"Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light." … Such a facetious phrase; meant to encourage false hope. To make light of people's situations and minimalize their seriousness. In one future, it would be spoken by a man, with illusions of grandeur, to placate children into a false sense of security when they were surrounded by the embodiments of fear. It would work too, on all but one. One child, out of hundreds, who had experienced true darkness.
A boy who had spent a decade repeatedly locked in a cupboard under the stairs by a family that was meant to be his. A family that despised and cared so little for him, they took away every last bit of comfort such a small space could possibly provide. Which is none, so they took the light bulb. The boy would find that phrase, spoken by a man who had forced him into that house, ironic and unsettling. Because there had been no happiness in that cramped, pitch black prison, he wouldn't have known what to look for, even if he could've turned on the light.
Boy has a lot of dreams. At almost 4 years old, he considers himself quite the expert on them. There probably hasn't been a single type of dream he hasn't had. And he's a toddler so no one is going to say shit to fucking negate that belief, you sick fucks know who you are. He's had dreams where he's being chased -usually by his cousin, but sometimes his uncle fills that role. Dreams where all his teeth fall out -probably because they ache and his aunt won't let him use toothpaste or water and his toothbrush is older than he is. Dreams where he's flying- the recurring one where he's on a motorcycle and soaring through the clouds and there was that one where he swore he was on a broom and a cat was involved somehow. Dreams where he's falling - his cousin's pushed him off one too many objects, namely his chores stool and the stairs that one time.
He's had some good dreams, but most are bad. The worst of them though, are the ones where he dies. They are always the same, there's screaming and laughter, green light and searing pain, then an expanse of nothing and silence. A feeling of weightlessness that ends when two pairs of arms wrap around him and the endless darkness turns white and blinding. They always end the same too; what starts as terrifying, finishes with a sense of warmth and safety. A press of lips to both of his temples and red hair obscuring the white. He always awakens then, without fail, to the ache of loss and longing, crying silently to avoid alerting his uncle and incurring his ire. What he's missing eludes him, but he's always secretly hoped that the feeling of warmth is what being loved feels like.
So, with his self proclaimed expertise, Boy figured he'd be prepared for any dream his brain could possibly conjure. Until this one, that is. At least, Boy was fairly sure he was dreaming. He remembers falling asleep in his cupboard and his Aunt hasn't banged on the door to wake him, nor has he heard his Uncle lumbering down the stairs for his routine, pre-breakfast, wee hours snack. Therefore, he must still be asleep. It's hard to be sure though because he's never been aware enough to question anything before. He's also never had a dream about a place with so many unknown aspects.
Spinning slowly, he gazed wide-eyed at the very unrecognizable surroundings. He supposes he is in a forest, but it's unlike anything he's ever seen. Gnarled, sinuous trees tower above him ominously, creaking and rustling from wind he can't feel. Tilting his head back, he tries in vain to see more than glimpses of the night sky through the thick dome of branches and foliage. Rays of moonlight stream through the openings, illuminating the woodland more than it should.
Soft melodious humming draws his attention down. Glittering rocks and glowing fungus scatter the area. And flora can be seen intertwining with the exposed twisting tree roots, spreading across and throughout the forest floor; a never-ending plethora of oddly shaped and strangely colored plants that seem to move and dance. He may not be very old and there's tons of things he doesn't know, but he's almost 100% positive that flowers do not make noise, or sing, for that matter.
In the distance, Boy could see creatures that couldn't be real. He knows because he's seen all the ones that exist in his cousin's Enscalpeeda of Animals. He's gone through that thing so many times, he could probably draw all the animals from memory. Well, possibly, if he was allowed to have more than the few broken knubs of crayons he kept in an old cookie tin his Aunt gave him a few months ago. He still hasn't figured out why she laughed when she handed it to him. He had been disappointed when he discovered it was empty, but it works well for storing his valuables. Which consist of the previously mentioned crayons, a couple broken toy soldiers, and a handful of hard candies his babysitter, Mrs. Figg, gives him on occasion.
