Monsters, Memories: The Magnifying Glass

Well, this one definitely did not turn out the way I thought it would. I also decided to stick with the same character, because for some reason, this Colton fascinates me. Which is weird, since I should know him very well…

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“… Colton? Earth to Colton?” I heard, tuning back into reality.

I blinked. Celia was looking at me, lips curled in an amused smirk, eyebrows raised in question.

“I believe I may have got distracted again,” I said, as if nothing had happened. “My bad. What is it you were saying, sister? Something about… A magnifying glass?”

She sighed. “No, that was what YOU were staring daggers at, the whole time I was talking.”

I put on a remorseful face. Truthfully, I didn’t feel that way. The magnifying glass occupied my mind. It exuded darkness and evil, something that was hard to resist, especially for me. I envied my sister; she was able to withstand the magnifying glass’ foul nature because she was so pure, so pristine, so unlike our—our—

“Brother, are you alright? You’re quite pale. Do you wish to talk?”

No, I didn’t. Therefore, I avoided answering her question, standing up and striding over to the console table, where the magnifying glass lay. It was a simple, beautiful thing; created entirely of gold, intricate patterns carved on the handle, the crest of the manor delicately engraved at the bottom. My hand stretched out to pick it up, but I faltered. What if it consumed me? What if too many awful memories came flooding back? I couldn’t have that.

I picked it up.

All the details resurfaced, making me drop the magnifying glass. I thought of Father. The way he acted around me: his eyes, hard, unkind, cruel things that felt no emotion. There was the way he conducted himself in public: a commanding presence yet an angel, his white hair slicked back, gentle and willing to do anything for his people. He was all lies, he was. Of course, only I knew.

I remembered the day I discovered the truth. I was eleven, a child’s phase of disobedience, when I dared to enter my father’s quarters. He was up to his usual lord business, something I had absolutely no interest in. Naturally, the rooms were perfectly normal, with shimmering candlesticks, beautiful silken curtains, and intricately decorative wallpaper.

As children do, I snuck into all his rooms, even this miniscule hole next to his washroom that was shaped a bit like an upside down lollipop. It was a bit strange, yet fascinating, so I poked the hole a couple times, contemplating the use of it, when I heard a moan. Terrified of being caught, I whirled around.

No one. Good—that only meant I could keep on snooping. The moan made me very curious, so I resolved that I wanted to locate it.

I did end up figuring it out, but when I came face to face with the person who uttered the moan, I froze, horrified. Scanning the entire area, I barely processed my surroundings. My only solution: a blood-curdling scream. I screamed and screamed, until my voice was unable to scream any further. Yet no one came.

It was repulsive, and atrocious, and the subject of many nightmares for years to come. These humans were no longer human; they were monsters, deformed, with limbs where limbs should not be, scars scattering their forms, skin puckered and in many cases, torn from the body itself. There were heaps of these monstrosities, more than half of them no longer moving, rotting in the corners.

I almost emptied the contents of my entire body right there, when I heard the bang of a door and I knew. It was him—my hero, my role model, my father. All these missing people in the cities, even back when I was not yet born, my mother, my brothers… And I knew I was next.

Petrified, I subtly reached my hand behind me and grabbed the first thing I could to potentially defend myself. A magnifying glass. Useless.

My father let me go that time, but I lived the next several years in endless fear. People continued to disappear. He no longer bothered to hide his true self around me, but treated me like scum. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t hang out with my friends. Deciding that isolating myself was the best option, I remained in my quarters.

I never once cried. I wanted to, several times. Nonetheless, even when I despised my father—as he did me—his teachings were implanted in my brain. Never bow your head to others, never dress in anything a commoner would wear, and never cry, as that is the absolute weakness.

He died two years ago. I often think about what I would have done if he’d survived. I also often think about the fact that maybe he didn’t die. Maybe he was killed.

I hope he was killed.

The magnifying glass continued to linger in my room. It hadn’t occurred to me that maybe I should dispose of it, before it overwhelms me—still, I couldn’t seem to rid myself of it. It was the only memento of my father I owned, one that would always, always, remind me of the person I would never grow up to be.

That, and I was a coward.

I turned around, and forced a smile onto my face, my cheeks twitching uncomfortably. “It is almost half past,” I said. “Shall we go for supper, sister?”

Celia stared into my eyes. Seemingly satisfied about something, she stood up, leveled out her dress, and reached her pristine hand out to me.

“Yes, we shall.”

Windows, Whispers: The Rooms in the House

This one was supposed to be a character entering three rooms and looking out the window for each one. And seeing different people in each room. It ended up just being the character doing a hell lot of thinking, and not a lot of being friendly. I tried.

