~Preface~
It is my birthday today. Not my birthday per se, as I have no memories of the exact date, but the anniversary of my adoption. Henry has been teaching me words, and they seem to come naturally to me---perhaps as a compensation for how hard it is for me to mean them. He has given me a diary and suggested that I write my days down as practice---and I will, so he’ll be happy. It will be a watered down version of my most inner thoughts, however, as if there is a man in this world who deserves happiness, it’s Henry, and to know what an empty son he has would destroy him. My true words will be these instead, and by faithfully writing down my life, perhaps I will finally be able to make some sense of it.
...
Perhaps I should start with what I now see as my single most important memory. If I had to choose a single moment to define myself, it would be that warm summer night, back in my parents’ house near Drapon, in the small, seaside country of corrupt rulers and greedy merchants that is Shadir. In fact, it’s so important that I consider that day as the day Abel Blackmore was born.
~Chapter 1: Birth~
“Truly, if there is evil in this world,
It lies within the heart of mankind.” – Edward D. Morrison
Try as I might, I cannot seem to recall more than a few blurred images of that night. I suppose it is what you would call frustrating, as it is such a paramount moment in my life.
What I do know is that, at some point in that night, I went to my parents’ room. I must have had a nightmare, as I am told young children often do. You see, I was barely of a tender six years old then.
The next thing I remember is the only truly vivid image I have from then---painfully vivid, burned forever into my mind.
I remember my parents’ faces. They were ghoulishly pale, white as the moon outside; frozen in what I now know was terror and pain. Things that a child would not have known, perhaps that is why I must have been so confused.
Confused enough to touch them, nudge them softly, then more urgently as little Abel got impatient. Why wasn’t Mommy answering?
Then there was blood on my hands, or was it there before? I wouldn’t have known, as the bodies I had just touched were of a deep dark crimson that even back then I knew was blood. A panicked, more attentive look at my dear deceased parents’ revealed slashed throats.
And, well, there was a dagger in my hand.
~Chapter 2: Fairy Tale~
“If I smile and don't believe
Soon, I know I'll wake from this dream” – Hello, Evanescence
One must understand, even for someone like me, killing my own parents was not easy. The next moments are all a blur, as one might expect; I just know that I fled the scene, dagger still in hand. I went for the woods, afraid that a nosy neighbor might chase me, but no one did. Even now, I still wonder whether that was because nobody had heard anything, or because they simply didn’t care. Knowing Shadir, it just might very well be the latter.
For days on end I hid underneath a gigantic tree’s roots. I did not have anything to eat, but the rain gave me water. Perhaps this starvation was a hint of things to come. I should have heeded that warning.
When the man first came, I do not know what he saw in me that made him stop and consider me. Surely I must have looked terrible, almost like a child’s skeleton? It is a wonder he even saw me at all, thin and hidden as I must have been. Were I in his place, I wouldn’t have even stopped to look at a kid that was so weak, there was nothing to gain from it. But I wasn’t, as much as I might wish I were.
He spoke to me. I do not remember his words, they flew right past my feverish, panicked brain. I do not remember the fear, because there was never such a thing, but as a child, I must have somehow expected him to know about my crime. I must have thought he wanted to kill me. So why did I trust him, even so…?
Credit be given where it is due, it took him days to gain my trust. Everyday, he would pass by and leave me food. I was such a stupid child; how could I kill in cold blood and then trust the kindness of a stranger? What he did to me was not fair, and I hate those consequences as much as possible, but sometimes I cannot help but wonder… perhaps I did deserve it. Time has thought me this lesson: the weak have no place in this world.
Everyday, the man would ask me if I wouldn’t come out from underneath the roots and go with him. Everyday, I would just silently shake my head. I do not know when I came to trust him, but I did, and one day I broke that routine: out I came, and we walked away together, hand in hand.
It should have ended there.
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