~A Broken Boy~

[Limo_man 403]

                        



     

~A Broken Boy~

        An LOTC Rp story of a minor haunting wearing off
Musica

                

    Emptied glass bottles could be heard clanking and clattering outside Haense’s walls. A boy had lined them up atop the smithing forge next to the city’s farm fields where he’d begin knocking them down with a slingshot that launched corks - some of the falling bottles shattered upon impact with the ground as others made a loud bang and rolled off to the side. This boy looked, aside from being too drunk to utter a word, somehow both angry and fearful. These expressions both adorned his face like permanent markers staining a piece of printer paper. 

 

    The last bottle then hit the ground leaving the boy to let a long angry grunt out. He was left staring at nothing but the shards and splotches of glass and hard liquor that were scattered around the ground, “Even when I am drunk I don’t feel right,” the boy dropped the slingshot and sank to the stone floor allowing for his head to sink down onto his knees. His weary exhausted eyes closed shut - however, something clearly was plaguing him and his young mind. It’d take seconds before the boy brought his head back up in terror of what he had seen when his eyes closed shut. His body then trembled and shook as violently as the glass bottles did while shattering chaotically all over the ground. His dry, tear-stained, face started to produce a long long stream of tears that left him up for the whole night; this boy was so sick that not even his pained tears could bring him to sleep.

 

    Morning came along and the boy’s thoughts gathered. He was free for now from his traumas and such. But he was not in fact free from the Bottle’s alluring calls and endearing warmth that the boy yearned for. As the calls were answered in the tavern, and the boy gripped the neck of the bottle. People’s haunting words of judgment from all around him started to overwhelm him. The boy could only take so much before he broke a little bit more. He stood from his seat in the bar and left the judging and afflicting crowd to wander the teeming streets of Happy Haense. His inner monologue started to unravel itself out to him. It was as though it had been hidden away behind a curtain for far too long. . .

 

    “Adrian. If you keep this up then your whole family will no doubt leave you and hold great shame to your name for many generations - especially your Modir and siblings. You must fight your crippling addiction so that you can figure out who killed your father and make him proud by accomplishing the feats you had set out to do when you were just a happy boy. He was a good man and wouldn’t in any way shape or form tolerate your idiocy the past few months. Grow up.”

 

    The boy wept a few tears before tossing the bottle of Jaegermeister into a garbage bin. Of course, it didn’t go in. He was drunk. Very. . .drunk. But it was a sign that the fragmented shards that resembled his once happy life had finally started to try and desperately tug and string themselves back together. This boy then closed his eyes for a moment again in hopes that days and weeks of insomnia and pain would let up and allow for a small brief respite. To his surprise a pleasant array of cooling feelings overtook his entire body; specifically it most prominently effected his head. This overpowering release of his paranoia, hysteria, and ‘fog’ was so strong that it’d drop him to the ground and leave him incapable of moving for minutes. While prone on the pathway, the boy even began to see things while the bad exited his body. As Haeseni citizens who’d assume the boy passed out from alcohol wandered the streets around him, this pulsing feeling started to subside along with the vision that was projected out to him of two hands held out to him surrounded by a warm golden glow and clouds that looked as fluffy as a pillow of cotton candy. These hands weren’t exactly special in any certain way regarding their physical features, but it’d still emanate this otherworldly presence that comforted this boy and his broken mourning state.

 

 The boy let a long deep gasp out as he came to and stared around in a calm and mellow manner. The pain, fear, and irritated expressions that had followed him around anywhere he went were now gone. Completely vanished as if they weren’t ever there to begin with. A few stray tears escaped his eyes without the boy even realizing he was crying. He pulled a finger up to a rolling tear and dipped the tip of his pinky into it to see what was happening. Once he confirmed it to be nothing more then a tear, of what was likely joy, he let out a big hearty laugh. This boy didn’t even believe that what just happened could have happened; perhaps he even thought himself to have gone a little mad. His reinvigorated gaze then pulled away from his hands and met with the sheet of blue clear sky that seemed to bear no end - he’d mumbled out at something - or rather to someone up above.

 

“If that was you Pappa - thank you for lessening my burdens, no matter what they might have been. I felt as though I were trapped in a box by them. . .” A small grin beset onto the boy’s face, “I won’t completely give up drinking though. It’d be too hard and alcohol tastes very good. But I promise that I won’t let it ruin my life Pappa.”

 

 With those parting words Adrian Andrik Colborn, this boy, had a purpose again - a purpose and path that could very likely lead to one’s demise. But this broken boy was ready to embark on the daunting adventure ahead - even after crossing its foreboding peripheries. 

 

Signed, Adrian Andrik Colborn