Disclaimer: See Part I.
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Part II: Jesse
He only ever eats dinner with his parents on Sundays, the rest of the week; he is relegated to the kitchen. Rather than being disappointed at this restriction, he finds it a relief.
Sunday dinners are eaten in the uncomfortable, stiffly formal dining room, served by silent retainers. His parents converse together from either end of the table, occasionally addressing him.
Most of their remarks are either criticisms of his table manners or conduct, or banal, impersonal enquiries about his day. Sometimes they are reduced to speaking about the weather.
On the other days of the week, his parents' conversation, while more animated, is never pleasant for him to hear.
From his hiding place under the table in the hall outside the dining room, shrouded by the heavy embroidered white cloth, he can hear the cool, polished voices as clearly as if he was in the room with him.
"It's starting to get worse. I cannot touch him any more. My hand passes straight through him."
"I had a call from his school today." He can picture his mother's lips pursing in displeasure. "There was a fight. He broke another boy's nose. His teacher said that he would have had to have been made of stone to do so much damage."
"I don't know what we are to do with him." His father's irritation is evident in his tone. "These. . ." There was a brief pause as he selected the appropriate word. ". . .changes are growing more frequent as he gets older."
"He's only a child!" His mother's alarm was plain. "He is already a problem. What will he be like when he is an adult?"
He crawls out of his hiding place and slips away, as silently as a ghost, tiptoeing up to his room.
A child!
He is not a child!
His birthday will be next month. He will be eight. He will soon be too old for them to treat him as a little boy.
He hates that he disappoints his parents. He hates not being able to control his body, which shifts from being as intangible as mist to as solid as a rock. He does not know how.
His parents have forbidden him to talk about these 'changes', as they call him, but it always feels as if the servants and his classmates know, without having to be told, that there is something different about him.
They avoid him.
His parents avoid him.
They do not have a name for what happens to him. They refuse to talk to him about it. They prefer to ignore it and him.
He often contemplates running away, to find some place where nobody will stare at him, whisper things about him behind his back. He wonders if there are other children like him, who are different. He would like to find them.
He will soon be old enough to leave.
He is almost eight.
He is almost an adult.
END PART II.
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Author's Note: I hope to be able to update soon, I plan to write about Emma, Brennan and Adam (probably in that order) as well.
*
Part II: Jesse
He only ever eats dinner with his parents on Sundays, the rest of the week; he is relegated to the kitchen. Rather than being disappointed at this restriction, he finds it a relief.
Sunday dinners are eaten in the uncomfortable, stiffly formal dining room, served by silent retainers. His parents converse together from either end of the table, occasionally addressing him.
Most of their remarks are either criticisms of his table manners or conduct, or banal, impersonal enquiries about his day. Sometimes they are reduced to speaking about the weather.
On the other days of the week, his parents' conversation, while more animated, is never pleasant for him to hear.
From his hiding place under the table in the hall outside the dining room, shrouded by the heavy embroidered white cloth, he can hear the cool, polished voices as clearly as if he was in the room with him.
"It's starting to get worse. I cannot touch him any more. My hand passes straight through him."
"I had a call from his school today." He can picture his mother's lips pursing in displeasure. "There was a fight. He broke another boy's nose. His teacher said that he would have had to have been made of stone to do so much damage."
"I don't know what we are to do with him." His father's irritation is evident in his tone. "These. . ." There was a brief pause as he selected the appropriate word. ". . .changes are growing more frequent as he gets older."
"He's only a child!" His mother's alarm was plain. "He is already a problem. What will he be like when he is an adult?"
He crawls out of his hiding place and slips away, as silently as a ghost, tiptoeing up to his room.
A child!
He is not a child!
His birthday will be next month. He will be eight. He will soon be too old for them to treat him as a little boy.
He hates that he disappoints his parents. He hates not being able to control his body, which shifts from being as intangible as mist to as solid as a rock. He does not know how.
His parents have forbidden him to talk about these 'changes', as they call him, but it always feels as if the servants and his classmates know, without having to be told, that there is something different about him.
They avoid him.
His parents avoid him.
They do not have a name for what happens to him. They refuse to talk to him about it. They prefer to ignore it and him.
He often contemplates running away, to find some place where nobody will stare at him, whisper things about him behind his back. He wonders if there are other children like him, who are different. He would like to find them.
He will soon be old enough to leave.
He is almost eight.
He is almost an adult.
END PART II.
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Author's Note: I hope to be able to update soon, I plan to write about Emma, Brennan and Adam (probably in that order) as well.