Blah-blah, something about a train! Yeah, update Saturday is taking place on a train. So I apologize for the lack of wit - sleep deprivation does that to people. XD
Obtained Item: Christmas Vacation! ...I mean disclaimers!
The Binding of Isaac, including all related characters (c) Edmund McMillen, because he's awesome.
Original story of 'the binding of Isaac' (c) Genesis 22, not that it applies.
Chapter 1: Raising Cain
Case Study: Isaac Peterson, Day 2
I spent the first day getting to know Isaac, trying to avoid mention of the tragedy on Eden Hill. I need his trust before I can get to the root of his trauma. Much of the conversation was basic. He re-emphasized his love of art and his dreams of illustrating, and mentioned an interest of playing card games. (I pretended not to hear the part where he plays poker with his friends on Friday nights.)
We continued this conversation when he came in today. Shortly after, I discovered that Isaac can't see out of his left eye. He says it went fuzzy when he was a child, and revealed an eyepatch that he wears to focus his vision - usually when he's drawing or playing cards with the boys. He's never mentioned this vision problem to Father David because it doesn't bother him. "Cain's used to it," he tells me. Finally, I've found one of those multiple personalities that I suspected.
After assuring Isaac that Father David won't be relayed this information (it seems Isaac's quite afraid of the pastor discovering his MPS), I ask Isaac to tell me the story of when his eye went fuzzy. My guess is that whatever event caused his vision loss also sparked the personality he named 'Cain.'
Well, let's just say I certainly wasn't expecting the story I was told...
xxx
Isaac hated school. Not that he disliked schoolwork, mind you - he wasn't the best with his times-tables, but he loved to read and learn. Science fascinated him, especially learning about animals, and he loved to draw pictures for the books that they read in English.
No, Isaac hated school because of the kids in his class. For one reason or another, Isaac wasn't well-liked. The girls avoided him, as young girls avoid all boys who are infested with cooties, and the boys decided that his frailty made him the perfect punching bag. He often came home in tears, having taken one too many dodgeballs to the face or boys pantsing him on the playground.
This time, those bullies had gone too far, and Bethany Peterson was FURIOUS. She had spent an hour on the phone with each of their mothers, in a rage at the state of her little six-year-old. Isaac had come home, missing three teeth and sporting a blackened left eye, which he quickly blamed on not having lunch money for the bullies to take. Abraham, who was known for his athleticism as a child, frowned upon his son's weakness and his wife's overreaction. "Come on, Beth, put a patch on his eye and stick some gold in his mouth - he'll be fine. Put down the phone, Isaac has to learn to deal with bullies the old-fashioned way, or he's never going to man up!"
Once his tears had dried, Isaac took his ice-pack into his bedroom. He discarded the melty mess, wincing as he rubbed the bruises around his eye, trying to warm them and restore feeling to his face. He stumbled slightly as he made his way to the mirror - for some reason, everything was fuzzy and he couldn't see straight. (It wasn't the first blow to the face he had taken, though, so Isaac was more than used to the cognitive disruption.) It was enough that he could see the disarray of his face, though. Most of his teeth were babies on the verge of falling out anyway, but the purple splotches that covered the left side of his face would be there for ages.
Recalling his father's words, Isaac reached into his toy chest, where he kept costume pieces for his games of make-believe. Trapped down at the bottom was his pirate costume from last Halloween, so he dug for the pieces and came up with a black faux-leather eyepatch. Fumbling with the knot (Isaac had only recently learned how to tie shoes), he put the black patch over his wounded eye, then approached the mirror again. Like his father predicted, the eyepatch did the trick. It covered a majority of the damage, as well as helped to straighten Isaac's vision: everything was cocked slightly to the right, but at least it was clear again.
Isaac tsked as he looked at his shirt, picking at the dried bloodstains that ran down the front of it. He was a MESS. Maybe his father was right; he couldn't grow up and let this keep happening. But how was he supposed to beat up those three big bullies by himself?
The answer came as Isaac continued to look at his reflection, watching the one-eyed child staring back at him.
Isaac may have hated school, but he was most certainly smarter than those bullies.
xxx
That Friday night, Isaac snuck away from his house and headed down the hill to where the boys lived. They shared a small cul-de-sac at the end of Eden Road, and frequently stayed over at the same house on the weekends. It wasn't difficult to pinpoint which of the house held the bullies - their bedroom window was open and they were playing a loud shooter game, shouting childish profanities as the enemy took cheap shots at their avatars.
