Status: Complete!
The Orphans
The Orphans
“You can’t do that. I won’t allow it.”
“Well, it’s not your choice.”
“It’s not fair! I can’t...I can’t lose you...”
“It isn’t your choice to make.”
“Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me like this.”
“Goodbye, Ash.”
“Elon, please, don’t leave. Not like this. Please.”
“I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Please, Elon. Don’t leave on these terms. I can’t...”
We were orphans. When we were no more than several days old, the Sandelian Orphanage had found us upon their doorstep, abandoned by the parents who had brought us into the world.
Why?
I used to think it was me.
There’s an unfortunate mutation that sometimes occurs in the human population. A random allele caused by rogue genes, a result of the careless use of radioactive materials by the government. The high priest had ordained their use to provide power for our struggling economy. He was unaware of the impending consequences.
I was born with only half a body. My right side was mostly functional, but the left...nothing more than an angry, malformed amalgamation of skin and scar tissue and confused skeletal disarray. Whether an eye hid behind the puffy, swollen flesh of my cheek, I couldn’t say. If an arm was supposed to grow from the short, stunted stub at my left shoulder, I wouldn’t know. My left leg twisted at a horrifying angle, supporting my weight but causing a limping, zombified gait.
I’ve struggled all my life. It was many years before I could properly support myself on my legs, let alone walk. No matter how hard I tried, daily life was a constant, endless battle. One eye meant no depth perception, and one arm meant severe physical weakness. The orphanage gave up on having me help with chores. Too many times I had broken glass with poor grip, knocked over chairs and tables with my erratic gait, misplaced and dropped items due to my inability to delineate depth.
But that was by no means the hardest part. The majority of my pain stemmed from the orphans themselves. I was stared and gawked at by the other children, teased and poked and given sideways glances. Tripping feet appeared from nowhere, accidental shoves and kicks and punches to the ground became an expectation. I was derided and jeered, as if I were an animal in a zoo and not another child with whom they lived.
Nobody who ever came to adopt gave me a second glance.
I had one saving grace. My brother, Elon.
Elon protected me. He chased away the bullies, as best he could, and reassured me that despite my deformities, I was beautiful. He told me jokes and tended my wounds, sitting quietly in the dark with me as I sobbed through nightmares.
The orphanage made sure that we were never separated. We shared a room in the house, and were never seen apart.
My brother was a genius. And of course, I don’t simply mean that because I looked up to him. His mind was unbelievably brilliant. Had he not been born into poverty and abandoned by his own parents, I believe he could have changed the world.
He intimidated the older children. They saw him as a threat, due to his intellect, and would often try to beat him down. I’d see them corner him and punch him until only his eyes could be seen behind the sheen of blood on his face. I...never did anything about it. I was afraid. What could I have done? I was weak, and deformed. I didn’t possess the strength to defend myself, much less the brother who dared to stand up for me. He never blamed me for failing to step in. He never grew angry with me. But on those days when he returned with a bloody nose and a limp like my own, there was such a sad, forlorn look in his eyes.
When he was old enough, Elon began to look for work. He tried finding jobs at companies with decent pay and working environments, but the faded, stained clothing that the orphanage could afford cost him many opportunities. Despite his brilliant mind and astounding effort, he was often turned down on the basis of appearance alone.
One company, a military-based ammunition manufacturer near the orphanage, allowed him in. It was as good a job as any, with mediocre pay, but the hours were reasonable and the employers friendly. They took my brother in and treated him with utmost respect and care. He worked hard, and diligently, and it was not long before his dedication rewarded him.
He earned enough to be able to buy a little shack near the factory, and we could finally leave the orphanage and live on our own. I helped take care of the house, as best I could, though I was mainly restricted to dusting and cleaning up the mold and debris. Elon erected new walls where old ones had fallen through, and ensured the building was strong, sturdy, and safe. In my persistent free time, I painted the walls, a delicate dance between beauty and terror spanning the small space.
Before long, the ramshackle hut had become a homely prison.
I was unable to work, struggling with my mutations and having been turned down as a...freak, a deformity. So I found myself chained to the shack, only freed by visits to the General Store down the road whenever we needed more supplies.
We survived in that house for several years. Elon was fairly content with his job at the ammunition manufacturer, despite having been given a chance to pursue an education. He declined, even after being granted a full scholarship to attend a military institute, because he knew I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself on my own. If he left, I would have to return to the orphanage (which I was now too old for) or find a low-paying job that could barely support me, if I could find a job at all. His loyalty to me far outweighed any opportunity he could have had in his life.
