A.N: I'm just a small writer with a big skill issue, so yeah. This story was heavily inspired by imaginexwriter9's series. I always wanted to write a child of Artemis story myself, so perhaps I can make the story go in my direction, and I guess I finally took the first step in doing so. Hope you guys enjoy the story, and (hopefully) I'll be updating this story once every week or so. Enjoy~
Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings, I guess
Life was always filled with unexpected events, twists and turns that nobody could really expect. That's just how the Fates like to toy with us, watch us break down over the constant dangers and events that they toss at us.
Sometimes I just wished it was all a dream, imagining that I could wake up the next day, on my own bed, maybe sweating, but with all of my friends still next to me, watching me make a mess of myself. At least, I would be normal, just like all those other kids. I would be a normal person, living a perfectly normal life.
Oh, how much I would be willing to give up, to trade, just for a chance at being normal.
I never considered myself abnormal. Of course, I knew that seeing men with only one eye and women with scaled legs didn't really identify me as "normal", but at least I was able to fit in with the rest of the kids, to experience my childhood like a normal child. I convinced myself that I was just a kid with an imagination that was slightly too wild.
My name is Sylvester Hunter*. I don't have any of those complex family names or middle names. It's just Sylvester Hunter, or if you find my name too long to read out or write down, just Sill Hunter (or Syl Hunter depending on how you write it), a regular twelve-year-old orphan residing in Trinity Orphanage, an obscure brick and mortar building tucked away in one of the corners of New York, a forgotten remnant from the 50s.
As a twelve-year-old, I didn't have to deal with the struggles a regular New York kid would have to deal with. I was never really a regular kid anyways. According to Mrs. Forger, the director of the orphanage, I was six months old when I appeared on their doorstep at night, in the middle of the summer, wrapped in a silver blanket and a card that indicated my age and name. Yep, just like how Harry Potter, but without witchcraft and wizardry. And, well, I'm definitely not the sworn enemy of some powerful wizard that was miraculously defeated by me and is now seeking revenge. At least I hope so.
As an orphan in an orphanage, my biggest wish was to get adopted. Adopted by a loving family that was willing to accept an introverted dyslexic teenager that was probably going through puberty with ADHD and insomnia and liked to stare at the moon for some reason. The kids even started to call me "werewolf" because of this strange habit. Okay, phrasing it this way, no wonder nobody was willing to adopt me. But still, I had to keep my hopes up. As Martin Luther King Jr. once said, we must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope. Christmas was two weeks away, and I was looking forward to the holiday season. Maybe I'll actually get to be adopted by a family that could look past my outer flaws and see the nice boy that was existed inside me.
I combed my auburn hair to the side, taking a mental note that I had to get a haircut soon. I stared at myself in the mirror, admiring my beautiful silver eyes and my lean physique. No, I'm not narcissistic, but I sometimes did wonder what my parents would've looked like if they were still around. I once believed that being better-looking or being cooler could help me get accepted, like those actors in those movies, and perhaps it had worked, at least for a while. The results from those push-ups I did every night before I slept have started to show, and I was now gaining some well-shaped muscles. I was just checking out the progress I had made through my perseverance and self-discipline (again, I'm not narcissistic. I just thought it was necessary to provide myself with some encouragement to help me on my road to awesomeness). And even if it doesn't, having muscles is also a form of self-improvement and discipline. It wouldn't hurt to try.
After staring at myself for a bit too long in the mirror, I walked out of the restroom and down the stairs to the hall. Mrs. Forger was already up, cooking breakfast for the forty kids that resided in this orphanage. Her son, Marcus Forger, was still tinkering with that bronze thing that he brought over the last time he said he went to get groceries. That thing hasn't left his hands since then. Mrs. Forger was this elderly woman of around fifty. She almost always had a warm smile on her face, and there were wrinkles on her face from smiling too much. Her brown hair was always tied back in a bun, with some grey streaks running through it. Those sky-blue eyes of hers always gave off a sense of kindness, radiating a sense of safety and warmth. As the director of the orphanage, she wasn't required to do all the things that she was doing, but she still did, always waking up four in the morning to cook for us, homeschooling all the children, and organizing all the holiday events. And even with all the things she had to do on a daily basis and the amount of children in the orphanage, she still manages to find time to connect with a children, to strengthen their familial link that exists between all the residents at Trinity. It is already quite a feat to remember the hobbies and likes of ten children, and Mrs. Forger was able to do that with forty. Talk about impressive. To all of us, she was like a mother figure, someone who could protect us, someone that we could always depend on and rely on.
