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narrans · 3 months

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My Borrowed Son | 3 | Earning Trust

Amanda knew immediately the second she crossed the threshold of her home that she was in over her head. The minuscule boy in the palm of her hand needed intense care, and his size, being no bigger than her thumb, was going to be an immense challenge.

Still, Amanda knew she made a promise to this boy, and she refused to let him down now - especially after they first met. She had earned a fragment of trust, and she intended to keep it.

Finally making it past the mountains of boxes, she stepped into her kitchen and set her hand onto the counter. The slight jostle made the poor boy whimper pitifully.

“You’re okay. I’m here,” she reassured just as she had done the whole way home. Seeing him in full light, Amanda wanted more than anything to give him a bath, but more importantly was the fact that he needed food. One handed, Amanda fished out a bowl and a standard can of chicken noodle soup and began heating it in the microwave.

She wished she could give him something a little more nutritious and home-made, but that would have to wait. At the moment, her life was upside down. Everything happening was the last thing she wanted, but it was what she needed.

While the little boy stayed huddled in her hand, Amanda continued to work. She realized after fumbling around for a minute for a spoon that she had nothing in her house that would be small enough for the child. Amanda, as her thoughts bounced around her skull like a bouncy ball, didn’t want to scare the child with a spoon that he could sit on; but he also needed something to eat the soup with.

The boy watched with his insightful eyes, keeping eerily quiet, while Amanda searched.

Feeling the pressure of his eyes, Amanda suddenly came up with an idea, but she’d need the boy to listen to instructions for this to work. She snagged a dish cloth from her sink and ran it under the water, moving delicately to not startle the little boy. When it was just barely damp, she turned off the water and held out just a little corner for him.

“Could you rub your hands on the cloth? Okay? Rub your hands on the cloth,” coaxed Amanda as she mimicked the motion with her thumb and index finger. The infinitesimal child blinked uncertainly before inching himself across Amanda’s palm, making a tingling shiver shoot up her arm, and imitating the motion, rubbing his hands on the cloth.

Her mind was absolutely numb. This boy was absolutely amazing. At every turn, she was discovering something new about him and what he understood. Did that mean he could speak as well?

The thought was fascinating, but it would have to wait because, just then, the microwave dinged. Amanda moved instinctually at her own pace simply to look over at the kitchen appliance, but it was enough to jostle her hand and make the boy whimper and take cover against Amanda’s curled fingers.

“Oh… oh no… It’s okay, sweetie. I’m sorry,” muttered Amanda as she curled her fingers a little tighter. The boy whimpered again, hiding his soft brown eyes as he kept them shut tight. His breathing was rapid, and he was trembling ever so slightly. Amanda could feel him against her fingertips. It made her heart hurt, so she tried coaxing him a little more. “I’ll move slower. I promise. You’re okay.”

Seemingly convinced, the sandy haired boy to open his eyes once again after a few minutes and looked back up at Amanda. To her, it looked like he was seeking reassurance in her eyes, and she freely gave it.

“There you go. See? All better,” Amanda encouraged. Moving slower now, Amanda retrieved the soup, a soft drink cap, and the loaf of bread from the kitchen counter. With the items neatly organized, Amanda dipped the cap into the warmed soup and tested the temperature to make sure he wouldn’t get burned before daring to lower both the cap and the little boy to the kitchen counter.

Goodness… he’s so small. He looks like one of those little salt and pepper shakers, Amanda thought as she kept her hand on the counter, the boy still sitting on the edges of her fingers. He was looking around at all of the cabinets and drew his legs in toward him, obviously intimidated.

To make this a positive experience, Amanda acted quickly and pinched off a corner of bread and offered it to the boy. His little features furrowed in confusion as he carefully took the bread from in between her pinched fingers. He rotated around so he could face her but didn’t leave the safety of her hand.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only option she had. She didn’t want to force the boy off. If her hand was where he felt safe, then that was where he should stay.

Amanda moved the cap of soup onto her palm in front of the boy before pulling her own bowl toward her.

“Here now, watch me, okay? Just dip the bread into the soup, like this,” instructed Amanda. Keeping her hand steady, she took her own piece of bread and dipped it into the liquid, swirled it around, and then brought it to her lips for a bite. The soft brown eyed boy watched Amanda do this several more times before looking down at his own piece of bread and, to her amazement, dipping it into the broth in the lid, imitating Amanda’s behavior.

Thankfully, Amanda didn’t need to continue repeating the action because the moment the bread and salty soup touched his lips, the boy began to eat ravenously, broth dribbling down his front and into his already filthy clothes.

Now really able to see him, Amanda saw that the little boy’s outfit consisted of a shirt with a faded yellow button on his front that took up most of his chest and a big green button on his back that was like the one on his chest. He was barefoot, mud caked in between his toes, and his pants were obviously soiled.

It made Amanda’s heart twist in her chest. How long had this boy been out on his own?

When the little pinch of bread was gone, the most pitiful look filled his eyes as he looked back up at Amanda eagerly, to which she happily gave him another piece. He inhaled three fair sized bread pinches before he showed signs of slowing down. It was on the fifth piece that he slowed and stopped, simply holding the bread close and nibbling on the edge absentmindedly.