And I...I betrayed him.
Even since we were dropped off at the orphanage as babies, we’ve had miniature trackers in our wrists. We were alerted to their presence by the owners of the orphanage, who said they were not permitted to tamper with them. Elon had been elated, believing that perhaps our parents had truly wanted us. That they would come looking for us. That they would come back for us.
I couldn’t bring myself to believe him. Something kept telling me that we had been abandoned because of my mutation, my hideous deformity. Years upon years of being overlooked during adoptions, of being teased and insulted, led me to believe I was indeed nothing more than an animal to be jeered.
Yet Elon remained positive. He always, always talked about how they’d return for us, how they wouldn’t have planted tracking chips in our wrists otherwise. All I could think about was how they’d be using the tracking chips to make sure they didn’t run into us again. So they wouldn’t have to see the monstrosity I’ve become. We fought over it more times than I wish we had. There was usually forgiveness though, in the end, no matter how frustrated we grew with each other. But things changed.
The war started. The ammunition factory was busier than ever. The influx of jobs brought some shady people into the town, and a black market blossomed under the cover of night. Elon worked longer hours now, and we hardly got to see each other. He’d come home, eat dinner, and fall straight into bed, waking up early to begin work again. In the beginning, he gave me a locket, in order to remind me of just how much he loved me. That no matter how lonely I felt, or how distressed I became, he was always there for me. That he would always be my brother.
Slowly, our relationship trickled away. Our words were clipped, nothing more than polite greetings between acquaintances. He scarfed down the dinners I managed to painstakingly prepare, and disappeared into his room. Eating together was a pleasantry more than a desire.
There was a particularly bad argument one evening. I was adamant about the fact that they never wanted us, that they had forgotten us and given us up for good. Elon had gone to bed angry that night. I forgot to tell him I’m sorry.
I had been to the general store earlier that day, and had run into a pack of workers from the factory. Their eyes followed me as I made my rounds, snickering and pointing.
Heathen.
Mutant.
Freak.
Words of discrimination, of gut-wrenching ruthlessness barraged my ears, and when I returned home I could see nothing but red. How dare they! So ignorant, so stupid, so...
Like my parents.
My parents had caused this. They had abandoned me. I could have grown up in a home with a loving family, given support and care and told I was worth something. That I wasn’t a freak or a mutant. Yet here I was, left alone with only my brother to support me, jeered and insulted to the point where I had no purpose other than to hide away in our home until the end of my pointless existence.
I scratched at my arm where the tracking chip lay, my blood boiling. If they didn’t want me, fine.
They wouldn’t have any chance to find me.
I visited the black market that night. I stole some of the savings Elon had been collecting over the past two years. I bought an anti-tracking device. A gun that disturbs the wavelengths of the beams projected by the tracking chip, destroying its ability to transmit a signal. Severing me from our parents.
Using the device on myself wasn’t going to be enough. Elon, too, would have to have his tracking chip destroyed. It would lead them back to me. Back to us. Where they’d probably steal him away from me, leaving me alone and forgotten and unloved...
When he was asleep, I broke his tracking chip. Foolish as I was though, I forgot to properly hide the anti-tracking device, and was awoken the next morning by angry shouts.
“Ash! How dare you?!” He cried, dragging me out of bed by my only wrist. He threw me to the floor
in his rage, his face screwed in frustration and...and despair.
“They can’t find us now! They can’t come and...and hurt you, or...or steal you away from me...” I began to cry, suddenly realizing the damage I had caused. I had never seen him so angry, so distraught. The look on his face...
“Damn it, Ash! Goddammit!” He threw the anti-tracking device against the wall, shattering a mirror and smashing the device to pieces. He sunk to the floor, head in his hands, his jaw clenched so tightly his skin was stark white.
“Elon, I...I’m sorry...” I whispered, moving closer to him. He shuffled back, glaring at me.
His gaze was ice cold. After a moment, he stood, throwing on his overcoat. His movements were fast and hurried, as if in a rush to get away from me.
“Elon, please, stop!” I cried, grabbing onto his coat hem. Before I could react, the back of his hand had cracked across my face, and I crumpled to the floor.
I looked up at him with tears stinging my eye, holding my cheek. His expression held no remorse as he turned and strode out the door.
Why didn’t I listen to him? Why didn’t I believe him? Why had I chosen to be so selfish, so self-serving?
