I am happy to present this story. My first real one which is not a personnal poetry !
AquilaTempestas corrected this one, because I used a semi-translating program which made the translation inaccurate, but small mistakes she corrected. The real version is in French and will be seeding before Christmas.
Disclaimer : Beyblade don't belong to me.
It was Christmas. A Christmas that seemed to be the same as so many others in Brooklyn until a while ago.
The emotions and feelings in the hearts of the people he knew were shining brightly. The revelry brought moments as numerous as the Christmas baubles in a tree. The tree, whether superficial or natural, like all gifts, could have its place under the Christmas tree. The lights coming from the windows of the houses seemed to give him a malicious pleasure to cause him an uneasiness deeply buried in those old moments when he had known happiness. His own, compared to that of other young people, had been held at arm's length, and had capsized like a ship, where the insolence of the rascals had broken a porcelain heart. He had been pushed away like a bauble of no importance, yet still precious to some carrion-bearing heart, wishing to recover the tiny pieces of meat.
The truth was that happiness did not seem to give him a chance to live with him in his mind. The joy was offended by his presence near her, as if he were a completely awful and disrespectful person. Despite his importance in her family, he remained a stranger to her. No matter how much he enjoyed his solitude amid nature, he mistakenly believed that no one would ever love him for who he was. He lived like a horrifying gargoyle, but with horrendous beauty, as he understood in those sweet moments when he caressed the grass under his feet or his hands.
While he believed in a better future, he realized how little space was given to him during the holidays. The holidays warmed the hearts of the children, whereas he had only had them from his mother, who had left her husband to care for her gifted child. The latter was reaping the rewards of an overprotective mother, who wanted her child to succeed in everything and everywhere, without consideration of the childish emotions of an adult before his time?
He had experienced exceptional pressure to reach the highest peaks. And when Christmas came, he was given only lessons to perform the following year, without consideration of all kinds of toys that were not to be studied. A video game? Maybe that was what he was missing? But her mother was reluctant to grant her child the right to play this kind of game, even though her knowledge and efficiency in this field of activities was sufficient to achieve a high level of mastery and - of course - a job, although the latter having never been accepted by this suffocating mother, it could only be a kind of wish without substance.
Being a normal child had been her wish. It was a simple wish, one that even Christmas had not provided her with in her youth. He wished that this brave and comforting mother could let her little chick flee the world. Instead of being the ugly duckling, he was more like the swan that everyone envied for his qualities and beauty, because of his skills and his superb physique.
Because of his distance from ordinary society, he created a kind of bubble around him, and few seemed to want to approach him to feel blamed for their lack of knowledge of him, a gifted child with clothes very beautifully embroidered like angels. And yes! Like an archangel, his white clothes warmed the hearts of those who had recently given him the opportunity to experience moments of contact between him and them. Him in relation of the other, it was never seen according to his past. To live with the other was of the same size at that moment as to rejoice for him during his past, immortalized in the past, which had repeatedly overcome the only friendly relations he had ever had.
His beautiful heart was nevertheless to be taken. He was alone like a weathervane in the wind, kissing in each of its thrusts at any moment. The gusts of wind capsized the hands like those of a watch whose time would be turned upside down by the suddenly changing weather. The latter would then continue its steep path, given the invective it received from the people it had wounded by its course sown with rivers of tears on its cheeks.
The truth is that he was experiencing emotions and feelings in the continuous space of his solitude in a different way from the people he encountered every day. Whoever these people were, he would stay forever in his corner, lest his soul shatter on the floor again like porcelain and break into a thousand pieces. The latter had been harvested by a person close to him, allowing him to have a kind of job in the field of beyblade, given his own natural skills in this field.
He then left home, despite his mother who did not want him to flee the fate, she had made paved with all the good emotions possible by her own actions. Until then he had been living close to nature, which his mother had prevented him from getting closer to it. Happily, he rejoiced at the ladybugs and ants, even the wasps and bees, which were about to drown. This is how he lived in many rich moments in the center of a forest. It was through similar moments that he experienced spectacular joys and remembered his past when he was innocent and of the future that he imagined to be dark but at the same time a time when he would live unhappily.
To live unhappily? Or rather it would have been the case if someone had not harvested it when it flew away like a golden leaf in autumn earlier than the others. Flying like a sheet of paper, when wrapped up in the soft rays of the sun and the temperate winds, it lived moments of calm. These foreshadowed a good future, through the natural decoration of the places in which Brooklyn was melting into.
Indeed, Brooklyn had experienced so much loneliness in his life that he no longer suspected that it would suddenly disappear. But he discovered that his fatality was disappearing as Garland helped him out of the mental hospital. This place had prevented him from drinking the droplets falling from the clouds on the men when they were free outside. And indeed, he had been locked up, because of events old enough for him to be charged as a madman.
