The sun began to rise, casting familiar rays of light and warmth on the land. But someone had already risen before the sun—a boy who was yet to be named.
The boy had turned 13 years old today; though there was no one to congratulate today.
He rises before dawn, not because he wants to but because the cold wooden floor aches against his body—his body that was frail and weak. Rotting from the inside out.
His bed was taken away from him almost a decade ago—when he made the mistake of asking for a pillow.
I'm such an idiot, why did I have to talk back to father like that? I should have been happy with what I had, I can not believe I had become so greedy that I would ask for such a thing.
He thinks in his head—the notion that his parents were always correct was like a guideline in his head, a universal truth and law that his mind would sub-consciously abide by.
He sits up slowly as to not make noise, Ah.. careful now. Any noise this early in the morning may awake his dad—the price of that mistake would make him pay greatly.
He limps slowly towards the bathroom, his joints still stiff from sleeping on the wooden floor. And his frail legs not being able to keep up with his brain's demands.
Reaching the sink, he looks at the mirror—as cracked as it was he could make out the shape of his face still. A face that still haunted him, messy uncontrolled black hair, a left eye that was clouded by an eerily white substance. And worst of all, scars... blemishes left on his face.
He was disgusted—completely so at his own appearance even if he couldn't see it properly. He still knew what he looked like.
The boy can tell that the left side of his face has become numb—the disease was continuing to take the left part of his body. His eyes, his ears and some part of his arm.
The rate of this rotting caused by the disease will only increase as he grows older.
I'm.. really... I really am a curse. He whispers to himself as he looks in the cracked mirror, he turns the faucet on, splashing the cold water on his face, and yet he felt nothing on the left side.
***
The boy knows better than to sit at the table, breakfast is being served at the table. His mother prepares two plates, she sets them on the table.
But there were only two plates, and none of them were for the boy.
He sits by the door, waiting for something.
If father is in a good mood, I may eat lots today... I hope he can be happy today.
Well, by lots he means scraps of food.
Today, his father was not in a good mood—he does not acknowledge the presence of the boy. His mother glances at him, if only for a mere second before turning away immediately, her face scrunching up in disdain and a hint of shame at the boy's existence.
***
The streets of Elyndor are much like those of the modern world, lamp posts and benches scattered everywhere across.
But, the streets are grey. The usual color of the city itself is grey, except for the few bright signs that were coloured.
Today, the atmosphere was bleak as usual; the same atmosphere when the clouds block out the sun during the day; not too dark but not too bright either.
The boy heads to school, his parents were rather well respected in the city—but the boy was not acknowledged. Never acknowledged to be their son.
At school he sits in one of the back seats and though he had always wished to sit at the front, that would never happen.
The class goes on, the teacher lecturing the students carefully, the boy listened, he was genuinely curious because other than working at home or being ignored this was the only form of indirect contact he could have with other people.
"Distortions have existed since the very dawn of time. They are an extremely dangerous and catastrophic phenomenon caused by mana. Sometimes mana can pile up into a small clutter, and that clutter or mass of mana can turn into a distortion."
The teacher lectures the students as he writes the word on the whiteboard with a marker.
"I hope that you are all listening. Because this next part is important."
"There are three types of distortions. Please open up your notebooks and write this down."
As the teacher says that, all students begin to write down the notes, so does the boy.
"First, the most common type of distortion. Object distortions. Object distortions are objects that have been distorted. They are not very dangerous—however no distortion is ever safe. So never ever try to use them. Report them to an Investigator of the I Association immediately."
"Now, the second type would be entity distortions. Entity distortions are conscious—meaning they can think like us. But they are not like us. They are monsters, much much worse than those in legend and myth.
Distortion entities cause 60% or more of the yearly death rate. They are extremely dangerous.
Distortion entities know and can feel that they need mana to survive, so they feed on humans and other mana rich animals to keep themselves alive.
Remember that the more mana you have or the easier a target you are, the more likely a distortion will target you."
"Now, the third type. Phenomenons. These distortions do not have a physical form. Only a mana form that can be "seen" using mana sense. Mana sense is an ordinary ability that anyone can use, all of you will be able to use it one day, atleast I hope... not all of you are very bright, are you?"
"Mana phenomenons cause a certain phenomenon, examples include; causing a disease. Or maybe causing a certain area to always smell bad. It doesn't always have to be a dangerous ability. It can sometimes be mundane."
The teacher finishes the lecture on distortions and what they are.
The boy finishes his notes, his expression neutral—unlike the glee or joy that he wanted to show in this scenario. He is suppressing his feelings as usual.
Crying, laughing or showing anger? Those are bad... I don't want to be a bad person....
The teacher asks a question to the class, "Now. Who can tell me what the most dangerous type of distortion is and why?"
The boy raises his hand—actually he is the only one raisint his hands. The others learned long ago that saying the wrong answer would just result in them getting a bad result. Though the boy is promptly ignored as the teacher picks a boy who was not even raising his hand from the front.
The E-Association managed every school, every college, university or other educational institution. They were renowned. Actually more so revered as a prestigious place to be.
Children at a young age are taught that going to school means they must suppress any and all urges there—or they are met with punishment. Not just by teachers, but by their parents as well.
***
The boy does not go home immediately after school ends, instead he decides to go to the backstreets. A part of the city that were considered the slums pretty much.
However many homeless people laid there starving, and the corpses, he was not disgusted. He has only one goal in mind at the moment.
He scavenges through the garbage disposals, rummaging through rotting food or waste. Until he finds something unbelievable—an apple. A half eaten apple that was discarded.
Ah. An apple..! I was so hungry...
Without even a moment of thought, he bites into the apple. He knows it's dirty and unsanitary, and may cause him to have digestion issues. But maybe that was what he deserved?
Yes, that is what he deserves for being a curse doesn't he? For daring to be born while donning the disease that made him look so horribly like a distortion.
Maybe so, maybe he was a distortion in human form.
The boy feels the dopamine rush to his brain as his tastebuds feel the apple. It was slightly sour—indicating that that was why it was thrown away.
A sour apple with one bite... maybe a rich family threw it away for being sour after trying it once...?
***
The boy returns to his home, his father is waiting.
"Where were you?"
Ah He thought, knowing that no answer would be good enough in this moment.
"S-s-sorry. I wa-" before the words had even left his mouth, and before he had registered what had happened. The backside of his father's hand landed on his face. Leaving a red mark.
He does not cry, crying would only be worse. He would be punished for whining like a baby, he thinks.
He is ordered to kneel in the dark. It is tiring. He is hungry...
It's cold and silent.