Seven Souls |Updates Fridays|

35 Vienice Aramon

_Vienice Aramon_

Vienice did not know what he had been expecting in being brought here, but surely it was not to be a student. That is what he had been treated as though, and it was an odd feeling. He had daily tasks to do, and lectures to listen to; not to mention they gave him graded work. It was a hard routine to get into, and no one ever stopped to explain its purpose. It was a confusing time.

One thing was for sure, Vienice was not like the other students here. Sure they seemed to possess abilities themselves, but those were nothing like his own. The most noticable difference between him and the other students was the way he was treated- the boy often found himself in one of two situations: Those around him were overly fearful and cautious of him, or they were very rude and seemed to hate him. Did the people here know what he had done? Had Wymon told them all what had happened?

For some reason Vienice found himself hoping he had not, but as soon as he noticed, that hope faded away. Why should he care if the people here knew what he had done or not? It did not matter to him. Frankly nothing mattered. He was a dead man after all. Dead men didn't care about how people thought of them- they were dead after all.

This place could be brutal at times. He was often picked on by others, and not only that but if he did not do his work correctly, he was often punished. Once they found that physical punishments did not bother him, they gave him chores. But he didn't mind. Dead men didn't care about anything, after all.
Vienice had found that pain was no longer what it used to be. He felt it. And it hurt, but it no longer bothered him. The original punishments that they had tried to give him included being slapped by rulers and paddles, and at one time he had been punched in the gut by a particularly cocky student. However, it was all the same in the end. It hurt, but he did not react. The tortur and the fire had taken that humanity from him. Taking his pain and only leaving him with the mild discomfort instead.

So why didn't he care? He supposed... dead men didn't care.

Now, Vienice found himself lying in his bed, as he did every night he had been here. It had been perhaps a good two weeks and he was still trying to get used to this routine. He never let himself sleep, afraid that if he did, it would dissorient him or prompt him to act out. The last thing he wanted was to cause Wymon trouble. The man was so busy he had only been able to check on Vienice once in these last two weeks.

He started to feel an itch to move, to stop laying on his back staring at the ceiling above him. He tried to ignore it and stay where he was supposed to but soon he could not resist so he slipped down from the top bunk of his bed, past the sleeping boy below him and walked to the door of his room and slipped on his shoes. Next he was making his way down the hallway with much care not to be too loud, and then before he knew it, he was outside, the cold air greeting his indifferent skin.
He found a decently sized rock to go sit on and stared up at the night sky, taking in the stars that littered above.

He had heard that there was constellations, groups of stars that made up characters and objects from stories... but he didn't know any of them, and for some reason that stuck him with a deep feeling of melancholy. Anne, his elder sister, loved those stories- but she had never shared them with him. She hated him... he wondered if she somehow knew one day he would ruin everything. She couldn't have known... not even he could have known.

He was lonely here. Perhaps he had always been lonely, but it was really hitting him now. He had never had a friend, never had someone that didn't hate or fear him for who he was or try to seek him out for who he was. He was not a fool. Wymon did not take him into a place like this to be kind. He wanted something from Vienice. And at the surface level, that thought was an offencive one, but Vienice had to remind himself once more, that dead men didn't care about being used. If anything, this gave Vienice the purpose he had been waiting for. Something to devote his life to. Something to do with himself besides destroy things.