**( A-yo, my dudes, don't be fucking stupid. Do NOT give toddlers small hard candies. The little shits always find a way to choke and die… Unless that's your goal, in which case, uh, please don't?)**
Walking along a path some creepy snake vines revealed, Boy watches in awe as large butterfly lightning bug things flit around the canopy of leaves. He can't help but ponder if this is that wonder place Mrs. Figg was telling him about the last time he was dropped off at her house. She may smell weird and own a lot of cats, but she's nice and actually lets him eat when he's hungry. She doesn't own a TV, so she usually reads stories to him. He's still trying to think of a way to smuggle the Enscalpeeda over to her so he can finally learn the names of all the animals he knows.
Boy is drawn from his thoughts when he spots a break in the trees up ahead. Bouncing a little in excitement, he hurries forward into the small clearing. It's filled with gently moving grass and flowers that are still really weird. The night is on full display in the absence of trees, stars twinkling and the full moon completely lighting up the space. His attention however, is on the man lounging in the very center of the glade. He's stretched out casually, laying on his back, arms pillowing his head, and legs crossed at the ankles, just gazing up at the sky.
Boy observes him for a while, wondering why he's there, before deciding to slowly shuffle forward. It's his dream after all, so the man is not just some random mysterious stranger, he's his mysterious stranger. Wading through the grass, he stops about a foot away from the top of the man's head. Looking down at him, Boy tilts his head questioningly when he sees the man shift his gaze to peer up at him.
"Hello." The man intoned.
"Hi." Boy shyly fidgeted.
"Want to sit with me?" The man queried, tipping his head to the side to indicate the empty grass. Boy twisted his hands nervously, but nodded once, resolutely.
"Ok." Flopping down next to him in the grass, Boy shifted around into a comfortable position where he could still see the man. "Who are you?"
"Ah, you can call me D, I suppose." The man, now dubbed D, smiled mirthfully at him.
"Ok, Mr. D." Boy returned the smile.
"That works too, Mr. D it is." Mr. D chuckled. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Mr. D spoke again.
"If you could have anything in the world, Hadrian, what would it be?" Boy stared at him blankly, confused by more than the question.
"Hadrian?" Boy repeated. Mr. D's brow furrowed for a moment before relaxing in understanding.
"Oh, Harry, I guess they would call you." Boy was even more confused now. That's not what he's called. Mrs. Figg calls him Lad, but everyone, well his aunt and uncle, call him Boy.
"I'm Boy, not Harry." He corrected.
Mr. D's brow furrowed again, in worry this time and sat up abruptly, turning to look at Boy fully. Mr. D swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. 'It's worse than I thought it was.' He silently mourned. Steeling himself, Mr. D reached forward hesitantly and cradled one of the child's cheeks in his hand. Wide, shocked eyes bore into his own.
"Your parents named you Hadrian. You are Hadrian, not Boy." Mr. D asserted gently.
"I-I'm Hadrian." Hadrian blinked rapidly in a confused sort of elation.
"Yes. You may be A boy, but you Are Hadrian. Some people might call you Harry." Mr. D smiled softly at the child's obvious happiness.
"Ok!" Hadrian cheered. Dropping his hand, Mr. D asked again.
"Hadrian, if you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"
"Anything?" Hadrian implored.
"Anything." Mr. D affirmed. Hadrian scrunched his nose up in concentration, but the answer came to him rather quickly.
"A family." He blurted.
"Is that so?" Mr. D asked rhetorically, already deep in thought.
"Yeah, one that loves me." Hadrian nodded, "Uncle and Aunt 'tunia and Dudley don't like me much." He added. Making eye contact, Mr. D's gaze deepened as if reading Hadrian's soul.
"Very well." Mr. D stated, standing up and brushing the grass from his clothes. Hadrian stood up as well, watching him in sadness, knowing the nice man was going to leave.
"Hadrian," Mr. D settled a hand on his head. "Just wait a little longer. Someone's coming for you."
"For me?" Hadrian questioned, relishing the fingers now carding through his hair.
"Yes, just wait. They'll come." He hummed. Hadrian lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Mr. D's legs.
"Thank you." He mumbled.
"Goodbye, Hadrian. Wait for them." Mr. D's words felt like a parting and a promise.
Hadrian awoke with a deep sense of longing, loneliness, and anticipation. Glancing around the silent unlit cupboard, he relaxed back into sleep, unafraid of the encompassing black surrounding him. After all, darkness is an old friend.