It has been two weeks since my punishment.
The pain has yet to subside, but I was long capable of movement. The healing mages did a great job in restoring my body to its original form, but the scars on my emotions and mentality remain. Memories, filled with blood and pain, are still vivid; it is likely the reason I speak less recently. The spiritual exhaustion that filled me internally doesn't show any signs of dispersion the least, and in any time soon.
While it is true that my bodily actions are in no way hampered, but the things I see and do seems as if some colours are lost. The doctor did play around with my eyeballs; the effects of healing magic will probably work until my sights fully restore, as like the many previous times I have endured till now.
Monotone, I remember that is how most would term it.
As if to emphasise on that word, even my surroundings seem to darken into two main hues of black and white. Members of our orphanage avoid me by the dozens as though facing a plague. Though there were no scars on my body, the way I moved around clearly expressed the different pain inflicted upon me, which was probably why I was avoided. They could probably see and feel the things I had experienced. After all, some of them contain some experiences themselves, albeit better than mine. The others probably heard rumours.
Nevertheless, I tried to liven myself up with several other methods.
Food, as many would come to agree with me, is a great source of replenishment. It refills my energy and rejuvenates my soul. Great food makes it even better. If there was one flaw of mine I am to name, it is the dreadfully slow pace I take to eat in the first minutes of every meal I come across. That is because I always make an attempt to savour the taste in my mouth. My eating time after that is a totally different matter. It is either I am rushed for time or the taste is not to my liking; the second half of my meal is always when I eat the fastest.
Also, it is not as if everyone ignores me. Muscles himself doesn't care about formalities and continues to propel me forward with his greeting slap every time we meet. It has gotten to a point where I am already so numbed by pain, that the slap itself does nothing but shoots me forward.
The point is, however annoying David's antics are to me, there is no doubt to his friendliness and care he exhibits towards someone like me. I really appreciate his carefree attitude towards me whether he intends it or not, because it is due to people like David that I would not have to endure this period of time in silence.
Then again, forcing a person in his recovery period to drink some beer is not something normal.
In the time of my recovery, I pass time by reading books and absorbing knowledge. Knowing less certainly is bliss; after all, ignorance is a source of happiness. However, knowing more gives a person an edge over the others, of which one important aspect is survival. Moreover, in my case, knowing more also gives me happiness, so I don't really see any point in knowing less for now.
After all, having a hot drink that I made myself certainly warms my soul.
I love making beverages, sometimes even experimenting with them. From reading, I managed to pick up an interest, and thereafter skill, of creating beverages, ranging from usual to strange ones. Of course, I failed at times and managed a few toilet trips in my schedule, but the wise do say that 'failures conjure successes'. Drinks can be used to fit into different occasions: whether it is a meal, a time for relaxation, or a time before sleep. Depending on the ingredient itself, I could concoct varying beverages for myself or someone. It is a joy and an unconscious hobby. And I admit, it is very likely that most of my friends in the orphanage that I made are due to this unusual interest of mine.
Now that I think about it, David probably got close to me due that cocktail I once tried to make.
Damn that alcoholic.
As for now, I sat by the balcony of my room which overlooked the forest near our orphanage. I relaxed on an inclined wooden chair whilst reading a book on biology and sipping a mug of hot coffee. The funny thing is, I added chocolate into it. This original of mine is just a personal interest that brings about a unique aroma, but it has made several people yield.
Mostly, they are up-and-coming teenagers undergoing puberty who do not like bitterness. A smile leaked from my lips whenever I recall their awkwardness and embarrassment in asking me for this uniquely-flavoured drink.
Suddenly, I felt my body jerk out of control. I barely managed to hold onto the mug and not spill my drink, but my book fell and a few pages were crumpled as a result. I frowned.
"Phantom limb pain, was it?"
"…how many times must I remind you not to enter my room without my permission, regardless of who you are?" (Me)
"Phantom limb pain (PLP) refers to ongoing painful sensations that seem to be coming from the part of the limb that is no longer there. While it is true that your body is restored and functioning normally, the healing magic would certainly take a while in your case."
Mr Niterias stood at my room door smirking, slowly and quietly closing it behind him. Forget ignoring my privacy; this shameless man has ignored the very owner of the room.
"After all, the highest tier punishment does include the usage of magically infused blades, and it wouldn't be a surprise if one of them possessed the ability to slow regeneration or the like." (Niterias)
I did not bother to greet him despite him being my superior in the orphanage. I only bent down and picked up my book after setting down my mug carefully. Raising myself from the chair, I faced the morning sun and stretched. Behind me, Mr Niterias seemed watched my every movement. Or so I had thought, but his next words betrayed my expectations.
"Give me that chocoffee you're drinking now. I want one too." (Niterias)
"…" (Me)