Un Souvenir d'Événements

A Short Lived Childhood

Throughout my life, dates have been a mystery to me, I can distinguish the seasons, perhaps even the months; not a difficult task, any child is capable of doing so, but leading a life such as mine, dates hold little meaning. Therefore, age is somewhat meaningless too. What I am trying to say in perhaps one of the most convoluted ways possible, is that I do not know the date of my birth, though I think it's best to forget, as others do, that the day ever happened. It's best to believe that I died or never existed to begin with, which would also be beneficial to me. Alas, I'm a difficult man to forget, anyone who has lived but a day in my cursed presence would tell you that, and I am certain that if given the choice, they would gladly forget my existence. Most deny it, put it down to a nightmare, or perhaps a misjudgement of the eye, but even entering a state of denial does little to clear the mind of the lasting trauma I so often leave upon the souls I cross paths with. Many therefore would be perfectly content in a world in which I did not exist, myself included, but the first to truly suffer was my mother.

Often when I overstepped the line of her patience or temper, she would make her contempt of me incredibly clear. Something I found that would truly irk her was perhaps my persistent demands to be allowed outside. I used to watch children running about in the square outside the cottage, playing with their various wooden toys. On particularly windy days I would sit for hours in the window watching as they ran about flying their kites which I would watch dance their lazy waltz's in the air, diving and twisting about, turning circles around their partners, their strings becoming entwined at times causing them to plummet and then soar up again moments later, now free.

But they, like me, were never truly free, for they had strings tying them down, preventing them from flying free into the blue expanse of sky that awaited above them. But whilst they at least had the fresh air and natural world surrounding them, I had only four walls and musky, stale air that hadn't been blessed with an open window for many years.

Therefore, and quite rightfully, I would beg my mother to let me out to play with the other children I would watch, and when begging didn't work, I began to demand, then when that proved futile, 'accidents' would begin to happen. A plate might 'accidentally' fall from the countertop, a shoe might make its way mysteriously into the middle of a floor causing my mother more than a few twisted ankles and falls. Perhaps a door might lock for a few hours, or her prized piece of crochet would go missing, sometimes onto the fire blazing in the hearth... But what else was I expected to do? I had no toys to play with after I had dissected my others to figure out how they worked, and even though I put them back to the way they were before, my mother refused to buy me anything else, and would keep antiques and more expensive items out of my reach for fear of them landing into my incessantly curious hands.

So when I was refused the opportunity to go outside to play with the other children, and my pestering wouldn't stop, she would constantly go back to one story and one alone that would never fail to silence me.

"How the midwife screamed when she first saw you" she would say, "she thought you to be dead when she held you, but then you started to cry and she uttered the Lord's Prayer under her breath. After all the pain you put me through, I wanted to see my baby, but once she handed you to me I wished she hadn't. She ran to Pastor Claude, begging him to bless the child she had just delivered. Once he arrived, he gave a similar reaction to the midwife, drawing a cross over himself and clutching at the one he wore around his neck. I remember seeing his face pale to a similar colour as the moon above that night. He refused to bless you, refused to approach, telling me that the child I held was not truly mine, that he was Lucifer's child. "This child was not sent to you from Heaven" he told me, "he can only come from the world below." The midwife doubted you would last even a month, sadly you outlived all our expectations and you're still here. Had you died that night, the world would have been a better place, and if you go out there now, you will be killed, the world just doesn't accept beasts like you. You don't want to die do you?"