DOG DAYS, at his master's beck and call.

CHAPTER TWO, pt.1: "POST-REHABILITATION", two years and a name without meaning.

It took two years for the Boy to be rehabilitated.

    The helicopter had taken him to this curvy skyscraper, that's peak went around the clouds and its design went around any sense of normality in architectual style. It dwarfed the city it dwelled in, barring a few buildings that rivaled it as their shadows fought the sunlight. This is the building in which the Boy learned how to be human.

    He was educated. Not in any average sense, because they filled ten years of school into two. It was extremely difficult work, but the Boy was used to that. He preferred working with his mind over his body.

    He was thought to exist. While Calliope did not school the boy personally, he did conduct many psychoanalytical tests on him. He taught the Boy about the Id and the Ego, and Freud and Pavlov and a myriad of other strange names of strange men. He taught the Boy to think beyond observation and to reflect his thoughts to himself. The Boy learned about cognitive thinking, as well as how to do it.

    The Boy was exposed to art. They didn't make him engage in any artistic practice, but allowed him to is he'd so wished. He didn't care much to, but he enjoyed hearing the music. Calliope taught poetry personally.

    The Boy got to watch movies. And he did. He watched a lot. He learned more about the world in those movies then he did in his classes, it seemed to him. He thought of it as a hobby outside of his classes, but it truly was his first passion.

    The Boy was taught about history. A lot of it. He enjoyed it the most out of any of the things they taught him. Learning about countries, religions, events, war, peace, philosophy, and even his own heritage. He just ate it up.

    He was fixed up. His injury was treated. They reconstructed the damaged skin, but they were unable to reattatch the nerves. Apart from that, the Boy was prettied up. It was the first point in his life he actually noticed his own appearance. He was handsome, really. Defined jawline, broad shoulders, a rugged build and complexion. Not much in the face, but he had a good frame. They fed him, too. They didn't spoil him, but the food was very rich to him. It took him awhile to not throw up every meal, but eventually his stomach was used to it. He was kept in excellent physical shape, and for once in his life, he was full of energy.

    He knew the date. It was the third monday in April, and the year was 2034. He knew where he was. Union City, New York. The headquarter building of the Internal Military Affairs of the United States of America. Division 14A-B. Floors twenty-six through thirty, and basement section 12.

    When the time came to be named, the Boy asked Calliope to give him a name not based on the past, but one he could look to for the future. One that was sensational, like in the movies. Calliope smiled, and the Boy's name was Longfellow. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Calliope said Longfellow had a fortunate beginning. Many siblings, and his mother was alive for most of his life. Longfellow had a good life, and span grand, sad taled. Longfellow wasn't sure how he liked the name. It wasn't quite what he was asking for, and it sounded silly. But Calliope's decision was final, as per usual.

    'All things much change into something new, something strange.' - H.W.L.

END OF CHAPTER THE SECOND, PART THE FIRST

CONTINUE TO CHAPTER THE SECOND, PART THE SECOND.