Summer 11th, 501 AV
The world is gray. Dark gray.
It's dead.
No longer wishing to see, to hear, the small boy placed his wiry figure against the hard stone wall of the Welcome Home orphanage, being abducted to it by an anonymous knight the day before. His sleep was restless and brutal, and he was plagued with images of the last night with her. His mother. Seeing her slip away from him again and again. Watching her grasp for his hand, watching her hand fall before touching his own, cold and devoid of the life he loved. The life that kept him living. That was the night that his name died with the woman that gave it to him. The adults of the house paid no mind to the child, who wrapped himself in a cloak far too large for his size.
And it was in this moment he sat watching the other children, frightened beyond description, through the folds of Ma's old cloak, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. The other children... They were all so... Big. And all the child had was his height, which was maybe only an inch above the other children. He was an easy target. He had to stay hidden. Had to stay.
"Who's the rat in the corner?" He heard in the distance. One of the larger children loudly took notice of the child to his friends. The child tried to sink into the inky blackness of Ma's cloak before the rest of the boys took notice, but it was too late. There were enough of them. He didn't see how many exactly there were... But there were enough. A sly grin spread across the inquisitive child's face as he approached the mass of cloth, laughing to his friends.
"Go... Check." The closest one called out to one of the other boys, probably to check for adults. There was a quiet "Clear!" before an explosion of light and sounds surrounded the child's senses, the cloak tossed somewhere else upon the floor. The child curled up, wearing cheap clothes, dirty and ripped from running from home the night earlier. He did his best to cover his dirty, ragged face with the four of his bruised and battered arms, becoming a mass of pale skin and bone. After their discovery, the children engaged in a chorus of disgusted moans upon discovery of the four-armed boy. Already, soft and salty tears were streaming down his cheeks as the oldest-looking of the boys, the one that ripped his cloak away from him, grabbed hold of his wrists and dragged him from his position on the wall.
"No! No! Let go of me!" The child screamed, afraid of what might happen.
"Shut up, runt, or I shut you up. I don't ask twice." The older boy said quietly, whispering into the child's ear tenderly. This reduced his screams to whimpers and silent cries.
Through his teary eyes he could see the children wincing and cringing at the extra set of arms. Ma said it was a blessing... He thought. She said it was a gift...
The older boy once again spoke to him. "They're stupid," he told the child, referring to the other older boys, of which were the only one left. This, apparently was a normal occurrence, and the other children had left the room. "They don't know nothin'... All they ever do is follow me. They're brainless. They're stupid." He told the child, his grip on the child's wrists loosening a bit. "What's your name?" He asked.
The child didn't know how to answer. He whimpered, turning his head away as so the older boy couldn't see his face. He didn't have a name, really. He wasn't Lloyd anymore. That name died with the woman that gave it to him. So he remained silent.
"Nothing to say to me, huh?" The older boy said again. "You're ungrateful. You're as much of a dumb pinprick as the rest of these petchers. When I ask a question..." He said, releasing the child as he stood up, and raising his voice a bit so his posse could hear him. I get an ANSWER." He yelled, shoving his foot deep into the child's stomach, the group of them laughing as the child buckled in pain, all four of his arms gripping his stomach to cope with the feeling. Through his pain he heard "Take where he needs to go." With that, he was dragged off his feet, two boys on either end holding him up. He was about to scream when a third came behind him and wrapped a scarf around his mouth to prevent noise. He screamed at the top of his lungs as the children then brought him to a large window and lowered him out, the boys directly after to catch make sure he couldn't run. After a moment of struggle they subdued the child again, walking to an alleyway adjacent and throwing him against the wall.
The child that had spoken to him before addressed him now. "I'll ask you again, bug." The other children giggled when he called the boy "bug", and so did the dominant child. "What is your name?"
The boy stood now, back literally against the wall, and remained silent, his four arms in fists and to his sides. He knew he couldn't fight. The second he made that mistake, he regretted it. Before he could even see it coming, a fist was slammed into his cheek, knocking his head against the stone wall. The child fell to the ground only to be bombarded by kicks to his face, torso, and ground. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he wanted to scream, but he knew he couldn't. They would just hit harder. The eldest of the boys picked him up by the collar of his shirt, turned him around so he was facing the wall, and with all his might, slammed the child's face against the stone.
He fell, holding his nose, blood mixing with the tears and staining the ground.
