown man by the time I was you! And what do you do? Sit around and pretend like you're building a sheep fence that's taken you more than a month when all it shoulda taken you was an afternoon. You play with that damn sheep of yours constantly. Your head is in the clouds! Why can't you be more like your brother? Responsible, trustworthy, useful."
I snuck a peek out the corner of my eye at Rikku. Silent as a ghost, my elder brother hovered in the corner of the room, focused on twiddling his thumbs. This argument—that statement—I had heard multiple times in repetition from my father. He liked to think it was proper to compare me to my brother, but my mama figured it unfair because I wasn't as quick to the point as Rikku was. It may have been because I wasn't normal. Maybe. I never really got the chance to ask my papa why he hated me so much.
I didn't let it get to me today, like I did every other time I heard it fly out of his mouth in a scream. I knew that, to myself, I was enough to keep at least one person happy: me, and I was all that mattered. I didn't need to pretend to be someone I was not, nor did I ever want to engage in such a silly activity. I was fine just the way I was.
I was silent. My father would've kicked me in the head, for his foot was within firing range. I let him ventilate his true feelings about me and took the beating of verbal abuse with my heart deflecting it. I was okay with it. Not everyone was going to like me, and I accepted that just as well. My eyes stayed fixed on the broken clutter of Mister Julien's cat in the box, wondering when I would be able to start working on her. I was excited to begin.
But my father was not. He was purple in the face with all that screaming of his. "You dream and fantasize and question the world constantly, Zane. This place isn't meant to be questioned; you're supposed to accept it just how it is! Do we know why the grass is green? We don't need to! All we need to know is that it feeds our cattle and sheep, and those are the two basic living needs that keep your belly full and a roof over your head, but you can't seem to appreciate that. Nothing is good enough for you, is it? You always need to have an answer. Well, now I'm the one who wants a damn answer, boy! Why the hell would you buy a piece of crap from a stranger? Answer me, goddamnit!"
I kept my face aimed towards the floor. "I wanted a friend," I admitted honestly. I wasn't going to lie. I wasn't going to look at my father, either. I didn't want to see what he looked like, much less the gruesome reaction he had.
"You wanted a friend?" repeated the old man. "You want a friend? How is a piece of scrap a friend? Why don't you pull your head outta the clouds and go find some!" He yelled. My sensitive ears ached.
"I have some," I answered him. I thought of Mr. and Mrs. Walker, plus the blacksmith, and Mr. Julien. I considered them to be my friends, as well as Lucky and Rikku and Mama and, even if the feeling wasn't mutual, my father. I had plenty of friends. I placed my hands on my lap with a still motion.
"Really?" growled my father dubiously. "You have friends! Huh! Who would've thought, Meredith?" I saw his feet angle towards my mother. She shifted on hers. "Our retarded son has friends!"
"Zane is not retarded, Ross!" my mother objected loudly enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Mama never yelled. "Don't you say that about him!"
"Shut your mouth, woman!" responded my father in his cold rage. "What do you call it, then? Disabled? He isn't worth a dime, Meredith! What good is it to have one more mouth to feed if that mouth can't give anything back? He doesn't even know proper phonics! Toro Azai's sons are better educated than he is! His eldest is already married into another family, and his youngest is helping in the fields already—that boy is years younger than he is!" I saw an angry sweep of my father's arm gesture towards me. I blinked.
Toro Azai was my father's main arch nemesis. They were always competing in what Rikku described as an "unfriendly war." With the flip of a coin, each month the town would take a guess on which rival would end up with the best crop production and sales of animal meat. Their feud went back further than father ever cared to discuss, but I normally never paid attention to the rivalry as my father and Rikku did, always making icy glares in the Azai direction when they came upon a family member in cold blood. I was usually off performing Zane-like things: chasing butterflies, studying dewdrops clinging by a thread to the blades of grass in the lawn. Wars were nothing of my forte.
"Is that what this is about?" snapped my mother in response. "Your rivalry? You're worried about how your son's incapability is affecting your social status?!"
Incapability. Such a subtle word for such a large problem. I reached forward to absentmindedly tug the box forward, to peek into its cave at the kitty made of metal. I wondered how cold it must be inside that box, without arms wrapped around its tiny body. I knew what it felt like to go months without feeling the beautiful embrace of someone's hug or caress. I don't think it's fair when people go too long without one. It makes you lose sight of what really rests in your horizon, what actually lingers in your future, what you're building your reality from. These dreams in which we hope for truth in have brought us the magnificence of other human beings, both the good and the bad to destroy what we believe. We accept the things that we think it's okay to embrace, because we think we deserve what is coming for us. But I think that sometimes I take in the pain of everyone around me like a sponge, just so other people don't have to feel it. I normally wasn't affected by the pain's lashes. When I absorbed it, it became numb rather than dominant. My dominant emotion was pure happiness—after all, that was how I, as Zane Montgomery, had survived—and I had never felt what sadness tasted like.
I'd never actually shed a real tear, either. They were there, but naturally came from looking at beauty rather than an excretion of sorrow. I cried when I saw pretty things, like when I was able to watch the sunset. I did not cry when I was lashed with words, with whips, with knives and forks and violence. I looked at the cat again, and without thinking, grabbed it from inside and pulled it into my lap.
