Relevant Tags: [Eric Delano] [Beholding Avatar Eric Delano] [Child Eric Delano] [Ghosts] [Implied/Referenced Child Abuse] [Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse] [Implied/Referenced Incest] [Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con] [POV Child]

Eric lives in a comfortable house where the road meets the woods, and the woods meet the water. He lives in a comfortable family, with a sister, a father, and a grandfather. His mother is gone. She died soon after giving birth to him (after coming back home), but everyone says she left. They like to talk like she's alive, but he Knows she's under the oak tree in the back. She sleeps there, and he sleeps in the corner of his sister's room.

Eric's a small boy, so very tiny, and he Knows the safest path to jump around on the piled rocks. He Knows how to skip stones farther than even his older sister. He Knows the answer in maths, even if not how to get there. His father sees him, jumping around, and doesn't let him go back to his precious rocks for the next few years. He's too small apparently, although he Knows he's not.

There's a child that could look like him, sometimes, if only they didn't look like someone else. He Knows they're incomplete, waiting for their ca-ta-lyst. (Word of the week, it makes him think of ca-ta-clysm). They lean against the tall fence of their house, or the school's broken slide, or even the empty desk that seems to always be placed next to Eric's (despite being in the middle of the room). They're always sitting, with a lolling head and glassy, half-lidded eyes that makes him think of a broken puppet laid to rest. They're dressed like one, he thinks, with black jean overalls and mo-no-chrome stripes on their shirt. There's a lighter taped to their hand. It looks very old and he can never make out what the branding says.

They seem to like listening to stories, his stories, the stories he Knows about the teacher and the teacher's pet, about the jovial old woman with silent daughters, about the jokester policeman whose jokes always hurt, about his grandfather whose games are never very fun. (The stories he doesn't yet know are horrible.) Their grey eyes seem to clear a bit, their posture seems to straighten a little, their energy seems to change. Like they're a puppet being restrung, looking forward to performing once again.

He's telling a story to them, the one about Ms. Evans and Joy, when Mr. Nichols from the class next door interrupts him. Mr. Nichols has a weird look on his face (as adults are wont to do) and asks if he could start the story over him while he sits down.

Eric is excited. Most adults don't like his stories. He was worried because Mr. Nichols is certainly an adult, but he listened attentively all the way through! He even asks if he has more stories (Eric always does), his hands holding the edges of his seat so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. Eric wonders how excited he must be for that to happen.

Mr. Nichols says that he knows some people who would be very interested in hearing his stories, and would he mind coming to the office with him to wait for them? Yes, Eric would like to go. Mr. Nichols' friend has a very gentle voice. He must have rushed straight from work, because he's still in police uniform. Eric tells him the story of Ms. Evans and Joy, and more stories when he hasn't gotten bored of Eric yet.

Eric says his grandfather's games aren't fun, and that his sister didn't like them either, when she was still around. Mr. Nichols' friend gets very stiff after that, and carefully asks for that story.

Eric is so very small, and his grandmother is so very ancient. He has her grey eyes, he's told. (True.) He's odd like she was, but she made it well enough and so can he, he's told. (True.) She held him once and never again, he's told. (Well…) He thinks that last one is wrong because even if her shaky, wrinkled hands pass through him more often than not, it's the thought that counts. Everyone says so.

She opens her mouth and roaches crawl out. She looks pained. Eric Knows she's sorry she can't tell him anything properly. That's alright, there are plenty of other stories to find.

The woman (because Eric Knows, even if everyone is calling her Mr.) has told him to get everything he wants to keep from his things. She says to limit it to two bags. Eric's not sure what he could keep that would bring it up to two bags. His best Friend sits on his bed, as present as they're ever not, with a black book on their lap. Eric recognizes it, because it's the one from grandfather's room. Eric wonders why the policemen didn't take it when they took everything else. Eric packs it up, and he needs a second bag after all.

He says goodbye to his mother and sister by the oak tree as he's leaving, and Mr. Nichols' friend is still looking at the tree when Eric's gone.

He's brought to a house run by an older woman with a voice like static, and he's told to not make a mess. He looks at the buckets catching dripwater and doesn't think he could make anything in the house more of a mess, but he doesn't say so. He Knows that would be rude, and Mémère has transplanted herself to the rocking chair in this house. He hates being rude in front of Mémère.

Mémère keeps trying to tell him something, and he thinks his Friend is too. They keep sitting with the black book on their lap, staring at the fireplace. He keeps putting the book back at the bottom of his bag. They start sitting on the porch, then down the street, until one night they're leaning against the oak tree. His mother and sister stare at him, tears never falling from their faces. Mémère is on the porch, rocking. She has no tears left. Eric Knows she's screaming, mouth sewn neatly shut.

His Friend offers their left hand, the one with the lighter. Eric accepts it.

His new foster mother finds him with a pile of ash and a broken lighter. She shakes him, screaming, and Eric knows that she was worried about him.

Eric lives in a rundown house squished between two other rundown houses. The roof leaks sometimes, and they put buckets underneath. His foster mother is about as rundown as her house, but she's always clean and she always makes sure that her children and house are too.

Eric had a mother and a sister. There's a picture on the mantel, with just the three of them. The other two don't matter.

Been a month+, huh. I had almost a complete chapter but it was stale so I scrapped it and wrote this thing in a couple hours. A few different elements, I think they work together well enough.