Her son, on the other hand, was quite different. He was a young man of about twenty, with the same sky-blue eyes and dark brown hair as his mother. He was quite tall, standing at an impressive 6'3'', and he had a lean physique, the type that I always wanted to have. He was always tinkering with something, whether it was a kite or a mechanical dog, he always had to have something in his hands to take apart or put together. In the recent weeks, he seemed to have taken up interest in that certain bronze object that I still couldn't recognize. He was like the big brother all of us needed. Mischievous, chatty, humorous, not really reliable, but there to maintain order when needed.
I checked the clock hanging on the wall. It was only 5:45. There should be around one hour until the kids start waking up.
"Morning Mrs. Forger! Morning Mr. Forger!" I waved from the top of the staircase, indicating to them that I had woken up.
"Syl, how many times to I have to tell you, don't call me Mr. Forger? It makes me feel old." Marcus grumbled from beneath. I chuckled at what he said. Though he didn't turn around to face me, I could still tell that he was likely wearing an irritated expression from what I just said.
I greeted both Mrs. Forger and her son before grabbing some cookies from the kitchen, and then headed towards the window that led to the roof of the orphanage. It was my favorite spot, since from there, I was able to see the moon clearly as it waxes and wanes, rises and sets. Basically, the best moon gazing spot. I climbed out of the window and onto the snow-covered roof, my boots making pleasant crunching sounds as I walked over the powdered snow that had accumulated from last night's snowfall. The pine trees in the forest that surrounded the orphanage were weighed down by the heavy layers of snow that resided on their branches, the branches dipping so low that it looked like they could fall off at any moment. It looked like a winter wonderland you would see in movies. I slid down a side of the sloped rooftop, and sat down at one of the corners of the orphanage rooftop, allowing for my feet to dangle over the sides of the roof. I stared at the almost full moon, and I felt a peace flooding my mind and body. It was then I was reminded that my birthday was coming soon. My thirteenth birthday. My thirteenth year at the orphanage. Time sure does fly, doesn't it?
Looking back into my memories, so many kids had arrived at this orphanage, and then left with tears on their faces but a happy smile anyways, saying their last goodbyes to their friends as they left with their new family. Back then, I would've made friends with the newcomers at the orphanage, but as time went on, I realized that all of the kids I had befriended would all eventually leave the orphanage for a better place, for a place where they are more welcomed, where they could feel more love than what was spread evenly across forty children over here at Trinity. These friendships with these children would last for a while. Maybe a few months, or maybe even a few years, but they all leave eventually. They all promised that they'll be back to visit, but they never do. They never remember to come back to check on us, the other orphans that still haven't been claimed by a kindhearted family. Due to that, I stopped making friends like I used to.
It wasn't like I disliked the children or that I believed that our friendship bond was too weak to be worth my time. No, it was exactly the opposite. The bonds became so strong, too strong in fact, that when they were broken, it was too much pain for me to endure.
I always hoped that one day, I would also be the one to get adopted, the one who would say my teary goodbyes to the rest of the kids, the one who would actually uphold their promise of visiting once in a while. But whenever a family hears about my dyslexia and ADHD, they would get all nervous and such, before saying "we'll think about it". That was basically a big no. I didn't hate this place. In fact, I loved it here at Trinity, being able to mingle with all the other children and enjoy the care that Mrs. Forger gives to all of us. But I still wanted to get into a family so I could go outside and experience the world as it is, not just this small corner of New York that I had lived in for the last thirteen years of my life.
I snapped out of my recollection of miserable events when I heard the sound of another pair of boots stepping on the snow. Turning around, I saw Michael, another one of the kids at the orphanage. He just turned ten not long ago. His blonde hair was usually combed back, and he had golden eyes that seemed to shine sometimes.
I checked my watch. It was only 6:15. I shifted slightly, and motioned him to sit down next to me on the roof. Like me, he was another one of those unwanted kids who basically grew up at the orphanage. Somehow, he also had ADHD and dyslexia. Just like me.
"So," I started, "what brings you here so early in the morning?"
Michael was this kid who was always slightly hyperactive, always talking, always messing around, always in trouble but somehow avoiding punishment. He was the jester, always trying to put a smile on someone else's face. Yet this morning, he didn't have that signature smile that he wore at all times. He cautiously slid down the slanted rooftop, and sat down next to me, staring into the forest that encircled the orphanage. He just stared at the forest for a moment, examining the snow on the treetops, before he finally asked,
"Syl, it's almost Christmas you know? It's holiday season but… why do you still seem so… distant from the rest of us?"
Oh goody, what a great conversation to start the day with.