I had lived for so long by everyone else’s terms. Under the care of the orphanage. Under the care of my brother. Under the assumption that nobody, aside from my brother, could ever look at me like a human being. My crippling deformities had kept me from taking care of myself all my life. I wanted to make my own decision for once.
But it hadn’t been my decision to make.
He didn’t return that night. Nor did he come home the next day. When I travelled to the manufacturing plant to search for him, I saw a congregation of soldiers upon the pier. As I drew closer, I saw his face among the crowd. A uniform like all the others. Waiting to board the ship.
Without me.
“Elon!” I cried, and though I saw him stand alert, he did not look towards me. His eyes remained on the ship approaching the dock.
“Elon, wait!” I shoved my way through the crowd, almost tripping over my own awkward feet, trying to get to him. When I finally reached him, and managed to get his attention, his gaze was cold.
“What are you doing?” I asked, fear writhing its way through my veins.
He said nothing.
Tears began to spill down my cheeks. “What about me?”
No response. No hint of guilt crossed his face. No remorse.
“You can’t do that. I won’t allow it.”
“Well, it’s not your choice.”
“It’s not fair! I can’t...I can’t lose you...”
“It isn’t your choice to make.”
“Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me like this.”
“Goodbye, Ash.”
“Elon, please, don’t leave. Not like this. Please.”
I grabbed his arm, holding him tightly. He drew in a breath, as if restraining himself from shoving me back, as if my touch were going to taint his blood with my impurities.
“I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Please, Elon. Don’t leave on these terms. I can’t...”
The loud blast of a horn cut into my words, and he turned away. He strode up the pier, onto the ship, and disappeared from view. My voice froze in my throat. I watched until the airship had flown off into the sunset, only the tiny fragmented reflections of the solar sails remaining in my vision.
When he returned home, it was in a tiny box. His name was printed onto a silk scarf and tied around the wooden casing, alongside a letter of condolences, as if it could somehow heal my shattered heart.
He died a warrior, one comment said.
The greatest man I knew, read another.
Valiant.
Kind.
Loving.
My brother.
He was my brother.
I opened the locket that hung around my neck, a hologram illuminating my face. A picture of Elon
wrapping his arms around my neck. Friendly, happy. When we were a family. When...
When I hadn’t let him down.
Our parents managed to find their way to us. I don’t know how. I don’t care to find out. When they stumbled upon me, I was only barely scraping by. The savings were beginning to run dry, and though I had managed to find some work, the pay was minimal and my treatment was rough. I was still seen as a mutant, no matter where I attempted to work. Too many times I was kicked out as soon as a replacement came along.
I had just been removed from my previous job when my parents strode through the door of the house, eyes searching for the children they had abandoned so many years ago.
Elon’s ashes were sitting above the fireplace.
They rushed towards me, instantly recognizing my features, and embraced me. They cried and cried, pouring out their hearts, explaining how they had been afraid they’d lost us forever.
I had listened to the news at the general store. When shopping for the cheapest food I could find, an announcement stumbled through the staticky old speakers. The high priest of our land had chosen to bestow monetary relief upon the families affected by the radioactive mutations of decades of malpractice. Smiles and tears greeted me, false love portrayed through the faces of strangers. They praised me, expressed their sentiments for my situation, apologized for years upon years of absence.
They asked for their pride and joy, the boy they had left behind as well. For fear of another mutant, they declined to specify.
Nobody had told them of Elon’s death. They asked me where he was, when he’d be home, when they’d get to see their precious boy again.
I pointed to the fireplace.
No words can describe the grief I heard in their voices. The tears that overwhelmed them. The
genuine heartbreak and love that sifted through their emotions towards me.
We’re a family now. They sold the house Elon and I had built, and I moved with them into their home in the inner city. It’s a beautiful place, with as much love and care and support as anyone could ever dream of. If money counts as love and care and support.
Nobody calls me mutant anymore. The priest’s hired hands keep mutants like me “protected”— or
rather, in check. I have a respectable job, with coworkers who are kind and even friends who are proud to call me so.
But every day, when I go to bed, I can’t help but feel the grief. The regret. The guilt.
Elon was gone.
Our parents had returned, yet he had not.
His hopes could have been fulfilled. We could have been reunited together.
But I had let my selfishness get in the way.
My doubts, my fears.
I never told him I’m sorry.
I never told him I loved him.
And now, he’s gone.
Stolen away from me.
Stolen away from our parents.
Stolen away from the joy and love he always knew we...he deserved.
