Prodigy

A world of loneliness, dreary and grey, hovered all about him, foreign and without hope or comfort. Tiny, dark eyes dared to explore the expansive wastes threatening to swallow him up. Blackness cut an imaginary line, razor thin, across his vision, severing the blurred cacophony into two distinct fields of dull motion and shimmering stagnation. None of it made sense, not even the frigidness that haunted his very core so badly it shook him sometimes. In those moments, he bathed in the pandemonium of cold and fear and death, but understood nothing of why or how or what those things were. Always they churned about within: seeking, sheltering, feeding . . .

He resided upon his stomach, unmoving as a diminutive corpse atop a thick woolen blanket, his arms and legs limply snuggled in close to his body. The scratchy soft material pressed against the sensitive skin of his exposed face and on the backs of his hands. Its touch mingled with the creeping edge of numbness forever lingering just below his flesh, as if blood of ice coursed through his veins and radiated a constant chill that couldn’t quite reach the surface, yet could still be felt there. The texture irritated him, twitching so slightly as it did beneath his cheek in answer to the undetectable movements of the earth. Instinct beckoned him to cry, but his lungs rebelled against the effort. Likewise, he lacked strength to shift himself in an attempt to garner any attention. Weakness exuded from the chill, never entirely releasing its exhaustive grasp.

Only She rescued him from its oppressive nature long enough to deliver some respite. He heard the tender mumbling of Her somewhere nearby, that sound so soothing in his deepest moments of unrest and confusion. Hearing it stirred an image in his consciousness of a pale face admiring him, all lit up with warmth, Her hot breath caressing him to alleviate the cold. That image clung to his short memory because he had seen it often in his young life, and because it introduced something new--golden orbs that shone like beacons of hope and joy; pure selflessness. He basked in the adoration and imitated what he saw there with a strong desire to keep that comfort close.

She did not come for him now, and so he stared out at the alien greyness, mesmerized by the short stalks that sprang up only a couple feet from where he lay helpless. They appeared the color of ash, and wriggled in all directions at the behest of the gentle breeze. Pointed tips raked at the gleaming brightness that flooded the rest of his world, interjected here and there by chaotic shapes of looming darkness beyond the limits of his visual acuity. He intuitively sought to examine those distant blobs of inky darkness, but his focus fluctuated from their delicate swaying, which turned his eyelids leaden.

Everything virtually slipped into the realm of forgetful bliss until rapid movement recaptured his awareness. Eyes suddenly popped open wide, curiosity forestalling the inevitable for a brief time, at least. Varying shades of neutrality bobbed about in the air before him, bisected by a slim stick similar in shape to the waving stalks but far duskier. It danced in and out of his vision, light as a feather, but somehow he tracked it with dogged perseverance. The playfulness of its flight enraptured him so thoroughly that a delighted smile snuck onto his face. Attracted to this bout of happiness, it swooped in to land upon his nose, where the intermingled shades fluttered once or twice more before folding together, becoming perfectly still.

Mouth agape, with smile vanished, fascination dictated he try to draw all focus to the inexplicable oddity, but it perched so close that such proved impossible. Slowly, he started to doze. Every now and again, the mixed shades flicked reactively, flashing before his tired vision and startling him back from the peaceful oblivion of sleep. This happened one too many times. The chill welled up inside him, and, with a fury, released itself through him.

He glimpsed the fluttering shades shudder spasmodically and fall to the blanket just before his world tumbled into uncontrollable confusion.

The chill swelled within him so suddenly it woke him from a fitful sleep. Pallid skin took on a bluish hue, thin veins appearing beneath as though it were transparent glass. Purpled lips gaped in a silent scream, his diminutive face scrunched in protest, but not against the cold that discolored his body and radiated out from it. The infant had known nothing but cold throughout his short life.

He fought the Rage.

It plagued him from his first memory, in the solitude of warmth before the world had become a never ending winter. In that earliest time of new life, it assaulted him constantly. Like a snarling, savaging maw it sought to devour his conscious thought, and rapaciously haunted every moment of every dream. Bereft of understanding as to its purpose or meaning, something unconscious had taken up the mantle of defense and saved his precious little mind. The wages for this war were youthful innocence, serenity, and vitality. When the freezing light struck him for the first time, he had intrinsically known that cost.

Now, he paid it.

The knowledge made the struggle easier, though no less painful. His brain throbbed incomprehensibly, practically pulsing in his head with unbridled fury yearning to be unleashed. Tiny fingers kneaded weakly at the soft blankets beneath them, hardly able to dent the plush fabric, but acting as evidence for the physical backlash to the mental anguish. The intensity of it expelled the air from his lungs in long, choking gasps, yet permitted only brief intake after every few seconds. Despite the agony of the attack, the majority of his body stayed deathly still, too weary to react with throes of relief.

Then it stopped. Abrupt, like the calm before the terrifying storm. The pressure pounding in his mind dissipated to nothingness, leaving him chill and alone once more. Amber eyes, the only feature that brought life-like color to the infant’s face, stared unblinking into the darkness all around . . .

And, suddenly, that darkness fluttered before him, bobbing and weaving and touching down right in front of his face.