His madness, however, was of a different nature. It was linked to a galloping loneliness. The latter had enclosed him in a cocoon enriched by the silk of the worm of self which represented his soul, that it kept a treasure around a fragile body. Despite the quality of its silk, the latter had never taken the time to metamorphose. Thus, he had felt over the years a lowering of his social skills, which, while not exceptional in his youth, had declined.
The latter had been so upset over the years, that it resembled, in his own words, a kind of carrion that had not been able to live long enough to be reborn in another form, and to make others rejoice by actions carried out with the aim of being kind and generous. He had moments of happiness, helping ants or other species, identifying the Latin name of the species present on the places where he moved, recognizing males and females, collecting certain members of the species to enrich his collection of insects of all kinds. He collected some and admired their wings and the different parts of these small beings. Sometimes, it was spiders that he collected. And when he died after having been in contact with Brooklyn for days, months or maybe years, depending on the longevity of the animals.
He was gaining a lot of knowledge in the natural sciences, but in the meantime, he was wasting a life not living with the few members of his team. Until Garland came to see him, he was locked up like an animal in a cage. It was a critical situation for his future, that the man, who had not been able to protect him, Brooklyn, from himself, was struggling with psychiatry so that he could enjoy one day in the forest with Monica and Crusher. Mystel, for his part, had made orange recipes, his favorite mats whose recipe had been collected by the White Tiger team, and Ming-Ming performed a private show with her music group.
All these members, when Garland announced that he was going to take Brooklyn out of the hospital, found themselves speechless. Why go looking for him after he became a flying bat that would possibly destroy much of the world? How can we trust him again? Of course, when the failure resonated in the ears of the other team members, they certainly found themselves lucky.
Garland's response was very eloquent. Friendly, benevolent, helpful. All qualities could describe him at that moment, given the form in which he suggested this exit, and by what content they could clear Brooklyn. The latter had lived so long alone, that certain inexplicable things had happened to his soul, which, without being a sinner like his tender heart, had been sinned against by that which was unspeakable, ignoble, unworthy, what do they say! Appalling, even simply infernal!
Garland's words were like this, after removing the few initial hesitations after his speech became firmer as he presented his idea on each of the aspects that his team members were thinking about:
"Brooklyn is a victim in this story. He has experienced a loneliness so appalling that it required hospitalization to regain possession of his own person, abandoned by so many, caught in the grip of an overprotective and suffocating mother and an absent father. It was a life without attachment, without happiness, as cold as the coldest nights when the homeless warmed their hands and lived without anything to eat. For Brooklyn, he felt no happiness. What came close was the smell of dandelions, poppies, and other flowers from the gardens where he had walked and beaten the earth beneath his feet. I wish him better from now on, and to achieve this, it is not by locking him up that we will solve all the problems he may cause. One day he will come out of the asylum. He will have lived so many years locked up without tasting the rays of sunshine and honey harvested by genius beekeepers. He who has only had the wealth of the rich, he will be entitled to the happiness of the most modest in society. Intention counts, and for him, what we can produce as gifts according to our own abilities, is enough to make joy shine in his heart. His heart is to be taken in different ways, and to begin with, above all love, there is life, and this is transformed into friendship, which, although it does not require rings and jewelry, is worth its weight in gold. Memories with friends or family give rise to moments of human warmth that everyone must experience."
He paused and continued.
"I cannot know exactly why Brooklyn has become an evil entity with such an innocent soul. I am discovering the sources of his unhappiness, and I understand the needs that I must formulate in your presence, to guarantee a future stained with disastrous isolation for a man with such a good heart. It is for reasons that I recognize not to possess, that the sadistic creature of Brooklyn's unreal entity in its psychic powers. I acknowledge that I am not willing to know it. Perhaps Hiro Granger, Tyson's brother, could answer. But he is nowhere to be found. Unlike me, he didn't seem surprised by the horrifying and debilitating actions of the evil Brooklyn entity. For what purpose was he to provoke this outburst of momentary violence?"
After these words were spoken, a few days passed. The other team members and Crusher's sister Monica had enough time to think about whether to accept the situation. Surprisingly, after Garland's remarks, everyone accepted him with warmth and good humour. With Mystel's humor, Monica's touching happiness, Crusher's protective strength, Ming-Ming's generosity, everyone accepted Brooklyn's presence in their midst, without him being insulted, or worse, blamed.
Thus, for the first time in his life, he was surrounded by people who offered him gifts, certainly, but above all tame his person instead of overestimating him as an entity, be it angelic or evil. His masterfully white clothes made him shine in all beauty.
However, in the face of all this human warmth, on Christmas Eve, he recognized what friendship was all about.
Thus ends the story of a man who changed, through his friends. For his friends.
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