And it was all my fault.
Elon.
I’m sorry.
“Well, it’s not your choice.”
“It’s not fair! I can’t...I can’t lose you...”
“It isn’t your choice to make.”
“Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me like this.”
“Goodbye, Ash.”
“Elon, please, don’t leave. Not like this. Please.”
“I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Please, Elon. Don’t leave on these terms. I can’t...”
We were orphans. When we were no more than several days old, the Sandelian Orphanage had found us upon their doorstep, abandoned by the parents who had brought us into the world.
Why?
I used to think it was me.
There’s an unfortunate mutation that sometimes occurs in the human population. A random allele caused by rogue genes, a result of the careless use of radioactive materials by the government. The high priest had ordained their use to provide power for our struggling economy. He was unaware of the impending consequences.
I was born with only half a body. My right side was mostly functional, but the left...nothing more than an angry, malformed amalgamation of skin and scar tissue and confused skeletal disarray. Whether an eye hid behind the puffy, swollen flesh of my cheek, I couldn’t say. If an arm was supposed to grow from the short, stunted stub at my left shoulder, I wouldn’t know. My left leg twisted at a horrifying angle, supporting my weight but causing a limping, zombified gait.
I’ve struggled all my life. It was many years before I could properly support myself on my legs, let alone walk. No matter how hard I tried, daily life was a constant, endless battle. One eye meant no depth perception, and one arm meant severe physical weakness. The orphanage gave up on having me help with chores. Too many times I had broken glass with poor grip, knocked over chairs and tables with my erratic gait, misplaced and dropped items due to my inability to delineate depth.
But that was by no means the hardest part. The majority of my pain stemmed from the orphans themselves. I was stared and gawked at by the other children, teased and poked and given sideways glances. Tripping feet appeared from nowhere, accidental shoves and kicks and punches to the ground became an expectation. I was derided and jeered, as if I were an animal in a zoo and not another child with whom they lived.
Nobody who ever came to adopt gave me a second glance.
I had one saving grace. My brother, Elon.
Elon protected me. He chased away the bullies, as best he could, and reassured me that despite my deformities, I was beautiful. He told me jokes and tended my wounds, sitting quietly in the dark with me as I sobbed through nightmares.
The orphanage made sure that we were never separated. We shared a room in the house, and were never seen apart.
My brother was a genius. And of course, I don’t simply mean that because I looked up to him. His mind was unbelievably brilliant. Had he not been born into poverty and abandoned by his own parents, I believe he could have changed the world.
He intimidated the older children. They saw him as a threat, due to his intellect, and would often try to beat him down. I’d see them corner him and punch him until only his eyes could be seen behind the sheen of blood on his face. I...never did anything about it. I was afraid. What could I have done? I was weak, and deformed. I didn’t possess the strength to defend myself, much less the brother who dared to stand up for me. He never blamed me for failing to step in. He never grew angry with me. But on those days when he returned with a bloody nose and a limp like my own, there was such a sad, forlorn look in his eyes.
When he was old enough, Elon began to look for work. He tried finding jobs at companies with decent pay and working environments, but the faded, stained clothing that the orphanage could afford cost him many opportunities. Despite his brilliant mind and astounding effort, he was often turned down on the basis of appearance alone.
One company, a military-based ammunition manufacturer near the orphanage, allowed him in. It was as good a job as any, with mediocre pay, but the hours were reasonable and the employers friendly. They took my brother in and treated him with utmost respect and care. He worked hard, and diligently, and it was not long before his dedication rewarded him.
He earned enough to be able to buy a little shack near the factory, and we could finally leave the orphanage and live on our own. I helped take care of the house, as best I could, though I was mainly restricted to dusting and cleaning up the mold and debris. Elon erected new walls where old ones had fallen through, and ensured the building was strong, sturdy, and safe. In my persistent free time, I painted the walls, a delicate dance between beauty and terror spanning the small space.
Before long, the ramshackle hut had become a homely prison.
I was unable to work, struggling with my mutations and having been turned down as a...freak, a deformity. So I found myself chained to the shack, only freed by visits to the General Store down the road whenever we needed more supplies.
We survived in that house for several years. Elon was fairly content with his job at the ammunition manufacturer, despite having been given a chance to pursue an education. He declined, even after being granted a full scholarship to attend a military institute, because he knew I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself on my own. If he left, I would have to return to the orphanage (which I was now too old for) or find a low-paying job that could barely support me, if I could find a job at all. His loyalty to me far outweighed any opportunity he could have had in his life.
