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frankensteinsss · 1 year

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The Yearning Wanderer

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Kurt has plenty of wondrous lands the world had to behold, but in search of a mysterious jewel, he encounters a town in need. Will his survival skills come in handy when he is faced with the Wild West?

Author’s Note: To whomever may read this—this was a written piece for a cancelled Identity V zine I was in called the Old West Zine. Many are aware that there has been an incredible negligence regarding the moderators protecting a known abuser. I want to address it here that I did not know what was going on behind the scenes whilst I wrote this, and neither did many (if not all) other contributors. Please support the other artists and contributors who worked very hard on this project. I want to apologize to the victims and everyone that got hurt. I wish you all the best in regards to healing from this incident. You have all of my love and support. I also want to commend the victims’ bravery as well for speaking up about the issue, as that is never an easy thing to do. Lastly, I hope that you all will enjoy this story I have written; even if it is anticlimactic and contains many mistakes. I’ve poured plenty of hours in this piece and I can only hope that I’ve done well on it. - With all my love, frankensteinss

A man mounted on his auburn steed squinted upon the dusty sand road that seemed to radiate heat waves from the garish sun. After traversing through the scorching desert, the traveler exclaimed in utter triumph as his enervated eyes laid a gratifying sight on the huddled buildings that paled in comparison to its nearby canyons. As soon as his horse entered the village, he began to take in his surroundings, observing the downtrodden people who inhabited the area.

He arrived at a saloon that many of the townspeople seemed to flock towards. The traveler dismounted his horse, and tied him to a post next to other steeds; covered by a roof that granted the ethereal yet enervated creatures an alleviating amount of shade. He gave a gentle pat to his companion, before entering the saloon that seemed to radiate all sorts of chatter. Whispers could be heard, with others muttering about the several bounties posted outside the sheriff's office.

"That damned Western Baron.." A downtrodden girl pounded her fist on the table in anguish.

"I'm sorry, darlin'.." A benevolent voice crooned in response. "I truly am. But no matter how hard the rain may fall, the sun'll always come out. I promise."

Turning his head, the mysterious individual noticed that these consoling words came from the bartender, who beautifully donned the mystifying gear of a radiant ranger.

Noticing a new customer, the bartender motioned for the traveler to sit at the counter.

"Welcome! What can I get for you?" She smiled, her aura beaming throughout the saloon like the garish rays of the sun.

"Water, please." The traveler responded, taking out a small pouch that contained several coins before the bartender motioned for him to put the pouch away.

"Water comes free of charge, considering how sweltering hot the weather is here!" She beamed, quickly grabbing a glass cup and filling it with the requested beverage,

"Are you new 'round here?"

A single nod was given in response.

The bartender paused for a moment, glancing at Kurt for a mere second before presenting him with an appealing glass of water.

The woman next to him raised a brow, "And how are you planning on doing that?"

"I've fought off enormous snakes that could take your breath with one bite. I know what it takes to survive." The explorer boasted pridefully.

"Uh-huh." The woman nodded, not believing the traveler's tales, "The mines are in the Far East of town."

"Thank you," The Yearning Wanderer gave a small smile, before finishing the last of his water. "I didn't get your name

"Blazing Wildflower," The woman smirked, "Black Rose and I wish you the best of luck."

"Well, Black Rose, Blazing Wildflower, thank you for your company. I promise to put the Sand Jewel in its proper place." He gave a smile before leaving the saloon, taking in the sights of the rustic town, hearing the hooves of several horses as he searched for the mines.

Within time, he found himself standing before the opening of the cavern, the wanderer could see nothing but darkness lying inside. He felt as though a strange, mythical creature made from the shadows could reach out to him and drag him inside the depths of the cavern, bringing him to the Western Baron himself. Shaking off the thought, he took a deep breath and remembered that this cavern stood no chance against him.

As soon as he walked through the darkness, his eyes adjusted to the dim light, seeing miners hammering away violently through rock, trying to strike gold.

