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insert-witty-comment · 3 years

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Between Fae and Forget

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insert-witty-comment · 3 years

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Chapter 1- Prayers to the False God. February 9th, 1925 Saint Michael’s Home for Boys Hampstead, London. I was a quiet child growing up. I was a foundling. Found one morning on the doorstep on a January morn in 1915, or so the nuns tell me. I grew up in England. From the time I was an infant, I knew I was different. When I was younger, before the abuse began, the Nuns would talk about the golden rule. That we needed to treat each other as we wanted to be treated. I, personally, did not believe that first part. I knew I was meant for more than dreary orphan halls, secondhand clothes, and a greatness few of these brats would know. I knew this because the little voice told me. The voice didn’t talk to me all the time, and sometimes went months without even interacting with me. But, it did give me impressions about my surroundings and the other orphans. This meant that I preferred talking to the little voice instead of talking to the other orphans. When the voice was silent, I would practically live in the library. The little voice had taught me to read by the time I was three. The voice also acted as my conscience of sorts, teaching me when and when I shouldn’t do something. The Voice didn’t speak to me, no, it just gave me impressions. Wrong and Right, feelings that felt like praise, and joy when I was doing things properly. These feelings helped me, and gave me something to hold unto as the Voice came and went as I got older. My social reclusiveness led me to be bullied by the other children at the orphanage. There were a few moments that stood out. The first was the week Tommy Michaels killed my pet. I had a hamster, the nun’s allowed us to keep small animals in our rooms as long as we kept their cages cleaned and fed and watered properly. Tommy was a vile child. We had never gotten along, and when I was seven, my hamster escaped. It returned to me piece by piece. His legs, one after the other. Then his torso. Day after day. Until one morning I woke up to his furry brown head on my nightstand. That morning at breakfast his smirk told me everything I needed to know. That day, in our playroom, Tommy taunted me about the death of my furry companion. I proceeded to lose my mind. It felt like a dam burst somewhere deep inside me. A wave of light surrounded my palm, and a shimmery blast of emerald light exploded out of it. Tommy was catapulted into the wall of the playroom and fractured his leg. I was sent to bed without dinner. The voice had wanted me to kill them. The next morning, I looked in the mirror. I noticed that my normally blue eyes had turned a startling bright, vibrant green overnight. When the nuns noticed, that was the first time I was locked in a closet and forced to pray for my sins. For my eighth birthday, I had my first exorcism performed on me. For Tommy’s, he got adopted. I found out after some experimentation, that I could make things happen. I could levitate and move objects with my mind. I could force someone to tell me the truth and knew when they were lying. I had learned to read early, and frequent trips to the library led me to discover and cultivate a passion for reading. I dove into the classics and the new. I was particularly drawn to fantasy novels for some reason. I knew what I could do was magic, or something similar. The voice had told me this, and it was always right. Those works of literary masterpieces, and a restless urgency from the voice, gave me an impetus to learn all I could about my new abilities. It all made sense, from a literary perspective. I was the downtrodden orphaned magic user. Voice was my version of the Blue Fairy. Of course I’d be the hero in my story. Meanwhile, as I practiced my newfound abilities, my hair changed from blond to the same emerald shade of green. The nuns took offense to this, they called me a devil, or a demon; Insisted on praying over me and forced me to learn their scriptures in hopes of drawing out the demon they swore lived in my body. It might have been a self fulfilling prophecy, but I drew special motivation for training when they screamed Exodus 22:18 in my face. My life became hours locked in a closet that was barred with planks, or chairs. Filled only with mental conversation. That was more me talking and the voice giving impressions of sadness and helplessness that only served to add to my drive to train, to become more powerful. This was how my life was for those three dark years. I’d attend the trivially easy school they had in the mornings. Then, I spent my afternoons having the bible literally pounded into my skull on a few occasions, and my evening’s were passed by sneaking out to the small green grove near the woods, experimenting with my magic or powers. I’d earned quite a few scars over the years from the nun’s tender mercies, and slowly, began to resent them and the religion they tried to literally cram down my throat. I certainly wasn’t the only orphan they did this too, but I was definitely one of their favorites. One day, I had enough of the endless lectures, of being locked away for hours, or deprived of meals for some perceived slight against their God. The Voice was urging me to get me-us out of this mess. When the nun’s decided they had enough of my “devilry.” and decided to lock me in the prayer closet overnight one evening, I turned the tables on them. I broke the ropes they had bound me with. Then I locked them in the small room where I’d spent so many hours forced to