Trash of the Count's Family Anthology

Meeting the younger self

After a bright flash of light, Cale found himself standing in front of a boy. One very familiar. A piece of his past that he longed to forget. He watched as the kid scrambled for cover at the sight of an adult. That was a familiar feeling. He crouched down to look at the boy who's eyes widened at the thought of an adult coming closer. That was until his eyes focused on the man's. He slowly crawled out, hesitating at the idea of being vulnerable around an unknown adult. The reddish brown of his eyes mirrored his own and he felt full.

Cale looked down at the small skinny boy. The Korean boy stared up at him with sunken eyes, hollow bones and wonder shining through his eyes. Awe. He stumbled up onto his brusied, bloody, painfully thin legs to try and get closer to the red head. His fingers resembled claws from how sharply his bones protruded against his ghost-white skin. He was so pale, as if he had never felt sunlight warm his body and fill him with a sense of hope. And yet, staring up at the red headed man with the same eyes that he had was enough. 

"You should have figured out who I am by now, so I'll allow you to ask me questions. I'll only answer those that do not bother or hurt me."

"H-how'd we do it? How'd we get so-"

"Pretty?" Cale offered up, hoping to cut off the sentence that was forming in the boy's mind - he was him once, he knew what he would ask. His reddish brown eyes stared back into the identical ones of his younger self. Those eyes felt too big for such a small head. Memories rushed through his head and suddenly he could feel it. The aching pangs of hunger. The sharp squeezes of pain from moving his body too far while his wounds still recovered. The pieces of glass that once pierced his body after an outburst of anger from his uncle. He remembered what it was like to be a kid. And he didn't like it.

"No... loved." The small Korean boy stood a step closer. "How? How do we wake up every day and there is always someone who loves us? How can I?" The little boy swallowed after his excited rambles. That was the most words he had ever spoken in front of an adult in a while. The man who stood in front of him was him, he could tell. But he was also older. Maybe he changed to be more like his uncle. 

Cale thought about it. Was he willing to ruin any hopes this little version of him had? Was this a favour so he wouldn't ever bring his hopes up too high? Cale smiled at the question despite knowing how he felt. In fact he laughed in disbelief as he realised what exactly it was. It was one of his main philosophies. He gestured for the boy to come closer and knelt to be near his ear. 

"Pretending."

The hope in the boy's face drained. He could almost see the shine in his eyes fade away. His smile curved back down into an tight line. He sighed, drooping his head down before looking back up. Uncertainity flashed in his eyes. Cale could tell, he didn't want to believe his truths.

"Really?"

"Pretending every single day to be someone we're not. That's how we get loved. That's how to get parents who care for you. Friends, colleagues, all of that. We'll never be loved as we are. Don't you know that by now? We weren't born to be loved."

"...oh..." It was a small sound yet heartbreaking. The little kid played with the hem of his dirty, oversized, patched up shirt. Cale remembered it. He had it for three years, and was what he practiced his sewing skills on as a child. He could hear the boy sniffle and watched his bony fingers curl up into a tiny fist to rub at his eyes. If it was any other kid, Cale might've felt compelled to try and comfort him. However, knowing that was a younger version of him, he felt not even a shred of sympathy. He attempted to anyways.

"Well it wasn't really our fault. We were cur-" He stopped, a sharp pain searing through his chest. He coughed, over and over, dropping down into a squat. His hands scratched the white floor as he coughed in pain. The little kid gasped, freezing at the sight. His throat spasmed in pain until it felt that a stone had left his throat. Suddenly, he could breathe without worry. He looked down at the droplets of blood that stained the ivory white floors.