Eventually, after taking a turn, he found a cowboy peeking through a tiny crevice in the wall small enough to notice no one was watching, but big enough to see what was going on; A badger dressed in a suit made with the most opulent of cloth, administering harsh orders to three trembling employees.

Upon closer inspection, the ranger seemed to be dressed in an auburn tone, with a rifle and cowboy hat resting on his back. His hair seemed as white as the snow that would never inhabit the region, and his skin tone seemed to reflect a pale texture. The wanderer began to wonder if the cowboy and he shared the same goal.

"Excuse me—”

A sharp turn of the enigmatic individual's head prompted the explorer to apologize for startling the man, but the cowboy dismissed his apology with a gentle wave of his hand, along with a small shake of his head.

"I was wondering if you were possibly planning something against... you know-The explorer performed a gesture towards the crevice the two of them were eyeing.

The cowboy raised a suspicious eyebrow, "Um... what..?" He responded faintly. His voice was as quiet as one tends to get when they grimly leave flowers for their loved ones in a graveyard, mourning the dearly departed.

"I'm sorry to be interrupting," Yearning Wanderer whispered, "But I wanted to return the Sand Jewel to where it belongs... that badger has it displayed on his cane."

The individual in front of him stood silent for a moment, looking at the small crack in the wall and back to the wanderer. He seemed to be pondering deeply about the eager traveler, for he inquired, "How can I trust you..?"

"You don't have to trust me. All I wanted to know was whether or not we were targeting the same person, and perhaps help each other if so, I suppose." His voice gave off a sincere and hopeful tone for the bounty hunter's alliance.

The cowboy contemplated for another moment, before motioning for the traveler to follow him; where he led the Yearning Wanderer out of the cavern and to a rocky hilltop-where his horse seemed to be resting.

"Look, I'll help you... as long as you don't get in my way," The man stated as he pet his horse gently, "My goal is to just get that badger to the county jail."

"Whatever works for you." The explorer smiled, "Thank you. You can call me

Yearning Wanderer." He held out his hand to his newfound colleague.

"Desolate Sand." The individual shook the traveler's hand briefly. "Now how are we going to go about this? I need to get out of here by tomorrow evening.'

The two discussed their plan in depth near a bonfire, going over every detail. Then, the Yearning Wanderer decided to inquire, "What made you want to target the Western Baron?"

"His greed," Desolate Sand responded, watching the fire from a distance, "I despise when others take advantage of people."

"I see... what will you do with the money after you turn him into the county jail?"

"T'll refuse it. Or give it to someone who needs it. Whatever the amount, I won't keep it for myself." He declared in an adamant tone.

The explorer widened his eyes slightly, before smiling, "I find that very noble."

The following morning, Yearning Wanderer knocked on the Baron's office door, which was built right outside the cavern. He then heard a gruff voice announce, "Do come in." He twisted open the doorknob and proceeded to walk inside the lavish office room that beheld all sorts of luxuries. Costly oil paintings protected in intricate, golden frames were displayed on the wall, all of them depicting the portraits of the badger dressed in clothes tailored for the wealthy. What was supposed to seem like an office chair faced the Wanderer, looking much more like a throne. It swiveled around dramatically, with the badger from the paintings dressed in a suit seated upon the opulent chair.

"State your business." The badger announced, his hands folding.

"Good afternoon, sir. I was wondering if I could possibly get a job at your establishment." The traveler announced, hoping that the badger would not hear his thundering heartbeat that pounded in the wanderer's ears.

"Interesting," The badger in front of him leaned forward. "What has made you want to seek out my help? You do know this is a very dangerous task, yes?"

The explorer nodded, "Many have told me of your promise of gold I only wish to seek currency as well. With my survival skills taken into play, I know that I will be beneficial to your team."

The Western Baron let out a small laugh, "Follow me."

The two exited outside into the scorching midday sun, with Desolate Sand following closely, if not a few steps farther behind. As they were sauntering amicably, Yearning Wanderer caught a glimpse of the Sand Jewel glimmering brilliantly under the sun's splendor, radiating all sorts of crystalline reflections.

