November 04th, 2013

The orange rays of the morning sun shone with its all-powerful glory, scaring the despairing darkness away once again. As it slowly, but gradually rose from below the horizon, reaching higher and higher altitudes, it eventually peeked through the various tall skyscrapers of the business sector of the large metropolitan city, breaching into the well-known Slums, the Sector for the \'Poor Sods\' as the average citizenry referred to them, eventually reaching a particular, dilapidated, worn-down building.

The vibrant daylight shone through the stained, filthy windows, illuminating the dark, gloomy rooms, and waking the small residents of the many rooms.

Several square-shaped pillars of light breached the many large halls as well, replacing the previous night\'s darkness, invigorating it into dim obscurity.

The many beds placed one after another with only a small cupboard between them each held an owner. One by one, they showed signs of movement, under their patched, ragged covers they awoke from their short slumber.

Small feet and tiny, fragile hands could be seen popping out from around the sheet\'s edges, soon followed by a variety of young childish faces. An asynchronous chorus of yawns replaced the serene silence as the children sat up and stretched before reaching for their gruff iron mugs with the wooden toothbrushes placed on top of their cupboards.

Each kid followed the same routine as if it was a well-oiled machine. All of them had the process seemingly ingrained into their brains. All, except for one single bed, still hiding in the dark, shadowy far right corner of the room. The only spot, the last bastion where the \'night\' still pervaded, and its lone resident was defiantly resisting this robotic, automated pattern.

The other children simply ignored the one at the corner, only throwing the occasional frown, or a disdainful look in its direction. They all knew who that bed\'s owner was. The weak, the measly, the rotten, the bringer of misfortune. The wretched one, Lucien Shaw.

An imperceivable aura of misfortune seemed to surround this young boy, who lived his entire life behind the walls of this orphanage. Hatred and disdain were showered on throughout his life. He was the target of bullying, he was the one whose cries the caretakers ignored.

One could ask, how could such a person be the cause of so much sorrow, so many accidents. Why was he the target of all the hatred and disdain? How could nobody, not even the adults seemingly not care about his wellbeing?

Nobody truly knew, but the fact that wherever he was, bad luck always seemed to follow him. A mystical, invisible aura of wretchedness surrounded his very being.

While strangely, he always seemed to be completely fine no matter what happened to him, that couldn\'t be said to all the others that kept bothering him.

Strangely, despite the many beatings, and accidents he had, he always came out mostly unscathed, apart from a few bruises and the lingering pain, nobody ever really paid attention to it. With his childish mind, at first, he thought this was normal, but when he was sent to the nurse\'s office, he was reminded that this wasn\'t the case.

Still, his body was able to resist, and even if something managed to pierce his incredibly resistant skin, it healed up by the time someone even bothered to glance over it. This ability of his only added to his wretched reputation. He was deemed a liar, the one from the tale who always cried for the wolf that nobody believed after a while.

This resulted in him being alone, his only friend was his imagination and the few animals kept in the orphanage. The boys and even the girls kept their distance, only coming in close contact when they wanted the food from his plate during meals, or when they needed a punching bag to vent their frustrations.

He sat alone in a dark corner during lunch, or during lectures. In the afternoon, he wasn\'t allowed in the same building as the rest of the children and had to attend the poultry and cows that the orphanage kept.

Over the years, however, Lucien got used to this treatment. He got used to the beatings, he got used to being an outcast. He was also used to attending to the hens, the cows. They did not hate him, they did not shun him. Only in their presence could Lucien feel a bit of respite, only with them he could escape from the other\'s eyes filled with the undeserved hatred and disdain.

He hated the mornings. He had to wait until all the other children finished their morning routine and be left alone before he could do the same. He had to pretend to be still asleep to escape from their gazes before he could head to the canteen and hastily gulp down the previous day\'s leftovers that were served for him as breakfast while the other kids got to enjoy the freshly made meals.

Even this action proved to be a challenge sometimes.

