The Peony Chronicles

Chapter Four

In the following six months, life became riskier for Gael Mitchell, as his fear of pain slowly developed in his young, moldable mind into something much more durable; something more bearable when he was faced with punishment. The more he spread his gilded wings, the more he pulled away from the boundaries and the more he was kicked down and clipped in the process.

Sooner or later, no matter how hard Peter kicked and screamed, Gael would manage to slip away into the town and sooner or later, Peter could do positively nothing about it.

It was common for Gael to be locked in at night, sometimes to not be set free for a day or two once Peter recollected the idea to do so. There was a padlock tightened around the hatch in the cellar and no matter how hard Gael kicked and screamed, he could not escape the center of his world. There was an avid obsession from the pastor to keep his boy in line but he could not seem to be fully dedicated to it every second of the day which caused the thin line of what Gael knew to be acceptable to vanish completely.

The center of Gael's world was still apparent, nonetheless and he coped with the darkness with a steady mind. As he aged, the liberties Peter had expressed expanded and he was then permitted out during the day so long as he was home before the temperamental pastor himself.

"I can't do nothin' about your daytime wanderin', boy," his father had told him, exasperated. "To be locked up for good isn't healthy for a child. Just be home before dark and we won't have a problem."

Peter transitioned from hot to cold faster than the eye could blink. The inconsistency was terrifying.

It then became a routine for the boy, especially during the summers. He would wake up, await the disappearance of his father, make his way into the farmhouse to pack lunch and then trot off into town to be with Cynthia.

It was a religion of sorts, something he followed and believed in for many days and weeks and even months. His routine was something that gave him hope and peacefulness as he had something in his life that wasn't miserably consistent; he had finally reached a particular calmness, an eye of the hurricane amongst a raging storm.

Within this routine, of course came risky factors to the boys hypersensitive way of thinking. You see, Peter never exactly told the boy he could ever enter his personal abode; he never exactly implored or emphasized a supporting factor that he was allowed to rummage the kitchen, but Gael did anyways for the sake of survival.

Gael began to live by a singular motto that was 'It's not considered trouble if you don't get caught doing it,' and he took it heart.
In addition to the plethora of cans and dried goods he swiped from his father's overflowing pantry, he became hungry for knowledge of the outside world, something any good subordinate should lack lest he becomes too aware of the discrepancies his superiors take upon. A good subordinate knows not of ethics or morality, as a good subordinate takes what he is given as he believes that it is the best of their superiors abilities.

As much as Gael respected his father, he did not believe this.

The exposure to literature came solely from Cynthia, as every day she would meet him in the meadow to read him a novel that her father had given her money to purchase. Each day they'd pass the hours by having the girl run her voice ragged reciting the work of Twain and Salinger. The reading got so important and so intense Gael would insist on bringing her thermoses full of peppermint tea from home just so she would have the urge and willpower to continue on past cliffhangers, dramatic irony, and many other additions to literary dimension.

Often, when the day would end, when Gael needed to set off home to beat his father (lest his father beat him), he'd find himself early and disappointed that the anxiety of paternal arrival dictated his life. He'd then slip into the house and scour the halls and racks searching for practice of his own, to impress his friend, and possibly himself.