Isaac pulled himself up to the windowsill, knocking on the wooden frame to get their attention. "Hey, guys."
The boys paused their game and looked up. Strange enough that little Isaac Peterson from the playground was at their house at this unusual hour; on top of that, there was something else different that the third-graders couldn't put their fingers on. He was dressed in all black, as opposed to his usual wear of bright colors, and had a bag slung over his shoulder. He also had an eyepatch over his eye, which was probably still swollen and bruised from their attack earlier in the week.
"Peterson, what're you doin' here?" one of them asked. "Ain' it pas' widdle Isaac's bed-time?"
Isaac motioned to the outdoors behind him. "Wanna go play a game?"
The second of the boys scoffed loudly. "Why would we play with you?"
Isaac didn't answer, instead waving a fan of bills in front of his face. "Weren't you guys looking for this?" Suddenly seduced with arcade money, the boys were now listening. "Come on out and play with me. If you win, it's all yours."
"And if we lose?"
"Then you can punch in my other eye and take it."
The boys snickered. It sounded like a win-win situation. "Alright, Peterson, you're on!"
xxx
Isaac led them out to the surrounding woods, where he had set three stacks of leaves to serve as makeshift chairs for his players. The eye-patched game master sat on the grass, setting up his game while the boys took their seats.
"These leaf-chairs suck, Peterson," one of the bullies spat, fussing to get comfortable.
Isaac shrugged, juggling a jacks ball between his hand and a red SOLO cup. "Don't be such a baby."
It was quite easy to notice the difference between the Isaac before them and the first-grader they were so accustomed to picking on, but the boys weren't sure how to approach it, so they tried to ignore it and win their prize.
"The game is easy," Isaac explained, setting up three of his red cups and tossing the ball up and down as he explained. "I put the ball under a cup and mix them up. You find the ball, you win a dollar. You don't find the ball, I keep the dollar. When the stack's gone, game's over."
"Peterson, you're such a baby," one of the bullies scoffed. "This game's so easy."
"Then you'll win, stop cryin' about it." Isaac slipped the ball under the center cup and began scrambling. Once finished, he motioned to the boys, nodding for them to take their first guess.
It seemed obvious. Isaac had swapped the two on the side several times, but hadn't touched the center cup. "Dude, how old do you think we are?" the leader of the trio scoffed, flipping the center cup.
It was empty.
"Apparently, not old enough," Isaac snickered, revealing the ball under the left cup. He pulled a dollar from the stack, then shuffled the cups again.
He repeated the same shuffle - ball enters the center cup, left and right get shuffled multiple times. "Oh, yeah, we're not falling for that trick again!" another of the boys laughed, flipping the left cup.
It was empty.
"Yep, not falling for that trick ever," Isaac yawned sarcastically, revealing the ball in the center cup.
This went on for a few more rounds. Despite their best efforts to keep up, the boys kept missing the mark. Finally, after their fifth straight loss, the leader smashed the cups aside. "Alright, Peterson, you're cheating!"
"No, you're just not paying attention," Isaac shrugged.
"Well, I think you said that if we kept losing, we could just take what's ours! So I think it's time to b-"
The center bully jumped forward, only to freeze before he even reached Isaac. There was a fishing line amongst the grass, separating the boys from their eyepatched foe, which had just been pulled. As it tugged, the boys heard a sickening SNAP! from right behind them.
The leader turned around, leg suddenly convulsing in pain, to find his left foot had been chopped off by a finely-rigged pair of garden shears.
Isaac smirked. "Now didn't your moms teach you not to be greedy?"
The two boys who could still run bolted, leaving their crippled leader to crawl after them. Isaac brushed away his leaf-traps, finding the detached foot sitting in a puddle of its own blood.
It's kind of like a lucky rabbit's foot, right? Just not from a rabbit.
xxx
ADDENDUM: Isaac's troubles seem to be as deep-rooted as childhood bullying. However, he also shows signs of false memory. It seems he embellishes stories with grotesque detail, though whether it's faulty memory or odd compulsion that forces this is unknown.
I fear that I may never get to the bottom of Isaac's labyrinth.
Blah, blah, drama! Blah, blah plot! Blah, blah next time on Split! Blah, blah, thanks for reading!
§ Tucker's Mayflower, signing off! §