And I...I betrayed him.
Even since we were dropped off at the orphanage as babies, we’ve had miniature trackers in our wrists. We were alerted to their presence by the owners of the orphanage, who said they were not permitted to tamper with them. Elon had been elated, believing that perhaps our parents had truly wanted us. That they would come looking for us. That they would come back for us.
I couldn’t bring myself to believe him. Something kept telling me that we had been abandoned because of my mutation, my hideous deformity. Years upon years of being overlooked during adoptions, of being teased and insulted, led me to believe I was indeed nothing more than an animal to be jeered.
Yet Elon remained positive. He always, always talked about how they’d return for us, how they wouldn’t have planted tracking chips in our wrists otherwise. All I could think about was how they’d be using the tracking chips to make sure they didn’t run into us again. So they wouldn’t have to see the monstrosity I’ve become. We fought over it more times than I wish we had. There was usually forgiveness though, in the end, no matter how frustrated we grew with each other. But things changed.
The war started. The ammunition factory was busier than ever. The influx of jobs brought some shady people into the town, and a black market blossomed under the cover of night. Elon worked longer hours now, and we hardly got to see each other. He’d come home, eat dinner, and fall straight into bed, waking up early to begin work again. In the beginning, he gave me a locket, in order to remind me of just how much he loved me. That no matter how lonely I felt, or how distressed I became, he was always there for me. That he would always be my brother.
Slowly, our relationship trickled away. Our words were clipped, nothing more than polite greetings between acquaintances. He scarfed down the dinners I managed to painstakingly prepare, and disappeared into his room. Eating together was a pleasantry more than a desire.
There was a particularly bad argument one evening. I was adamant about the fact that they never wanted us, that they had forgotten us and given us up for good. Elon had gone to bed angry that night. I forgot to tell him I’m sorry.
I had been to the general store earlier that day, and had run into a pack of workers from the factory. Their eyes followed me as I made my rounds, snickering and pointing.
Heathen.
Mutant.
Freak.
Words of discrimination, of gut-wrenching ruthlessness barraged my ears, and when I returned home I could see nothing but red. How dare they! So ignorant, so stupid, so...
Like my parents.
My parents had caused this. They had abandoned me. I could have grown up in a home with a loving family, given support and care and told I was worth something. That I wasn’t a freak or a mutant. Yet here I was, left alone with only my brother to support me, jeered and insulted to the point where I had no purpose other than to hide away in our home until the end of my pointless existence.
I scratched at my arm where the tracking chip lay, my blood boiling. If they didn’t want me, fine.
They wouldn’t have any chance to find me.
I visited the black market that night. I stole some of the savings Elon had been collecting over the past two years. I bought an anti-tracking device. A gun that disturbs the wavelengths of the beams projected by the tracking chip, destroying its ability to transmit a signal. Severing me from our parents.
Using the device on myself wasn’t going to be enough. Elon, too, would have to have his tracking chip destroyed. It would lead them back to me. Back to us. Where they’d probably steal him away from me, leaving me alone and forgotten and unloved...
When he was asleep, I broke his tracking chip. Foolish as I was though, I forgot to properly hide the anti-tracking device, and was awoken the next morning by angry shouts.
“Ash! How dare you?!” He cried, dragging me out of bed by my only wrist. He threw me to the floor
in his rage, his face screwed in frustration and...and despair.
“They can’t find us now! They can’t come and...and hurt you, or...or steal you away from me...” I began to cry, suddenly realizing the damage I had caused. I had never seen him so angry, so distraught. The look on his face...
“Damn it, Ash! Goddammit!” He threw the anti-tracking device against the wall, shattering a mirror and smashing the device to pieces. He sunk to the floor, head in his hands, his jaw clenched so tightly his skin was stark white.
“Elon, I...I’m sorry...” I whispered, moving closer to him. He shuffled back, glaring at me.
His gaze was ice cold. After a moment, he stood, throwing on his overcoat. His movements were fast and hurried, as if in a rush to get away from me.
“Elon, please, stop!” I cried, grabbing onto his coat hem. Before I could react, the back of his hand had cracked across my face, and I crumpled to the floor.
I looked up at him with tears stinging my eye, holding my cheek. His expression held no remorse as he turned and strode out the door.
Why didn’t I listen to him? Why didn’t I believe him? Why had I chosen to be so selfish, so self-serving?
