Sorrows of the Heart
Chapter 2
Al walked through the countryside, heading towards the far off village in the distance. His only hope was that people might talk to him, now that the sun was up. Surely it had been the rain that had made him so scary.
"People are suspicious around here Al. Try to stay on their good side, and stay with me okay? People might not be so paranoid if you're with me."
Al smiled inwardly, a devious thought forming in his mind.
"Why, brother?" he asked, "You're so small people might not see you."
"Who are you callin' small!" demanded the brother, his arms flailing as he got angry and started chasing Al through the countryside.
The memory called a bit of laughter to Al's tired spirit, and gave him a bit more courage to go on.
Opening his amber eyes, the boy looked around the room he was in. Adorning the white walls were a few pictures of landscapes, nothing that particularly caught the boy's attention. In the corner of the room stood a desk, papers scattered haphazardly across it and the chair that sat beside it. In fact, the floor was littered with papers covered in strange symbols that had some meaning to the boy, but however hard he searched for the meaning, it wouldn't come to him. Giving up, he turned his attention to the ceiling where there was nothing but plain whitewash, the same color as the walls. Stretching, the boy noticed that he had apparently injured his side, trouble was, he didn't know how. Sitting up slowly, ignoring the small protests from his side wound, the boy found something else that interested him. His arm was made of metal from the shoulder down. He could move it perfectly fine, and it didn't hurt or anything. But once again, he didn't know why his arm was metal.
Was he born without an arm? That didn't seem likely. Did he get in an accident of some kind? He wasn't sure. In fact, he wasn't sure of anything really. He couldn't even remember his name, or where he was, or how he had gotten there. The whole thing was pretty depressing.
A door the boy had not noticed before opened, revealing a man dressed in a patched old flannel shirt and jeans. Combed back over his scalp, the man's hair was still damp and spots of water still clung to his face. Off-white socks shone just above his old tattered work boots. The look of the old man was one of wear and tear, though no dirt could be found on his person.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, stepping into the room.
The boy turned to look more directly at the man, his amber eyes searching.
"Are you feeling better?" asked the man again.
"Yes… I think." said the boy quietly, sitting slowly up.
"Well good, you've been out almost a week now and I was startin' to get worried. What's your name anyhow?"
"I…I was hoping you could tell me." said the boy, looking down at the floor.
"Have a bit of memory loss do ya? It's just as well, after last week."
"What happened last week?" asked the boy.
"Nothin' you need worry about. Now lay down and relax. I'll bring in somethin' to warm your stomach and we'll see what you remember." said the man, leaving the room.
"So you don't remember anything at all?" asked the old man as he watched the boy polish off another bowl of soup.
"Nothing."
"Do you remember the name Al?"
"It sounds kind of familiar, why?"
"Nothing." said the old man quickly, "Do you want more soup?"
"Yeah!" said the boy eagerly, handing his bowl out for more.
"You sure can eat a lot for such a little thing." said the man with a laugh.
"I'm not little." said the boy.
"Aren't you now? Well, with all the soup you're eatin' it won't be long before you're bigger'n me."
The boy laughed a bit, kind of embarrassed at his outburst. Was he little? For all he knew he was actually tall for his age. Whatever his age was…
"Here ya go." said the man, handing the boy another helping of soup. "What should we call you anyway?"
"I don't know." said the boy, "What should I call you?"
"Oh I'm sorry young man. My name is Jerome, you can call me that if you like."
"Alright… Jerome." said the boy working the name out. "But what should you call me?"
"I don't know. You don't remember any names?"
"No, not really."
"Then I'll just call you "Boy" until we can figure out your name."
"Okay." said Boy, starting into his fifth bowl of soup.
AN: Okay, so this was another really short chapter… sorry about that. It was longer, but last minute I decided to change a minor detail and it ended up shortening everything so far.