Absconditus

Chapter 1

Three years, five months, and two days old and my aunt already claimed I had the knowledge to bring the nation to its knees. My aunt was the most brilliant woman I've ever met. She was born four days after me, and twenty years before me. She is transgender and proud too. I always respected her and she would always tell me, "You're about the only one who does," with melancholy eyes and a turned down expression. But it was that praise that made me happy. Mother or father never gave me praise or acknowledgement to notify me that they even know I'm there. Once or twice a week I would sneak out and walk over to my aunt Alaska's to spend the night, and stargaze on the way. They wouldn't notice, and that was the upside. Sometimes it would get to me and I would cry deep blue tears for hours at a time. And none of that is a lie. You have clear, watery tears. So do your parents and siblings in fact, but I have deep, dark blue tears that rained like a thunderstorm down my cheeks. My parents are bright, strong opinionated people. But they lacked consideration, kindness, empathy, and care. They dead named Alaska everyday and don't let her into the house. That I cried about. They didn't care.

I once asked my father as he was walking up the stairs of our Italian cottage, "Father? If you wanted children, then why don't you love them?" (That was at two years old.) He replied, "We didn't want children, you were a mistake." Then off he went to finish his coffee. I've learned not to care.

When I was six years of age, Alaska was killed by a mass shooting at St. Katherine of Alexandria, our community Church. I didn't come out of my room for 18 months. My cat, Oliver Hello, kept me company and I had plenty food I had stolen from the kitchen room. So, at six years, three months, and eighteen days I realized my life if I stayed in that room. That house, that family, that town. I was going nowhere and I would grow up without a minute of affection from the people who were legally my guardians. I had to leave and no worry was crossed by that decision, as my parents wouldn't care to come looking for me. I doubted they'd ever realized I'd gone. I left at 1:03am in the the morning on January 6th, a Saturday. I was six years old. I missed the one family member I loved. And I couldn't believe it had come to this. All I had with me were a book, "Gone with the Wind", a sharpened pencil, five pieces of parchment, a journal/sketch book, my cat Oliver Hello, an extra pair of socks, and a bag full of day old food. The journal was to write down feelings, write novels, draw constellations I spotted from night to night, log the phases of the moon, and draw plants I picked up and identified. I got stopped on the road once or twice by a passing car asking, "Do need a ride?" or "Are you lost, where are your parents?" I answered honestly most of the time but they kept asking consistent questions, like a never ending trail of words you don't want to hear. I usually kept walking, straight on past. Never gave a care too think, 'Oh, who's that over there, what's he doing?' or 'I wish they would stop looking at me.' or 'Why is this car stopping, maybe I should be nice and talk to them?' I was careless other than a destination. I would analyze all the buildings surrounding me, all the places I past, all the trees I saw. I saw Italian nature I would have never seen before. Mountains, rivers, parks, and all different plants. Oh the Italian gardens were beautiful, and based on what I've seen referring to people and their whereabouts, most of them don't stop to look around and notice them. I've seen a bunch of people with dark, shaded sunglasses on. Invisible to them but imaginarily visible to me. They wear these sunglasses over their eyes, sunglasses that block out not only the sunlight, but the world itself. People feel okay with these sunglasses on, feeling comfortable having them there everyday of their life. But they don't even know that they are there. Its like these sunglasses prevent the human eye and soul from seeing the beauty, the elegance, the artistry, exquisiteness, sadness, dysphoria, anger, and brokenness of the world we live in everyday. They shade out even the bad things in the world that really everyone should see. Really, how can we fix the worlds darkness if we can't even tell where it is?

But that time was long ago. My name is Asher Oculus. I was born in Italy, but never learned the Italian language or culture. I am fourteen years of age now, and going to 'Villa Nozione Academia', my school in Napoli. I traveled from Rome, where my parents lived, to Napoli where I now live in the dorms at school. I just welcomed myself to the school and got registered when I was eleven and got a dorm for free, the whole school is free as far as I know. The Academia teaches you every year and provides the knowledge for each year you are in, and the grades go up through college. I have now learned the Italian language, but by far my favorite subject is either Writing or Arts. It is a boys and girls school, but with separate dorms of course, my head mistress isn't insane. The Head Mistresses name is Agularis Deforista. She is kind hearted and the straight opposite of strict. My favorite teacher is the counselor, Ceanna Assad. I come to her everyday at 4:26pm, 33 minutes, and 12 seconds, and 3 milliseconds. Exact. She recalls I'm explicitly well at mathematics, and that makes me feel good. As I've always been one to love compliments. (Guess why?) She talks to me about everything I've gone through and everything I AM going through and lets me cry. I've matured now, so I can let out my every feeling.