Amanda knew she would need to get some utensils for him, but now was not that time. Now, after the boy had some food in him, she managed to convince him to drink a little bit of water before she shuffled both of them to the bathroom.

A bath was in order.

She stepped up to her bathroom sink and began to run some warm water. She found some vapor bubble bath that would probably do the little boy some good and added that to the running water in the sink.

At first sight, however, the boy whimpered and scuttled across her hand to grasp her thumb with all of his might. He was shivering violently and fell to his knees. Amanda kept her free hand cupped near her thumb in case the little boy accidentally lost his balance. Perhaps it was instinct, but the boy’s ability to balance on such a malleable substance like a hand was incredible.

She couldn’t pause to marvel at him now, however.

With a feeling like a punch in the gut, Amanda tried figuring out how to convince this child he was alright and that the water was alright.

Did something happen related to water to make him so afraid? Amanda wondered. The horrid thought that he had been swept away in a rainstorm from his family made her heart clench. Just keep reassuring him. Show him it’s okay. He trusted you with the bread, right?

It was a weak argument, but it was all she had.

“It’s okay sweetie,” coaxed Amada, speaking once again in a low, sonoric tone. “It’s just water, see?” With that, Amanda carefully placed her other hand under the water and moved her fingers around, splashing the liquid around the sink. The little boy continued clutching Amanda’s thumb as he whimpered.

She had to try something else. Then, she got an idea.

Amanda cupped her one hand and caught some of the water in it before pulling it away from the faucet and holding it up to the little boy.

“Here, see? It’s just water,” reassured Amanda as she tapped the puddle of water in her palm while holding it up to the boy.

He turned his soft brown eyes to Amanda before looking back at the water. Tears still staining his face, he leaned forward and barely touched the water with the tip of his finger.

The miniscule boy instantly retraced his finger and huddled against Amanda’s thumb, but a smile from her and another reassuring, “It’s okay,” had the boy tapping the liquid until the tears stopped.

It would take Amanda another twenty minutes to coax the little boy under the stream of water where she gently massaged soap into his hair and over his clothes. While she worked, she watched the boy’s eyes drifting further and further down, drowsiness overtaking him. The sight was adorable beyond words. Though tentative, his trust mixed with exhaustion was making this little boy fall asleep in her hands.

Amanda dried him off, careful not to jostle his head, and carefully constructed a toga-like outfit. Cutting away the little boy’s clothes was nerve wracking and made Amanda’s heart ache at seeing all of his injuries as well as his little ribs, which were clearly visible. There were also numerous bruises on his body as well as scratches, some of which ran from the base of his back to the top of his neck.

Was he attacked by something? How long has he been out there? Where are his parents? Did he have parents?

Amanda organized a shoebox with some snacks, water, and bedding and set the unconscious boy inside. Evidently, he had fallen asleep in her hand while she put together a space for him.

His little forehead furrowed as he twitched and turned into the bed Amanda made for him.

Now, more than ever, she needed to find out about this little boy, and, beyond that, she needed to find a way to protect him - no matter what.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

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neonthewrite · 2 months

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Grey Landing (Part 10)