Oh gods... He thought to himself. Help me...
It's dead.
No longer wishing to see, to hear, the small boy placed his wiry figure against the hard stone wall of the Welcome Home orphanage, being abducted to it by an anonymous knight the day before. His sleep was restless and brutal, and he was plagued with images of the last night with her. His mother. Seeing her slip away from him again and again. Watching her grasp for his hand, watching her hand fall before touching his own, cold and devoid of the life he loved. The life that kept him living. That was the night that his name died with the woman that gave it to him. The adults of the house paid no mind to the child, who wrapped himself in a cloak far too large for his size.
And it was in this moment he sat watching the other children, frightened beyond description, through the folds of Ma's old cloak, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. The other children... They were all so... Big. And all the child had was his height, which was maybe only an inch above the other children. He was an easy target. He had to stay hidden. Had to stay.
"Who's the rat in the corner?" He heard in the distance. One of the larger children loudly took notice of the child to his friends. The child tried to sink into the inky blackness of Ma's cloak before the rest of the boys took notice, but it was too late. There were enough of them. He didn't see how many exactly there were... But there were enough. A sly grin spread across the inquisitive child's face as he approached the mass of cloth, laughing to his friends.
"Go... Check." The closest one called out to one of the other boys, probably to check for adults. There was a quiet "Clear!" before an explosion of light and sounds surrounded the child's senses, the cloak tossed somewhere else upon the floor. The child curled up, wearing cheap clothes, dirty and ripped from running from home the night earlier. He did his best to cover his dirty, ragged face with the four of his bruised and battered arms, becoming a mass of pale skin and bone. After their discovery, the children engaged in a chorus of disgusted moans upon discovery of the four-armed boy. Already, soft and salty tears were streaming down his cheeks as the oldest-looking of the boys, the one that ripped his cloak away from him, grabbed hold of his wrists and dragged him from his position on the wall.
"No! No! Let go of me!" The child screamed, afraid of what might happen.
"Shut up, runt, or I shut you up. I don't ask twice." The older boy said quietly, whispering into the child's ear tenderly. This reduced his screams to whimpers and silent cries.
Through his teary eyes he could see the children wincing and cringing at the extra set of arms. Ma said it was a blessing... He thought. She said it was a gift...
The older boy once again spoke to him. "They're stupid," he told the child, referring to the other older boys, of which were the only one left. This, apparently was a normal occurrence, and the other children had left the room. "They don't know nothin'... All they ever do is follow me. They're brainless. They're stupid." He told the child, his grip on the child's wrists loosening a bit. "What's your name?" He asked.
The child didn't know how to answer. He whimpered, turning his head away as so the older boy couldn't see his face. He didn't have a name, really. He wasn't Lloyd anymore. That name died with the woman that gave it to him. So he remained silent.
"Nothing to say to me, huh?" The older boy said again. "You're ungrateful. You're as much of a dumb pinprick as the rest of these petchers. When I ask a question..." He said, releasing the child as he stood up, and raising his voice a bit so his posse could hear him. I get an ANSWER." He yelled, shoving his foot deep into the child's stomach, the group of them laughing as the child buckled in pain, all four of his arms gripping his stomach to cope with the feeling. Through his pain he heard "Take where he needs to go." With that, he was dragged off his feet, two boys on either end holding him up. He was about to scream when a third came behind him and wrapped a scarf around his mouth to prevent noise. He screamed at the top of his lungs as the children then brought him to a large window and lowered him out, the boys directly after to catch make sure he couldn't run. After a moment of struggle they subdued the child again, walking to an alleyway adjacent and throwing him against the wall.
The child that had spoken to him before addressed him now. "I'll ask you again, bug." The other children giggled when he called the boy "bug", and so did the dominant child. "What is your name?"
The boy stood now, back literally against the wall, and remained silent, his four arms in fists and to his sides. He knew he couldn't fight. The second he made that mistake, he regretted it. Before he could even see it coming, a fist was slammed into his cheek, knocking his head against the stone wall. The child fell to the ground only to be bombarded by kicks to his face, torso, and ground. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he wanted to scream, but he knew he couldn't. They would just hit harder. The eldest of the boys picked him up by the collar of his shirt, turned him around so he was facing the wall, and with all his might, slammed the child's face against the stone.
He fell, holding his nose, blood mixing with the tears and staining the ground.
Oh gods... He thought to himself. Help me...
Aventis