Walking into the rather cool yet humid cavern, the wealthy badger gave a run-down of the facility. It seemed that the employees weren't clocking in for the day yet; for the cavern was completely bare of all miners. Then, the Western Baron paused, turning to the traveler, "You mentioned possessing skills of survival earlier. Where did you acquire that expertise..?"

"Before I settled down here, I lived a life of daring adventures and escapades; exploring the darkest of dungeons and the most poisonous of jungles." The wanderer boasted proudly once more, "I also have military experience, and have survived the most excruciating conditions of the war zone."

"He plans to survive this one, too." Desolate Sand whispered as he fired a single bullet. The bright flash was only present for an instant, but the blaring sound that was emitted managed to reverberate throughout the cavern, sending echoes of the loud flare throughout the cave. The explorer could see the bullet emit from the cowboy's handgun, watching it fire into the badger's shoulder in slow-motion. Upon the impact. the badger turned back to see who dared to fire a shot against him. Desolate Sand stood proudly before him, illuminated by the garish light that radiated from outside of the cave.

Yearning Wanderer quickly reached for his lasso on his waist, throwing it to the Western Baron's feet, which wrapped around them tightly, causing the badger to fall over. He then seized the cane that held the gem, holding it up to the light that came from the entrance, watching it as the crystal reflected sparkling fragments of its shape on the cavern walls.

"Seems like your swindling days are over," Desolate Sand mumbled, cuffing the badger's gloved hands, before untying the lasso that was bound around the Western Baron's feet and handing it back to the explorer. "Go do what you have to do."

The Yearning Wanderer nodded, before running off with the Sand Jewel into the depths of the cave, trying to pry it from its selfish and vain grasp. All the while, he heard the Western Baron shouting degrading curses directed toward the two of them, sending a chill down his spine.

Once he managed to free the Sand Jewel of its former prison, he discarded the cane to the ground and grasped a mounted torch on the wall with his right hand. The wanderer scoured through the dim cavern for any sort of sign that could have been the rightful home for The Sand Jewel. The scent of the damp earth and coal dust filled his senses, and he could hear bats squeaking and chattering vibrantly in all sorts of places, along with the wind howling inside the cavern, causing him to feel the prickles of the brisk air against his face. With all of the time spent searching for the crimson stone's lair, it wouldn't surprise the traveler if the night cast its twinkling cape of constellations over the dunes of the desert.

After many turns, the Yearning Wanderer finally found a wall with ancient drawings and text, and a small, open area to fit the missing piece in. The explorer gently placed the Sand Jewel in the slot, hearing it click fittingly. And, for a moment, everything seemed to be at peace. He noticed that his entire being was at ease, and a swell of emotions seemed to consume his heart, for a dream of his was finally realized. He took the sight in, pleased with himself, before beginning to exit the cave.

Once he finally made it out, the sun was only beginning to cast its orange hue across the sand region, seeming to signify the end of a victorious day, basking the courageous adventurer in a sense of glory. After arriving in the town square, he saw many townspeople dancing in the streets and clinking ice-filled glasses of whiskey to celebrate the end of a cruel reign

"Yearning Wanderer! Thank you for returning the Sand Jewel to its former place everyone's in high spirits now! Not only that, but the Western Baron's incarcerated now!" Blazing Wildflower ran up to the proud adventurer, expressing a bittersweet expression on her face. "Thank you... I know that I and so many others will find peace soon."

"There's no need to thank me," He gave a small, genuine smile, "I only did what I thought was right."

"I do hope to see you again someday but for now, take care." She beamed dauntlessly.

"I only wish the best for you as well," The explorer smiled, "I hope you continue to move forward."

"I know I'll keep going. After all, the blazing wildflowers keep burning until the very end." She gave a confident grin, before running off to chat with a friend.

"Here's your darling creature," Black Rose announced, handing the traveler the reins of his auburn steed. "Thanks for putting the Jewel back. I can only imagine that things'll get even better from here on out."