pray to a deity, I frankly had my doubts about. Usually they left me with a candle. I didn’t grant them that luxury. I forced my magic to hold the door, and then let them stew for a few hours. They stopped trying to “convert” me after that, and I was allowed to eat on a fairly regular schedule. This continued until shortly after my tenth birthday. It was Monday, and I had settled into the library. My homework was arrayed before me, and a day of pretending to care about basic sums and Latin awaited me. Some things, I instinctively knew, or the voice did. I wasn’t sure which. That was where Sister Agnes found me. She approached me as she always did, an aged leather hand clutching a wooden crucifix attached to the matching rosary in one hand. A glare on her face, and a murmured prayer on her lips. She was one of the oldest nuns at the orphanage and was convinced that I was the devil incarnate. She was one of the nuns that had led a crusade to remove the so-called demon from beneath my skin. “Good day sister, what prayer are you muttering to the false god today?” I asked with a sneer. Okay, so I’d learned to play up to the sisters. Sue me. “Stephen, there’s someone here to see you.” She said, a look of fear on her face. Her back was straight, and her posture stiff. I looked up from my compendium on Latin. That was certainly odd. I had no known associates in this life. I also knew that I was growing into the age where it would be harder for me to be adopted. I wasn’t concerned with that reality. I had my own plans for what life would entail after I aged out of this place, if not earlier. “A prospective mother.” The nun said. “Just the mother? Where's the father?” I asked. “He’s attending to other matters. You’ll only be meeting the mother today.” She replied, “come on boy, before I drag you by the ear.” She said, and I closed my book. I followed her into the office that the nuns used for administration. Mother Superior sat at the front of the desk, and seated in front of it was my prospective parental unit. I took a seat, and Sister Agnes left. The woman was dressed casually, in a dark blouse and skirt. Her hair was pulled up in a severe bun. She didn’t wear much jewelry. A string of pearls, a single diamond ring on her finger. When she turned her gaze on me, I instantly felt a tingle come across my skin. I could feel the magic practically pouring off this woman. It was the first time I’d met someone else magical, and a weight I didn’t know I carried felt like it was lifted from my shoulders. The voice was excited too. “This is the boy?” She asked. Her tone was grim. “Yes, just as you wanted, an older child, independent. Smart.” The nun said. The woman sniffed. “His hair?” “Not a clue. The boy is quite adventurous. He just showed up one morning with his hair like that. Don’t worry, he won’t be doing that again. ” The nun replied. “I should hope so.” The women remarked with a murmur. “Stephen, my name is Bethany Andrews. If you’d like, I’d like to adopt you. My husband wants a son, and I am unable to conceive.” She said. Mother Superior gasped, and I gave the matron an innocent look of curiosity. We learned quickly in the orphanage, and I admired Bethany for how blunt she was. I looked into her eyes. There was something about her gaze that seemed to pull me in. “Careful boy, you might not like what you find if you keep looking.” A voice in my head said. Her voice. I gave her a startled look, and recoiled visibly, almost knocking over my chair in the process. and she smiled softly, a knowing glint in her eyes. I nodded once, and the woman smiled. “Fantastic!” Mother Superior said elatedly. “I’m sorry you’re leaving us child, I hope you’ll carry the lessons we taught you in your new life.” I looked at the matron. “Mother, I appreciate how you’ve treated me over the years, and I hope someone will return the favor to you one day.” I replied with a too-sharp smile. She faltered for a moment before she spoke again. “Good! I’ll fill out the paperwork while you go pack your things.” She said. I nodded. I knew there had to be other people like me out there, people with magic. There always was in the books, after all. My plan was to find them after I left the orphanage. I needed to learn more about these abilities, how to use more than the paltry telekinesis than I currently had access to. I went back to my room and grabbed the few belongings that I had. I didn’t have much, a few sets of threadbare clothes. A stuffed bunny; A couple of shells from souvenirs at the beach; The one trip we had made there. I shuddered as those memories came to the forefront of my mind. Lingering hands belonging to old men who had no place touching younger boys in those places. Memories I squished down. I quickly packed it all in a rucksack and went back to the office. Bethany had finished the paperwork. She grabbed my hand, and we walked out of the front. A car was waiting for us. It was a gorgeous piece of engineering for the time, painted a shiny silver. I recognized the hood ornament, and realized this car likely cost more than the orphanage’s yearly budget. The rear doors of the car opened, and we got inside. As soon as we settled, the car roared to life and took me away from the dreary orphanage forever. Okay, so, this is actually a completed work. I’m just trying to get that ever elusive exposure. If you like this, reblog, and I’ll post the second chapter, in a week, or a year, or whenever I get back to tumblr.

#web serial #Web Fiction #urban fantasy #fantasy #steampunk #fantasy serial

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insert-witty-comment · 3 years

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Lauren Denson: Jumping for Joy via NASA https://go.nasa.gov/38CtPBL