Mad World {PHAN}

Start at the Edges

December 14, 2004-

12:03 p.m.

On a bench, in a park, somewhere in Manchester, there sits a boy. Just another boy out of a sea of people. Everyone that passes him by has their own story, and there are more tragic stories than his own, he knows.

He doesn't care.

He is alone. Many people are alone. He feels broken and displaced, like he has no reason to remain. Many others feel that way as well.

But he's different.

He's not like the others who wither away into husks of their former selves, or even like those who find the strength to piece themselves back together.

He thinks, suddenly, bitterly, that the bench underneath him has lived a fuller life than he.

The bench has a purpose, it's own little niche in the world, and it fulfills that purpose everytime someone chooses to sit on it; everytime someone takes comfort in the moment of peace and solitude it provides amidst a stream of people.

On this bench, one can rest, press pause while other's stories continue playing around them.

His story doesn't pause.

On this bench, his story begins.

Here, all that was brittle within him solidifies and forms something as black as coal and unyielding as steel.

He doesn't wither, but one cannot call the result of this metamorphosis 'strength'.

The boy doesn't have a purpose.

No, he has no purpose.

He thinks, however, that he may have found a way to pass the time.

-

December 16, 2004-

8:37 p.m.

Vincent Phantomhive is relaxing at home after a long day at work. He is playing hide and seek with his ten year old son. Ciel is in the kitchen, he knows, but he passes by a couple of times calling his son's name. Vincent's hand is reaching for the cupboard's little handle, the exclamation of 'Found you!' dangles from the tip of his tongue, when the phone rings.

He sighs.

He opens the little door, releases the exclamation, though it has lost some of its luster by now, and helps his son out and down. Vincent Phantomhive is frustrated, and it shows in the terse way he answers the call.

They live in a quiet town, no doubt it's just a couple of teenage miscreants wrecking havoc and interrupting his family time. Half a decade as Chief of Police, and the worst he has encountered is a shooting between two drunks at a local pub.

"Sir, you are needed at the station."

He nods to himself as he changes into his work clothes, "Very well. What is the situation?"

Young Ciel Phantomhive watches from the doorway. He's always admired his father, how he manages to attend to both his family and his duty. The little boy is in awe.

"Taken? From where?" Ciel's interest is piked and though he misses the other's response, he knows they are speaking of a missing person.

"Hand them over to Mey-Rin. She'll be able to provide the surety they need. Oh, and make sure Finnian is there as well. He's better at being comforting than she is."

Distraught parents were the worst, Ciel knew. He remembered when his cousin Lizzie had come over and wandered into the woods around their home. His Aunt Francis hadn't allowed herself to be comforted or assured by anyone, so distraught was she. He recalled Finny's happy disposition whenever he visited the station and the stories Mey-Rin's reliability and approved of Father's decision.