---

Lucien stayed in the bed, the bedsheet pulled over his head, creating his \'safe haven\' his bastion that protected him from the other\'s disdainful gazes. He sighed, his eyes were focused trying to analyze all the small details of a strange, mysterious black, transparent image that floated just in front of his eyes.

Bloody, scarlet-colored unrecognizable symbols were in the middle of the image, informing him of something he sadly couldn\'t understand. This strange thing was with him ever since he was born. He tried asking at first, but the only thing he received was frowns and lectures. At first, he believed that this was only a figment of his imagination, like his illusionary friends, but over the years as he grew, it never left him. He could make it appear or disappear with a thought, but otherwise, he couldn\'t do anything else.

He was excited when he was finally at the age that he could learn to read, hoping he would finally solve the mystery behind the symbol, only to be let down. None of the letters matched the strange symbols.

Later, when history lessons started, he saw the ancient hieroglyphics of the people of the past, but even then, none of the images he saw in the images matched. He spent countless hours in the library researching all the materials available, but nothing seemed to match, nothing worked.

He tried asking the teachers only to be ignored, he tried asking the others only to be beaten by the older kids. He tried everything he could but got absolutely zero results. There was no progress, he never got closer to solving the mystery behind the symbols and the floating image that seemed to be only visible to him.

The only thing he figured out, is that this floating… image for the lack of a better word was somehow tied to him. It was a part of him. It was something he could bring up and dismiss with only a thought. The symbols were always the same, alien, unreadable to him.

Still, he \'knew\'.. he could \'feel\' that there was something important hidden in them. He felt a desire deep within him to uncover its secrets. He felt the need to solve this enigma. He wanted to, no, he HAD to know what they meant, what was the resolution that this screen held within.

Just like every other day, while waiting for the others to finish up and leave the room, he brought up the black screen and kept studying the strange, blood-red symbols that slowly appeared.

[…:::ђгɭ ฬﻮєฬгɭรภאɭ๔ ђภคɭ ภเ קฬєן קเ. ๓๓ςɭן รгєเɭן єןɭ!:::…]

Whatever these symbols meant, he was sure it was something important, something… related to him.

Hearing that the noise had finally died down in the room, Lucien sighed, dismissed the black screen, and sat up from his bed. He had to get ready as fast as he could if he wanted to have a chance at breakfast, after all...

As the cover fell down, revealing his face, a thin, pearl-white-skinned boy scanned the room with his dark brown eyes. He had matching, short dark brown hair, and an average, unhealthy visage. He was clearly starved and was provided only with the bare minimum to survive. He wore ragged, tattered clothing, a torn, short-sleeved khaki shirt, and dark brown pants. He slipped into his slippers and picked up his own dented, worn-down steel mug. The similarly aged, used toothbrush that rested in it, was in a much worse shape than the ones the rest of the kids had. He slowly, grudgingly made his way towards the single bathroom in utter silence and loneliness. Nevertheless, he didn\'t mind it.

It was better this way.

---

After finishing his morning routine, Lucien rushed towards the canteen to get his breakfast, which would surely have a surprise just like every other day. Usually, a spat, a globe of phlegm, a booger, or something similarly disgusting was mixed in.

He naively thought that people will get tired of this if he didn\'t react to it, but the joke never seemed to grow old and kept on going for all the years. But, as with everything in life, over time, he got used to it.

What he found utterly disgusting in the past, now he simply ignored, skipping the contaminated parts and ate what parts he could, leaving the rest for the trash.

Just like every other day, as he entered the canteen that was already full and noisy with the happy chatters of the other children, he sighed, seeing that there still was a line of children still trying to get their breakfasts.

Today, he wasn\'t too late, which would be normally considered a good thing, but in his case, it only meant more troubles than usual. If he would have arrived late, he would be free to go to the counter and ask the lady for his portion.

However, on days like today, when there were still other… \'normal\' kids waiting, he had to go to the back and ask for his swill.

Frowning at his luck, he turned towards the back door, ready to go and grab his meal, when an all-too-familiar voice reached his ears from behind.

"Wretched one, what are you doing here this early?!"