Through even the thick argument, my father saw what I had done. I stroked the kitty in my arms, almost cooing verbally to it with my lips pursed and cheeks warm. I loved the robotic animal even though I didn't know it well. I already felt the connection we had burning bright between the two of us. A special link, one that only we could access. We had a mutual experience within our lives, and I think that is what brought us closer together: We both knew what it felt like to be alone.
"What do you think you're doing?!" shrieked my father. I finally had the courage to look up at him. His eyes did storm, and his face was purple, as I previously predicted. His graying hair stuck to his face with the angry sweat coating his broad forehead. I glanced at the kitty, rubbing the delicate space between its closed eyes.
"I'm petting my cat," I answered.
My father's grip tightened around the laced handle of the whip. The coil snaked across the floor. "Are your damn ears broken?! Get rid of that! Return it back to the owner NOW! Did you hear me?! Move, boy! Do I need to pay more money to take you to the hospital so they can check your brain again?! No, I know what they'd find; they'd find a big, empty hole in your head!" His face was burgundy with fury. He shook a meaty finger at me. "You brainless boy! TAKE IT BACK NOW!"
I didn't move. I wouldn't give up my friend, not even for my father. I held my pet closer into my arms, my heart thundering against the small head resting against my chest. I rubbed her head for comfort. "Don't try to fix me, Papa," I murmured quietly. I watched him glare at me through those slitted black eyes. "I'm not broken."
My papa whipped me hard, seventeen times that night. I can spare you the gruesome details of my skin peeling off, just to make sure you don't have to feel that or anything. If you're clairvoyant, I would presume it's definitely worse to read about those ugly descriptions while also comparatively experiencing it yourself. I counted to ease the pain when the impact hit my skin. I guess talking back to him wasn't my smoothest tactic, but I took the beatings. He robbed me of my pet and threw it in the box really harshly, causing certain damage to her, even while I screamed. He told Rikku to get rid of it, hopefully go find the rat who sold me it in the first place. Papa didn't even have the courtesy to take me into another room this time; he whipped me right then and there, with my mama watching and my brother staring in shock. Rikku's face had gone a pale, pale white. I never saw him that white after that day, and he just took the box, stared at me in shock, and left the house. I screamed for him to come back, but Rikku was gone. He'd taken my friend, he'd watched me get hurt, and he'd done nothing.
We accept the things that we think it's okay to embrace, because we think we deserve what is coming for us. But I now know that sometimes I take in the pain of everyone around me like a sponge, just so other people don't have to feel it. I normally wasn't affected by pain's razor. When I absorbed it, it became numb rather than dominant. My dominant emotion was pure happiness—after all, that was how I had survived—and I had never felt what sadness tasted like.
But now I could feel it. I could feel the despair. The agony. It tore through my heart, twisted my stomach. It was mean to me. And it hurt so, so bad.
I'd never felt anything worse in my entire life.
My father, when he was done, had grabbed me and thrown me outside, saying I couldn't come in until I finished the sheep fence. Raw, bloody, aching, I had tried to move, but it was like I was paralyzed by my new scars, especially the one that ripped down my face, the first initial hit I had taken. I laid underneath the stars, staring at them, wishing they would pick me up and carry me away to someplace better, a place where I didn't have a papa who hated me, where I wasn't so curious, where I was a better son, like the Azai sons. I wished I was someone who was strong, and determined, like Rikku was. I wished that I was a better worker. I wished that I wasn't so easily distracted. I wished that, more than anything, I wasn't retarded.
Eventually, my sorrows were gone quicker than my scars. I felt normal once more, hours later, might I add—I felt like Zane again: happy for no reason, curious about where those stars I stared at actually came from. I counted them, but when I reached fifty, I stopped, because I couldn't count any higher than that. Lucky eventually found me, trailing to my side, but the scent of the blood scared him, so he kept his brutal distance. I wanted him to come to me so I could bury my face in his coat, hold onto him for comfort, but if it made him more relaxed over there, I would accept that. I found interest in watching earth worms crawl through the grass underneath me. Where did they go? Was there a kingdom underneath the earth, where the worms thrived? With a smile on my scarred face, I crawled forward, following one who writhed through the dark green maze of the grass towards an unknown destination. The moon and stars were my only light source, but that light was better than no light. The blue reflected off the worm's shiny skin.
Eventually he disappeared under the ground, and I couldn't find any more worms to stalk. I crept across the lawn in what Mr. Walker called an "army crawl" towards the pen I was supposed to finished. I was too sore, too tired to continue making it. I curled up on the ground to sleep in the cold.
I heard the footsteps sometime later, jarring me from my light sleep. The crunch of boots against gravel made my eyes fly open. A dark figure was walking towards me, masked in the cloak of the night, his face indeterminable from the night. I shot upwards. I thought perhaps it was a burglar, until I saw the familiar icy blue eyes and startled face of my brother in the haze.
"Hi!" I cheerily greeted him, giving him a smile. I saw him wince.
"Zane," he choked. His voice was hoarse.
