Introduction of Lamark Brayze, March 3rd, 17 years ago...
A dilapidated single story house in a rural area. The front yard is littered with garbage and parts of several old washing machines, the door from a vintage refrigerator, a stack of car tires, the bottom one of which is nearly covered in moss and creepers. A mottled hen limps around with one broken leg and pecks at the ground, searching for seeds or worms. The paint is peeling in several locations and one of the windows has been boarded up with a simple plywood plate and a sheet of plastic. Inside, the wallpaper sags in random locations and the one lamp working is connected to poorly maintained wiring, where the copper is laid bare in some places, apparently by little bitemarks. The likely culprit, a mangy looking rabbit sits on a cushion covered in dark patches and scratch marks. The kitchen is a mess with stacks of dirty dishes reaching seven or eight dishes high, with bowls and cups precariously stacked hither and dither. The sink is half full of grimy water and a cloud of flies circle it. In a room that appears to be part storage, part nursery, a skinny woman with straight white hair, discoloured by grease and grime, can be seen from behind, leaning over a large, open cardboard box, furbished like a crib. She screams and staggers back. We catch a glimpse of sickly thin arms with clear needle marks at the elbow joints. Fingers with nails yellowed by nicotine brush against dried saliva encrusted lips.
"Baby?! Honny! I need help. I'm tripping ba-aad!" the woman calls out with a hoarse voice. In the crib lies an infant in a pastel blue onesie. Its pudgy legs are twitching merrily. The head of the infant looks like that of kid goat, except for the blue eyes that narrow in consternation over the yelling. Around the infant's fingers, the bottom of the improvised crib is covered in a yellow and ice blue dust.
April 1st, 17 years ago...
"Ma'am, we're going to have to remove your boy. These conditions are abhorrent and no child should grow up in a place like this. I can see fifteen health code violations without even turning my head," a plump, dark skinned woman is explaining. The dark skinned woman is holding a brand new baby carrier, containing a boy of about six months in a pastel blue onesie. "Take it. Take the little freak," the voice of the skinny, white haired woman in the couch can be heard saying, voice thick with stifled crying. Outside the dilapidated house, the dark skinned woman secures the boy in a baby seat and drives off in an expensive looking car. We follow the car towards the urban area in the distance, but before it reaches the suburbs, it turns towards the coast and comes to a halt only after a long and convoluted drive to a jetty where a leisure boat is waiting.
YOU ARE READING
Children of the New Dawn n-logy: Book 1 - Facilitated.
Fantasy"Walk in the world of those gifted, and live life as they do with what may be a curse. Years later, children have been diagnosed with strange abilities and live their lives serving for others. Forgetting and leaving their old selves in the past. Unt...