"No need it was my pleasure. Thank you for taking care of her."

Course! Next time vou're in the area, feel free to stop by. 'Till then, I hope you manage to stay safe." Black Rose waved, "Toodle-oo, Yearning Wanderer!"

The explorer mounted his horse, before spotting what seemed to be Desolate Sand in the distance, who was beginning to mount his own trusty steed. As the horse galloped in the cowboy's direction, Kurt heaved a sigh of relief to see that he could say his last farewell to a teammate; being in the military taught Kurt to cherish each moment he had with strangers for they could be lost to time in an instant.

"So long, cowboy." He glanced at his temporary friend one last time, his hands holding his horse reins.

"See you, Yearning Wanderer." A gentle nod was given in response. "Thanks... for helping out." One could not notice the smile that was hidden underneath the brown bandana Desolate Sand wore to conceal his skin from the sun, but it was as present as the canyons that presided over them, watching their farewell.

And the two separated ways, a befitting end for a riveting adventure, just like in every story the traveler read underneath his warm lamplight that wouldn't be turned off until the early morning sunlight peered through the window.

And as Kurt rode off into the horizon that was painted with the hues of sandstone orange, Indian yellow, and shades of red, feeling the glorious breeze against his face, he smiled. It was brighter than the sun that seemed to kiss his face and bathe the entire scene in shades of mustard yellows and clementine oranges. All was well, until a distinct voice began to call out to him. He heard a knock, but he progressed through the sunset, continuing to live through the marvelous sensation that the Wild West gave him.

However, the splendor of the warm hues that belonged to the canyons seemed to gradually melt; the paint dripping off the canvas to reveal a much more menacing shade of a steel blue wall, one that seemed fractured and abraded, ruined with scratches caused from human fingernails. Kurt slowly felt his smile disappear into a saddened frown, and looked down to his hands, watching the reins he held slowly turning into a book. His horse seemed to morph into a broken chair that wobbled on one side. The brilliance that the sun shone onto the sand was no more; for the ground turned into a rather filthy tiled floor, and a much more sordid opened door could be seen from the corner of his eye.

"The doctor is ready to see you, Mr. Frank," A voice spoke, finalizing Kurt's squalid setting. "Let us be on our wav."

To everyone in this asylum, Kurt Frank was just another person who was lost in the mind; another madman who would only pose a threat to society if he ever were to leave the facility. Patients, doctors, and sisters alike would all hear his tales but never listen. The sisters who devoutly prayed to the Lord and preached kindness would only prove themselves to be foul liars who treated most patients with utter dread, only cementing the hopelessness Kurt felt whilst residing in this unimaginative and hideous facility.

"Patient 93 seems to harbor an immense lack of concentration. His constant need for escapism simply concludes the fact that he has symptoms of an avoidant personality disorder." One faceless psychiatrist dipped his scone in a cup full of steaming coffee;

luxuries that the patients imprisoned in the facility would never see or taste.

"Furthermore, I can assess that the characters he created in his mind, such as Desolate Sand, do not exi-

Kurt rolled his eyes, scoffing as he opened up his favorite book to see his entire atmosphere change into one of wonder. He read each passage closely, drowning in the contents and smiling at his favored parts. He swore that he would leave the asylum to tell the world about his tapestry of tales, to give the world what many prominent authors gave him: a sense of wonder, hope, and thrilling adventures in a rather mundane and dreary world. He flipped the pages vivaciously to see the looming red canyons and the splendorous red sun, to ride into town and relive the story of Desolate Sand, The Yearning Wanderer, and the Sand Jewel once more. To him, these stories and friends he conjured were much more genuine than any relationship he ever had. And he was content for the various books he read and writings he inscribed consoled him much more than any doctor in that sordid facility could ever possibly do.

If you made it this far, I want to thank you for reading. It means a lot to me. 💖 I hope you have a wonderful day/night, wherever you are.

