The Outsiders

The Outsiders: Chapter Three

Khristopher De Caldwick

Even as the sun rose and lit my linen comforter, I laid on the floor.

            Through night and dawn, I read almost half of the colossal book. Though I had experience reading the intricacies of contemporary and classical literature, I deemed The Book of Wisdom as a light read before I finished the first page. Full of articulate sketches and entire passages of the intricacies of potion making and handling, a light read wad the understatement of the century.

            I hadn't even made it to the history of magic before there was a knock on my chamber door. Awakening from my slumber, I faced the opening door with a groggy-eyed grimace. Standing with my breakfast was one of many people of the castle. Their long white hair fell over their shoulders as they smiled at me with hollow red eyes: one of the people.

            "Your breakfast, Sir Khristopher. Sir Spareaux and Sir Ptomatteo await you."

            So Father and Spareaux wished to hide of me for breakfast? If that was how truly disgraceful I was in their lonesome eyes, then so be it. I didn't want to face them after the events of last night were still fresh in my mind. Pity was weak and I wasn't. I waved them off, setting my head down on my hands as they left my breakfast on my desk.

           One-hundred-and-twenty-two years old and I was still the ingrate runt no one wanted to start a kinship with.

            Who were they to shun me for something I had no say in? They strive for a new ruling of democracy in our Cauldron yet fall into the trap of totalitarianism and herd mentality when it came to me, Father, and Spareaux. If anything, they were the ingrates. They were the ones who should be shunned for following the rule of a pushover father with issues and a hotheaded imbecile who was a bit of a narcissist. I knew I was a brat but at least I didn't ask for pity, loyalty, or love.

            I just wanted to go outside without getting yelled at for Christ's sake.

           As I bit into my blood sausage and toast, I stared out of the red-tinted windows with a scowl. There was another knock on my chamber door as I finished my first sausage, making me roll my eyes. Standing from the comfort of my desk chair, I pull the door open to reveal my brother. As I was about to slam the door onto his face, he placed a hand on the sleek wood.

            "Khristopher, please."

           "Khristopher, is it? I thought it was the incompetent runt."

           Spareaux grew dejected at my sharp words as his face constricted with shame. Glaring at his countenance, I leaned against the door frame. Crossing my arms, I tapped the tip of my finger on my forearm. Raising my eyebrows, I try to force the reason for his arrival at my chamber from his frowning lips.

          Taking a breath, he finally looked me in the eye. Laced with worry and remorse, he gently raised his hand close to my face. Flinching away from his touch, his eyes grew bleaker.

          "I-I heard your cries."

           His words left my throat dry. Fixing my posture, I stood up straighter to see h his eyes for derision. With a small breath, I only saw self-shame and scorn in his beady red eyes.