My smile faltered into deep concern for my brother. I scooted forward. "What's the matter?" I asked worriedly. "Are you okay?" I wanted to stand, but that would be asking too much of myself.
Rikku stood farther away from me, watching. He was looking at my scars, my torn shirt, dried by my blood. He inhaled a shaky breath. "Are you…okay?"
"I'm fine," I answered, brows furrowing in confusion. "As usual."
Rikku's head shook. He awkwardly stood there with the kink in his eye that told me he was uncomfortable. To be honest, and I will not lie, my brother sucked at expressing his feelings, but his eyes spoke the story he couldn't voice. I searched them. "How can you be so…"
"So what?"
"So happy, Zane!" My brother asked incredulously. He threw his hands in the air while looking around him. "I just watched you get completely mauled by…" he couldn't finish. His voice squeaked at the end and died.
I shrugged. "It's not like I haven't felt it before."
He groaned. It startled me. It was not an impatient groan, or a groan of intolerance, it was an exasperated groan. He buried his face into his hands. "You are really something," he murmured, voice muffled by his skin. I blinked at my dirtied hands. My blood didn't actually look like blood, but rather mud, caked under my nails and in the cracks of my palms. I traced them with my fingernail.
I couldn't help myself. I needed to ask. It nagged at me all night, although I don't do pity-parties. I prefer to think positively. Except right now, it was just a question that needed to be asked… You looked to your brother for support, which is the exact reason I turned to him for now, begging with my eyes rather than my voice. "Rikku?" I looked up at him. My brother looked at me. "Do you think I'm a retard?"
He seemed taken aback by my question. I knew when he didn't know how to answer. He blinked multiple times to process my question, mulling it over silently within. He cracked his knuckles. "No," he answered simply. The breath I did not know I had been holding rushed out of me. "I don't. I think you're very smart for a kid your age."
"Thank you." I leaned against the pen. I was tired. Rikku seemed to notice and held up a finger.
"Wait a sec," he said to me, then retreated. His footsteps softly padded up the porch steps, disappearing into the house I was banned from. I considered the possibility that he would not return, although after several moments, I found that my brother was more loyal than originally presumed. He reimbursed his presence with company in hand: a blanket.
I took his offering, the blanket mama made me long ago for my birthday. Since it was precious to me, it made the gift all the more heartfelt. I pulled it closer to myself with a restored, happy grin on my face when I realized it was heavier than normal. I gave my brother a look.
Rikku held a finger to his lips, eyes glistening. "Can you keep a secret?" He whispered. I opened the blanket.
"My friend!" I gasped. The kitty safely rested in the cocoon of my blanket, her lithe body intact, even after the hit my father had given her. Smuggled by Rikku, she was still here, still capable of being my friend. Papa would surely whip him if he knew that Rikku had defied his orders as I had. I wanted to give her back for the purpose of protecting my brother, but he must've seen it reflected in my eyes.
"Don't tell, and he'll never know, kiddo," my brother murmured. He crouched down beside me to rub the kitty's head. "If he does…I'll take it for you."
"No—"
"You've been hit way too much," Rikku interjected. "I never realized how…bad it was." His eyes averted to the kitty as a distraction, his means of escaping my awed look. "You don't deserve to be treated that way."
I shrugged. "That's how it is."
"Not how it should be," my brother answered. Without another detailed word, he rose, eyeballing the rising sun in the distance. I was exhausted, but I gobbled up any extra chance I got to have Rikku around me. He was normally too busy to talk to me, making this one of the best moments I had experienced in a very, very long time. His eyes looked to the pen beside me, and I saw the briefest of smiles play on his lips. It made me grin like an idiot, even with this scar puckering my eye, ripping down half my face.
Rikku looked down back at me, then towards the light bleat of Lucky Charmer. The goats, as well as my favorite, had ventured closer, but not close enough. I smiled encouragingly at them. "It doesn't bite," I said, pointing to the blood on my arms. Lucky ran away.
"That's enough, O Strange One," Rikku said, but he was smiling. Sort of. He reached down to help me to my unsteady feet. "What do you say we get working on this pen of yours?" He nodded towards the unfinished project.
My spirits soared. I looked at him with diligent excitement rumbling across my features. If I could physically feel the emotion on my skin, I knew Rikku could see it, too. He squinted at the fixture. "Really?" I gasped happily.
"Why not?" Rikku moved past me to grab ahold of the unlit lantern resting on a log. He searched in the darkness for the pack of matches. Inside myself, I was floating. Rikku. Helping me. That never happened. I raced forward to pluck it off the ground, enthusiastically passing it into his hands. Rikku struck a fire into the small piece of wood and turned on the flame of the lamp. His face was cast in an orange glow, disfigured by shadows. I saw a brightness in his eyes, too, that made me even happier, my pain from earlier long forgotten. He aimed the lantern closer to the pen so he could examine it. "I'll help you, as long as you don't start singing any songs. Do that, and I'm out."
I heard the smile in his voice, but acted serious. "Deal!" I cried happily, and ran forward to help him work.
Please review for me? X3 And go have a WONDERFUL day/night!
