Standing Creation - ♥ Numboil Turmoil.

Standing Creation - ♥ Numboil Turmoil.

Chapter -10; The industrial smell of oil on a summer night sky of ashes.

He had maroon hair that was short and reeked of oil, true to his name, Numboil Turmoil. Had maroon eyes, the practically the color of blood, but they were not the color of blood. They were too dark to be the color of blood. At the time, he was ten, and it would be five years before he would ever escape the city, ever be in the real world; ever be able to be free. He never had any clean clothes, and never knew where his next meal was coming from. He was never allowed to work, for some reason, he was never allowed to get a job. No one would allow him, and in an industrial city like the one he lived in, that would only lead to ridiculing of his name, and everyone did such. Everyone called him names; everyone in his city called him names. Names he would never repeat. He was the scum of society, and he couldn’t stand the names he had been called. He made a huge mistake one day of having the most outbursts of outbursts on a Saturday he had been allowed out. The crowd, the people. They looked at him as if he were scum. He made the mistake, made the mistake of using magic he never even knew he had. He made the mistake, the mistake to use his true magic. The true magic coursing through his body, the magic he never knew he had. Zombies, everyone had been turned into zombies. Their emotions, it was if he stole them and had been feeding off of them. That didn’t make any sense, and it never did, how could it have made sense? It didn’t. It made so little sense. Two magic powers? Two? It made no sense—two magic powers. It was surreal, it was beyond surreal.

Upon that day, he was told that he was the Sovereign of Emotion. He didn’t like it, didn’t like how no one told him, how no one let him know, how nobody would give him the idea that he wasn’t what everyone else was. He was told, told that everyone knew, and that’s why he would always be scum. Sovereigns were scum, scum that had absolutely no right to live. The only reason, the only reason that he was even still alive was because of his apparent use to the family. His apparent use in the family, his apparent use of being the scum, the scum to the entire world. The person everyone in the family would point fingers at when they lost a job, the person who will get all the blame for everything. The Sovereign of Emotion might as well be the Sovereign of Blame. He hated it, hated how society treated him, but he had no education, how could he stand up to society? How could he win against the government? He knew, knew that would require him to learn. He had heard of school, but no one, no one in the city was allowed to go to school. Permanently trapped, he would be permanently trapped in the city without being allowed to learn anything. Everyone had worked as early as five, there was no such thing, no such thing as the mythical school that might have existed, if it was even real to begin with.

Upon learning his true identity, his life became worse than hell. He was used to being treated horribly by society, being called scum, but it became worse, worse than he could have ever imagined. His parents, who only occasionally hit him, were now using objects against him that he never knew could strike someone. He would be hit by sharp objects until he could feel his blood escape him, until he fainted from the loss of blood. He never was able to see what kind of object they used, his ten year old mind never knew, and he was never going to be free of scars again. His parents, they enjoyed it, enjoyed hurting him, enjoyed leaving marks all over his body until he fainted, they enjoyed it. He knew, knew if his older sister were ever home, she would join in on the hitting, too, she would enjoy it, enjoy joining in on a family beating.

The only person who never showed signs of hating him or outright rejected him was his seven year old sister, Lactoil Turmoil. She was a beautiful soul, never swayed by society’s reject, never hurt by anyone’s words. She was the most beautiful soul on the planet. She had brick red hair held into a ponytail with a bead ribbon in the back, at first glance, she didn’t even look seven years old, she looked much older, almost like a teenager, Numboil wondered constantly if she was secretly older. She always wore black clothing with a frilly skirt covering her underwear; it was all she could wear, the only clothing she owned. Her eyes were beautiful, actually rainbow colored, he had never seen it before, never seen rainbow eyes, but they were beautiful, the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. She was sweet, and never talked vulgar about anything. He loved her, loved to see her every day, loved to see her smiling face. The face of wonder, the face of innocence. If they weren’t related by blood, he would want her, but he knew that since they were, that was a vile thought. She had Lactose magic, and was the food scorer in the family; everyone relied on her to get food as she had worked at a milk factory, she had come back almost every day covered in splotches, but the constant smile would never leave her face. No one would ever know, would ever know if something was bothering her, everyone except Numboil.