Alienation No Longer

Cracks

They're everywhere. They're etched, they're filled. They're the passages beneath the surface, pushed into by a flaw, a weakness. They lead to darkness, to mystery, and to what is most feared. Beneath the surface is hellfire, but it's swallowed in nothingness. How can something so great be so, well, not? It's a secret, contained within these obscurities, one that I am forced to live. I live nowhere, or that's all I can see. The only life is that which surrounds me, towering over and keeping the daylight from meeting me again. Do not mistake my words for complaint. I've grown to appreciate the darkness, its cold and seclusion. Today marks the fifteenth year of my entrapment here, but who is really counting? I'm an adult now, happy birthday to me! I was abandoned on my third birthday. But, let's not call this abandonment, such a word is so negative. I realize now that I was only freed from the world, and its cruel horrors.

The sky was as red as the blood spilt unto the dirty cobblestone streets of our, I mean, their village. The day was fleeting fast with the Sun, who I have never managed to greet since. These men spoke of a revolution, a nation without the rule of His Majesty, and a new monarch by the name Sir Walton. There were others, who fought for peace in a country of no power to anyone but everyone. A democracy, as they had called it. The king himself would not give up his throne to either party, and the ultimate war of Bansholo, in which three sides raged in conflict for the "good" of their neo-nation. Who won? 'Hell if I know, they could still be fighting out there. The village very well may be in ashes, not that I could care at this point.

As our, er, their small village was one of the last in the eastern resistance (that of the uprisings for a new ruler), it had stood as more and more of a target to the king. The moment His men marched in with disciplined gait, donned with deep purple uniform and armed with torches and rifles, the hamlet began to crumble to ash. Most who fled were robbed of their lives to death, or of their freedom to imprisonment. One would think it's a lot for a simple three-year-old to witness, but I did. You see, I hate to sound as if I'm bragging, but I am somewhat of a genius. I could read and write fluently in a few languages by the time I was three. It's a strange thing, as I don't feel it's me thinking the incredible. It feels more like, I am being aided... Alas, that must sound like a pile of horse shit to you. My mind may be special, but I am sure that could lead me to believe I am more of a psycho. Perhaps being alone here has motivated my mind to become my only friend. From what I could see, we made it extremely far from their burning village. But, the moment we reached the dark woods, my father was shot. My mother ran deep into the woods, leaving his corpse as we were chased by one soldier. Ultimately, the moment of loss arrived. I watched the musket-ball pierce through my mother's forehead. Her eyes went dull as her now limp body fell to the ground, dropping me to the side. I could hear the slow footsteps approach, I could hear the waver in his slow breath. Tears of fear streamed down my face, making it blurry to see his. He got on one knee and wiped my face with a handkerchief, and I glared intently into the monsters eyes. His voice was scared, guilty, "I am sorry," and he left me in the middle of the forest.

Do not ask how I have such a good memory of this, maybe it is because of how nothing has happened to distract from this one event. Plus, I have a photographic memory also, so that may have helped...

I was abandoned by my damned parents, it's their fault. They supported the mutinous attacks, my father even participated as a fighter. If they were smarter, they would not have gone against His Highness. They failed to protect their only son. I am a marvel, I was worth being saved. 'Glad that soldier could recognize that, which is why I've remained breathing these past fifteen years. It hasn't been hard to eat. Clean springs run here in abundance, and I've learned to hunt for deer and moose in the darkness. I'll often live off of berries and wild herbs. I have read most of what was in the communal library, and I luckily read one to do with survival. Wild plants guides, starting fires, et cetera. I have survived, yet I never had a chance to truly live. I'm essentially nocturnal, since night and day have no difference under the constant shade of endless, thick trees. I have no friends to be with, no games to play, no books to read. I have no reasoning to let myself live, only that there is also no reasoning to hand myself to death. I've slipped into the cracks, nearing hell, and I see no point in completing this trip so quickly.

So, there you go, my life story. Oh, and my name is Raymond. I prefer to be called Ray, though, to remember that something the Sun used to send to me often. Wow, look at me, talking about myself to someone who doesn't even exist... Hey, shush, I hear moose steps. Finally, 'haven't had game for three days. Wait, it's quieter, lighter; maybe a deer? What the fuck... Is that a woman?