I sighed, "Michael, why did you have to start the day with such a depressing conversation? Imagine, you wake up one day, and the first thing someone says to you is 'Oh Syl why are you such a loner? Why can't you get along with the others?' It's just the way I like to be. I've spent too long in this orphanage to understand that I shouldn't cling onto singular relationships like I used to. It just hurts more when those relationships are broken." I paused for a moment. Michael's eyes haven't left the snowy treetops. We stayed in silence for a bit longer, before I asked him, with a softer tone, "Why ask?"
Michael shifted slightly next to me, grabbing a fistful of snow before balling it up into an almost perfectly round snowball and throwing it into the trees.
"I guess it's just because I never really saw you smile before. You always seem aloof from the other children, and every time you smiled it was that fake smile of reassurance that you gave everybody. It's weird how I've been in this orphanage with you for nine years, maybe even more, and I don't recall a single instance of you genuinely smiling." He looked into my eyes, before continuing, "It's almost Christmas, and your birthday is coming in ten days."
"Nine" I corrected. "And I think I do laugh at jokes."
He sighed, ignoring my comment, and continued, "You should get into the holiday spirit you know? Especially since your birthday is also coming. Act warmer, more festive, be active and help out across the orphanage. I'm not pressuring you to do anything, but I hope that I could at least see you smile for once. Maybe it's just me, but I feel warmth when I get to see other people smile, see other people enjoy the happiness and kindness that surrounds them."
I contemplated his words. Jeez, did I really act like that? I always thought I did a good job at handling the kids and keeping on my pretense.
I turned to him, staring at my own hands for a moment, thinking about the words I was about to say, before finally forming a reply, "I don't really think I have the capability to act all 'festive', I guess. Well, you see, I'm different from the rest of you. All of you knew your parents for a while before you were taken into Trinity. Most of you had led a stable and happy life with your parents, just like regular children. You know what it is like to be loved, to be cherished, to experience the holiday season with your parents and be happy, while me?" my voice started rising, "I only have incredibly vague memories of my mother and I have absolutely no idea who my father is. I think my parents had left me here because they thought I was too much of a burden. I don't act 'festive' because I don't know how to. Nobody really paid enough attention to me for me to understand what it was like to 'be in the holiday spirit'." I said bitterly. "I just wanted to feel love from a family. Not just the care that Mrs. Forger shows for all of us. I just wanted to be special somehow, and-" I stopped myself halfway through my rant. Michael was staring at me in a strange way, as if I had grown a second head. I paused, feeling embarrassed for my outbreak.
"Sorry," I said sheepishly, "Mornings really do get to me sometimes. I was never really a morning person."
There was just silence between the two of us for a moment. Michael furrowed his eyebrows in thought, before finally speaking up.
"Well, Sill, you are special. Everyone else in the orphanage thinks that you're an irreplaceable part of the big family all of us are in. You just lack self-esteem. You don't seem to realize how important you are to the rest of us. No two people are the same. Everyone is special. Including you."
"Yeah, special for not having parents" I scoffed. Special for being unloved. I added. Unlike the other kids at the orphanage, who would sometimes reminisce the "good old times" they had with their past parents, I never really knew my parents at all. I barely have any memory of them. The only memory that I could recall was one of my mother, and that one was also incredibly vague and blurry.
Michael seemed like he was going to say something, but instead, he just stood up and turned around, muttering something under his breath.
"Hey Mike," I called out, "why are you leaving? I thought you liked sunrises."
"I'll have to go help out Mrs. Forger deal with the kids." He yelled back in return. He was already halfway across the roof, heading towards the open window, before he called towards me, "I feel like you should come help out too. It's already 6:40, and the kids should be waking up at any moment. Mrs. Forger needs our help. As one of the older kids, we're supposed to help out."
"Theres still Marcus." I said, standing up. I walked up the slightly slanted roof and across the top, enjoying the crunch of powdered snow as my boots left footprints on top of the roof. I always found the sound of boots walking across snow soothing and comforting. It reminded me of the snowy fields I read about in those books: great, barren white expanses of rock and snow. Cold, yet also calm and peaceful, with nothing to disturb the quiet and purity that existed exclusively in the snowy fields.
"Marcus never helps out. He only knows how to deal with machines and blueprints. He's absolutely terrible with kids. You know that too."
I sighed, giving up the thought of watching the December sunrise. Before climbing back down into the window, I looked back at the orphanage roof. Our boots had left imprints on the snow layers. I savored the moment, enjoying the peace and quiet for a few moments before returning to the inside of the orphanage. I knew that this peace wouldn't last for long.