I also REALLY don’t know how to end a story/piece of writing/thing with a guy saying something. It just looks really unfinished. I was going for the dialogue dying out, like in movies, but that obviously did not work. Oops.

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The door let out a feeble whimper as it opened, and Colton stepped in, eyes sweeping the room once over. The last time he entered this room, he was about… Eleven? Colton took a deep breath, emotions overwhelming him at barely a minute in. The image plagued his mind: rugged handsomeness in a sharp, pristine face, all line and no roundness. Greasy ducktail, as white as angel’s wings, and rigid, unkind eyes that bored into everyone.

It was impossible to look at the shimmering candlesticks, the majestic king-sized bed, the silken curtains, and the intricately decorative wallpaper for too long. The abundance of items made or painted of gold stung his eyes. Colton blinked rapidly—dust must’ve entered. Naturally, since no one has entered this room for numerous years.

He strode forward briskly, pausing before the window. It was here he stood, body still as a stick, hands rigidly fisted by his sides, face still, too afraid to drown in emotions, that he noticed something odd outside his manor. Observing the scene, his body loosened a bit. It was quite unlike what generally occurred in the manor, and Colton didn’t know if he appreciated it, or despised the damage of routine.

“Idiots,” he muttered to himself.

He couldn’t help but let a little smile find its way onto his face—making his cheeks ache. A smile; Colton hasn’t had the privilege of one for a long, long time. He had no need to. Nothing that happened in the manor really merited any reaction from Colton, except when people came to visit.

Maybe Colton was just lonely.

An tiny flame kindled somewhere in his fragmented heart, a feeling he couldn’t bear to acknowledge, so he whirled around and hastened out the room, in as graceful a manner he could muster.

~~

Colton strolled through the halls, giving a polite nod to those he passed. All these people; what did they do during the days? He never really tried to get to know them all that well, except for Master Nathaniel, of course. These thoughts invaded his mind, and before he knew it, he was standing in the entrance of the kitchens. He entered, head down, eyes scanning the floor, praying he wouldn’t be seen.

He was seen.

“Lad, ge’ some w—Oh!” a lady exclaimed, her sharp accent slurring her English, her white apron stained much like a paint palette, her hair a truss of hay, her wrinkled hands frozen in the act of wiping a counter down. “Me Lord! I—I din’ see you—Ah—Would’ya like—“

Colton eyed her. He didn’t know her name, or what she did in the kitchens.

“It’s quite alright, ma’am. I simply wished to pass by. Keep doing what you were doing.” He nodded at the rag clenched in her trembling hands; trembling out of fear of him, Colton supposed.

The lady nodded, wordlessly proceeding with her work. Colton watched her for a moment longer, and then examined the kitchens, catching no sign of windows, except—There. A miniscule square, barely enough space for one’s face, the only freedom these people had in this dark, blistering room, which was constantly buzzing with noise. Planting his face right into the square, Colton was met with an incredibly distasteful scene. He recoiled, face scrunching up, positively disgusted. Involuntarily, he backed up.

On his way out the kitchens, he passed by the lady again. The lady tensed, knowing who was approaching, but continued her diligent cleaning, head hunched over. Colton’s strides slowed a bit, and he told himself, begged himself, to say something kind to the lady.

He didn’t.

~~

Back in the halls, Colton furiously lashed out at himself. Coward, he thought. Can’t even recognize the struggles of his people. It reminded him too much of—no. He wouldn’t think. Shaking his head, he tucked a stray strand of white hair behind his ear; his mind needed to be clear and confident, his body oozing elegance and dignity.

Colton went back to his quarters. His sitting room was, however, already occupied. His sister sat there: hands folded atop her lap, face gentle and patient, as pristine and pure as ever. She was so different from him, he mused. Did they actually come from the same parents? This was a thought that lingered incessantly in the corner of his mind.

Celia stood up, a smile lifting her face. “Brother, how do you do? Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

“Sit down, Celia,” Colton instructed, drawing her in for an awkward, loose hug. Her arms enveloped around him, gripping the back of his jacket, while his hung stiffly around her.

It lasted barely a few seconds. He stepped away, fixing his clothing, and wandered over to the windows. The windows spanned nearly the whole side of the sitting room, regal, towering over Colton, screaming wealth. He stood there, hands in his pockets. From his room, he saw the scene from earlier, which amused him slightly.

A rustle behind him, and Colton knew without turning that Celia stood there. He sighed; she never listened to him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she remarked. “Reminds me of our younger days.”

Colton felt her gaze on him, a gaze of compassion and pity. It bore into him. He couldn’t bear it, so he spun around, took her arm, and guided them both to the couches. It had been a while since he saw her, so it was a perfect time to catch up with each other—not be nostalgic on awful memories.

“So,” Colton said, making his voice sound more thrilled than he was. “What have you been…”