I have finished another GT July(2023) prompt! This time the prompt was "Memory". I don't remember what I had originally planned for this prompt when I started the challenge, but when I started planning it Isaac kept coming up. So we have more of Isaac's misadventures.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9)

~~~

The food, simple but hearty, felt heavy and strange in Isaac’s hands, like he held edible gold. He wasted no more time tucking in to an unorthodox meal, tearing bites off the large crumbs of bread and cheese and trying not to picture the disapproval he’d get from his mum for it. She’d taught him manners for how to be a guest in someone else’s house. She’d given up trying to get him to use them at sea.

Considering his predicament, trapped in a giant bowl on a giant counter in a giant bloody house, Isaac considered himself still adrift. So he ate like a sailor. His body sang with relief.

It forced him to think about when he last ate. He cast his mind back to a morning that felt normal, a coffee and breakfast before heading out with a bundle to be his lunch while he was out on the waves working for their next supper. That hadn’t been this morning. Had it been the day before? If he’d known a storm would break his ship and send him so far adrift, he’d have been more discerning with that precious bundle of rations, maybe the last lunch ever packed for him. Hell, he might have said something more to the people he passed on his way to the dock.

They probably all thought he’d been taken by the waves.

As with most things that might lead to heavy thoughts, Isaac pondered the memory only long enough to know he ought to shut it away again. A moment’s reprieve didn’t mean he had the time to break down just yet. Beyond the walls of his improvised jail cell, three giants sat at their dinner table, talking little but every casual word boomed.

He thought he’d finish up the offered food in his desperate hunger, but eventually the scale of things caught up to him. He pondered what remained of what he’d been given and wondered if they’d even be able to tell he had anything. His core was heavy and full, but he’d hardly made a dent. He set the ridiculous portions beside him and considered climbing out of the bowl before abruptly lying back with a huff.

His eyes closed in spite of himself. He didn’t plan to sleep, but he would make himself as comfortable as he could. The giants could take their time as far as he was concerned‒

“Long we’ve tossed on the rolling main, now we’re safe ashore, Jack!

Don’t forget your old shipmate, faldee raldee raldee raldee rye-eye-o!”

He’s on a ship, a chorus of voices calling up as a hundred hands or more toil away. It’s all familiar. A grinning face, pale and mischievous, angles his way as the lyrics of their shanty always come back to the name.

“Long we’ve tossed on the rolling main, now we’re safe ashore, ‘Zac!”

While everyone else sings ‘Jack’, the nicest voice on board sings to Isaac alone and he knows he can belong‒

A jab to his side broke Isaac out of the unexpected dream. He flailed away from the offending feeling, a hazy memory of someone he might never see again clinging to his thoughts. A confused noise escaped him as he caught up to what had poked him.

A giant fingertip, large and callused and probably strong enough to crush his ribs by itself, lingered nearby. The attached hand loomed close in the bowl with him, with an equally giant arm extending overhead. Isaac’s brow furrowed as he stared up, again confronted with the scale of these giants. Clei stood over him, looking almost worried.

“Am not dead yet, lad,” Isaac told him. “Restin’ my eyes and slackin’ off, is all.”

Clei huffed and muttered in that language of theirs. “Crur cayg.” Apparently that was his warning, because that hand descended on him despite his noise of alarm. Once again Isaac found himself all too easily gathered up in a single hand, a fist curled around his middle and restricting his movements. He grimaced as vertigo gripped him just as securely when Clei lifted him out of the bowl and turned away from the counter at the same time.

The room whirled past him, barely-familiar shapes passing in and out of notice in the fast movements of a giant who didn’t seem to notice Isaac turning green. Thankfully they didn’t have that far to go, at least as far as Clei was concerned. A few steps later, Isaac found himself back on the giant table, scrambling to his feet after Clei set him down prone. The dishes from dinner were set aside along with the centerpiece, so Isaac found himself fully on the spot with giants looming and staring from three sides.

Clei still looked sheepish. Gufnad still looked annoyed. Trydi had her lips pursed in something like exasperation. Isaac, deciding not to let the silence draw out too long, held out his arms. “Am I on trial, then, my gracious hosts?”

Gufnad bristled, a lot like Isaac expected him to. He had a memory of more than one disciplinary hearing from his navy days, when just existing rankled an officer or two. Gufnad followed that pattern all too well.

Before the man could bark some indignant thing at him, though, Trydi shot him a look. “Gufnad. Dlad.” And then she sent Isaac a similar look, one that cowed some of his contrarian attitude despite himself. “Kaimu. Dlad.” She said more, quick syllables falling over each other and leaving Isaac in the dust, unable to pick up words in her rhythmic accent any better than he could before, though he realized partway through her question what their language reminded him of.

Isaac sighed. Some of the annoyance left his shoulders, but he still gestured vaguely at her. “I don’t understand you, lass. I don’t speak … Big Welsh. I don’t even speak normal Welsh. And for that, am sorry. We won’t get anywhere talking at each other like this, hmm?”

Clei finally chimed in, with the attitude of someone not used to speaking up to the others. He stammered a bit, and though Isaac tried to follow, he only heard one familiar sound among the rush: the giant used his name, once or twice, and Isaac had to hope he was vouching for him the best he could.

When Clei finally tapered off, Isaac watched him for a beat, then looked to the other two expectantly. “Only good stories, I hope,” he said, again only to prevent an awkward silence.

Gufnad’s frown didn’t waver. “Trydi, crur bid wal nei̯fitblei̯nd.” Isaac narrowed his eyes. He recognized the word that Gufnad had called him before, and he could only assume it was some kind of insult. Neigh-vit-blind yourself, you stubborn bastard.

Trydi winced faintly and glanced between Gufnad and Clei, and occasionally even Isaac. As head of the household, apparently the tie breaking vote fell to her. Isaac didn’t get a vote at all, not that that surprised him either. All he could do was stand there in the middle of a giant table and hope the outcome favored him.

Finally, she sighed and tilted her head towards Clei. “Bid tars. Clei, yulubus grag. Gaog, wif gwut hust.”

Isaac still didn’t understand them, but the grin that broke over Clei’s nervous face and the resigned eyeroll from Gufnad told him enough. He sighed; two giants on his side wasn’t bad at all, and having the lady of the house giving him any measure of a chance was worth a lot. His shoulders unwound some tension and he once again held his hands together in front of himself, nodding at her. “Trydi. Thank you.”

She didn’t smile at him, not exactly, but her lips twitched in bemusement. “Rayfn, kaimu.”

~~~

@not-a-space-alien

@amenarae

@starskichild

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #mywriting #gt #g/t #giant tiny #g/t handheld #handheld #trapped #giant sailor #language barrier #isaac grey #clei cefniad #trydi #gufnad #food #giant food #'big welsh' as a descriptor of their language really tickles me #also thanks everyone for your patience

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