I had lived for so long by everyone else’s terms. Under the care of the orphanage. Under the care of my brother. Under the assumption that nobody, aside from my brother, could ever look at me like a human being. My crippling deformities had kept me from taking care of myself all my life. I wanted to make my own decision for once.
But it hadn’t been my decision to make.
He didn’t return that night. Nor did he come home the next day. When I travelled to the manufacturing plant to search for him, I saw a congregation of soldiers upon the pier. As I drew closer, I saw his face among the crowd. A uniform like all the others. Waiting to board the ship.
Without me.
“Elon!” I cried, and though I saw him stand alert, he did not look towards me. His eyes remained on the ship approaching the dock.
“Elon, wait!” I shoved my way through the crowd, almost tripping over my own awkward feet, trying to get to him. When I finally reached him, and managed to get his attention, his gaze was cold.
“What are you doing?” I asked, fear writhing its way through my veins.
He said nothing.
Tears began to spill down my cheeks. “What about me?”
No response. No hint of guilt crossed his face. No remorse.
“You can’t do that. I won’t allow it.”
“Well, it’s not your choice.”
“It’s not fair! I can’t...I can’t lose you...”
“It isn’t your choice to make.”
“Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me like this.”
“Goodbye, Ash.”
“Elon, please, don’t leave. Not like this. Please.”
I grabbed his arm, holding him tightly. He drew in a breath, as if restraining himself from shoving me back, as if my touch were going to taint his blood with my impurities.
“I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Please, Elon. Don’t leave on these terms. I can’t...”
The loud blast of a horn cut into my words, and he turned away. He strode up the pier, onto the ship, and disappeared from view. My voice froze in my throat. I watched until the airship had flown off into the sunset, only the tiny fragmented reflections of the solar sails remaining in my vision.
When he returned home, it was in a tiny box. His name was printed onto a silk scarf and tied around the wooden casing, alongside a letter of condolences, as if it could somehow heal my shattered heart.
He died a warrior, one comment said.
The greatest man I knew, read another.
Valiant.
Kind.
Loving.
My brother.
He was my brother.
I opened the locket that hung around my neck, a hologram illuminating my face. A picture of Elon
wrapping his arms around my neck. Friendly, happy. When we were a family. When...
When I hadn’t let him down.
Our parents managed to find their way to us. I don’t know how. I don’t care to find out. When they stumbled upon me, I was only barely scraping by. The savings were beginning to run dry, and though I had managed to find some work, the pay was minimal and my treatment was rough. I was still seen as a mutant, no matter where I attempted to work. Too many times I was kicked out as soon as a replacement came along.
I had just been removed from my previous job when my parents strode through the door of the house, eyes searching for the children they had abandoned so many years ago.
Elon’s ashes were sitting above the fireplace.
They rushed towards me, instantly recognizing my features, and embraced me. They cried and cried, pouring out their hearts, explaining how they had been afraid they’d lost us forever.
I had listened to the news at the general store. When shopping for the cheapest food I could find, an announcement stumbled through the staticky old speakers. The high priest of our land had chosen to bestow monetary relief upon the families affected by the radioactive mutations of decades of malpractice. Smiles and tears greeted me, false love portrayed through the faces of strangers. They praised me, expressed their sentiments for my situation, apologized for years upon years of absence.
They asked for their pride and joy, the boy they had left behind as well. For fear of another mutant, they declined to specify.
Nobody had told them of Elon’s death. They asked me where he was, when he’d be home, when they’d get to see their precious boy again.
I pointed to the fireplace.
No words can describe the grief I heard in their voices. The tears that overwhelmed them. The
genuine heartbreak and love that sifted through their emotions towards me.
We’re a family now. They sold the house Elon and I had built, and I moved with them into their home in the inner city. It’s a beautiful place, with as much love and care and support as anyone could ever dream of. If money counts as love and care and support.
Nobody calls me mutant anymore. The priest’s hired hands keep mutants like me “protected”— or
rather, in check. I have a respectable job, with coworkers who are kind and even friends who are proud to call me so.
But every day, when I go to bed, I can’t help but feel the grief. The regret. The guilt.
Elon was gone.
Our parents had returned, yet he had not.
His hopes could have been fulfilled. We could have been reunited together.
But I had let my selfishness get in the way.
My doubts, my fears.
I never told him I’m sorry.
I never told him I loved him.
And now, he’s gone.
Stolen away from me.
Stolen away from our parents.
Stolen away from the joy and love he always knew we...he deserved.
And it was all my fault.
Elon.
I’m sorry.