Albino Child

Thirty

The artificial eyes that were set into the wide lash-lined sockets shone through the hazy cover of tears that had previously covered the area, the laser-like brightness through the frost glass was a strange inhuman trait that he must have picked up when he was in the other dimension - I decided not to ask him about this just in case he got offended – in awe, I began to edge forward to the outfit and took a spindly hand to stroke the fabric like an endearing mother to her child's face; upon the mannequin was the creation N had made in her female form, it was the last sketch on her black lamb-skin leather notebook – the personal sketchpad was a private item, this last version of the notebooks had a faded sticker saying 'Sentimental Circus' with two Gemini characters to individualise the trinket – there was a large amount of thought and detail placed into the design of the piece with multiple pages dedicated to doodling patches of colour and texture, the amount of annotations and descriptions were significantly more precise than the rest of the of the fashion designs that scattered the innards of the book. By now, N was in serious concentration of the outfit in which he was eyeing the hemming work, trying to find fault within the seams, I had salvaged and spent a lot of valuable resources within the creation of this item and to see his childish face endorsing it, gave me a sense of pride. Finally looking back in my direction with eyes the size of saucers, he fell to his knees and hugged the fabric that sloped inwards to flute into the slim area where the wearers calves would have been; this dress was a part of his imagination, in his personal world he had created a method to cope with the surliness of the facility – he had made a mother for himself, one that loved him no matter what, an invisible character that guided him like a conscience and in his mind this beautiful creation was his former reason for living – the title of this piece was named 'Penelope', it was assumable that this was the title created for his non-existent mother. He swivelled round and once again began to cry, his tears soaked into my shirt again as he tightly clutched onto my body, trembling as he wept in nostalgia, he had not quite realised that his mother never truly existed as a physical being and still grasped onto the fragment of hope as if it was his life force.

I stroked his cheek as I tenderly whispered, "Do you want to sleep?"

He shook his head as he choked out, "Please no, I need it, Mummy wants me to wear it in her name. She is very proud of you, please let me wear it," the strained cord of begging that shot through his voice was subtle yet underwhelming; there was no sense of his typically over-confident smirk, he was absolutely delusional but sincere.

"Of course," I smiled softly as he clutched my body as if he was frantically worried that I would disappear and leave him with the shaky collapsing mind that kept ebbing in and out of reality.

I closed the heavy Japanese cotton with faded lavender and dusty rose Hyacinths lining the base of the Chantilly lace lined curtains shut, there was not even a sliver of sunlight able to peek into the room; once satisfied that no-one from the outside world could see in, he turned round and began to unbutton the oversized shirt I gave him, they were rolled up to his elbows but the abdomen length was far too long, he was wearing a pair of female black skinny jeans, they were very fitting and made his malnourished-appearing legs look even slimmer than they were – his body in the second world had changed dramatically from the ordinary, chubby girl to a slender, skinny boy and I could not help but see a small part of him in me, still that child that wanted to break down and forget what happened in the facility, to never remember anything that happened that night; in truth, I think this is how all the people who survived felt, even God might feel remorseful, in a 'I lost so much resources' way. Suddenly, he tapped me on the shoulder as if to draw me back to reality, I snapped out of the melancholic daze and looked at him, that was when I realised he was shirtless, I flinched and snapped backwards – I was shocked, I had never seen what N looked like without clothes before for obvious reasons but even though we were technically the same gender now, it was still somewhat strange and uncomfortable to notice that someone I grew close to was standing in front of you shirtless; my cheeks tingled and the prickling sensations swarmed my body, I would not help but stammer as N hugged me again, why he would do that in such a situation made no sense but I assumed this was just him being clingy.

"Hurry up, can you dress me please, I cannot do this myself, I cannot reach the zipper at the back," he demanded without a trace of malice, this was a strange side to N that was reserved for me, she, well now he, never treated anyone with so much respect to be real and unsarcastic.

I took a deep breath and tried to get over the panging feeling that took over my body, removing the underskirt off the mannequin, he slipped it over his trousers and waited for me to take the next one, I heaved out a sigh as I tried to ignore the heating sensation that had overridden my sense of calm composure as he removed the skinny jeans under the fabric that was corset laced at the back for maximum shapeliness, they fell onto the floor with a gentle clatter and thump as the metal chain with two pendants that were strung through the belt loops hit the floor with no cushioning. I finally removed the actual skirt part of the outfit and let the chiffon ribbons that made the appearance seem ethereal and almost floating like jellyfish tentacles looping like misty fog applying wisps of colour over the rest of the silky fabric, there was no sense of heaviness as I zipped the side of the fish-tail skirt and the metal teeth interlocked with ease as I stepped back to see how it looked like, we shared a private smile as I removed the camisole, it did not really fit on the front but that was to be expected for he was a slim, not particularly muscular boy. I took two safety pins that were stabbed through the canvas fabric covering the otherwise wooden mannequin and inner-tucked the fabric together. N gave off a somewhat sheepish embarrassed face as he glanced to another direction trying to avoid eye contact; once the top piece was altered and tailor fit, I expertly sewed the edges together in a swift fluid movement before cutting the magnolia white thread with a short pair of scissors that looked like nail blades.

There was only one more item left and that was it: the corset belt. He looked wearily at the torture device before nodding in acceptance of his fate, I wrapped it round his waist and gently pulled the ribbons tight, enough to make him look like a female model but not too much that he could not breathe; he sighed out in relief and waddled to the body mirror that had a large piece of Winsor purple velvet draping over the reflective screen to prevent dustiness, I dramatically flung it off as he stared intently at his appearance, he twisted round to see the sides of the outfit and spun at a moderate tempo to see how much the flared base really flung out, his hips were not that prominent to the hugging feminine figure was not really accentuated but the design and handiwork was – it was an excellent trade off as it showed off my craftsmanship but also his detailed, precise depictions of the outfit. His lips were thinly stretched into a grin was his dimples were accentuated, he held a sense of satisfaction as he kept staring deeply into his own reflection; walking at a lento pace, he began to stroke the bodice shape the corset made of the reflection as he mumbled something about his mother.

I sat back and watched him innocently tell his 'Mummy Penelope' about how much he adored her outfit, his delusions were unsettling and tragic but to see him overcome with joy because of them was more than enough to make me want to protect him from anyone what would ever threaten to shatter the illusion.