#andrew kreiss #identity v #idv grave keeper #kurt frank #explorer #idv fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #wild west #western #short story #short stories

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frankensteinsss · 2 years

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Clair de Lune

Summary: On a rather desolate and solitary evening, Kuja decides to see the stars, and is caught by surprise when he sees a shooting star. Will he make a wish? If so, what does he wish for?

Word Count: 1.3k

All alone in an enormous, luxurious palace with only his solitude to keep him company, a man in deep concentration sat at an extravagant desk, writing with an elegant quill that was dipped in the finest of india ink. After finishing his last stanza, the man inscribed his alias at the bottom of the page, finishing another poem for quite simply, no one to read. Once he finished his fanciful signature, he gently placed the sharp, feathery quill in the bottle of ink, proceeding to get up from his desk. He felt entirely enervated to the point where he could fall asleep as soon as he rested his head on the immensely soft pillows he had—a blessing that never seemed to happen for the mysterious man—but the feeling of a desiccated throat prompted the poet to saunter downstairs for a glass of water.

He ambled outside of his sanctum, and walked down a long flight of stairs. He proceeded down the hallways of his grand palace, only to notice that the sun’s splendorous rays were not peering through the stained glass windows. It galvanized him to raise a well-trimmed eyebrow, not realizing how late the day had become. It only felt like he was writing for an hour or two. He wondered what hour the clock’s hands were on, but the thought subsided as he recalled that getting rid of his parched throat was the paramount objective.

He eventually arrived into the kitchen, and poured water into a glass cup, taking a few sips to quench his thirst. Once he was satisfied, he placed the cup down on a counter and thoughts of venomous, seething misery poisoned his once tranquil, tamed mind. There was an expression of sorrow displayed on his fair face as he aimlessly wandered around the rooms of the palace, not wanting to succumb to slumber yet. The idea of looking at the night sky waltzed right into his mind, and prompted him to exit his abode for a bit.

Once he stepped outside, he immediately felt the brisk, cool air breezing by, prickling his skin quite gently. He heaved a long sigh, the cold air feeling refreshing, yet frigid. He strode a bit farther from his home to catch a more clear view of the glittering, vast sky, and eventually found his Silver Dragon waiting patiently to take him wherever he desired. He approached the tame—yet massive creature, gently caressing the dragon’s head. The dragon responded kindly to the motion, leaning into Kuja’s hand. He then slowly let go of his pet, and boarded the mystical creature. And within a few minutes, all he could feel was the brisk, cool air, while his gaze was still fixated upon the wondrous sky.

The stars seemed to be a bit more clear now, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The night was a brilliant shade of splashing violets and blue hues, with sparkles adorning the sky, all having a different kind of brightness. It looked as though a talented artist had painted the sky with watercolors, and speckled many dots of white here and there. It truly was a masterpiece to behold, especially the stars that adorned the sky, all seemingly dancing to their own tune and creating their own melody. For an ephemeral moment, everything was peaceful. All of his woes vanished as he concentrated on the stars, figuring out their shapes. He soon found the Pleiades, also known as the Seven Sisters, a cluster of stars he remembered reading about in one of his books that resided in his enormous library. Nearby was the constellation of Orion, the hunter, pursuing the sisters the huntsman so very desperately wished to be with. Protecting the Pleiades was Taurus, the bull, and to the left of Orion was Canis Major, the constellation that had the honor of holding the brightest star in the entire galaxy - Sirius.

Then, out of the vast universe, a quick, yet brilliant streak of light raced past the other stars and disappeared, giving the weary stargazer a small shock, his star-struck eyes widening, as he remembered that this phenomenon was called a meteor, known as “shooting stars” to the inhabitants of Gaia. He reminisced to a time that took place long ago, his memory placing a repulsive creature right before him, costumed in black. It was the memory when he saw the phenomenon for the first time, asking his unsavory father what the “racing light” was; a question he soon later regretted asking.

“They are called meteors, Kuja. The brainless humans residing in Gaia are fond of calling them shooting stars, all the while making wishes upon the falling star, foolishly believing they will come true.” His father answered with such a candid and hostile tone, that the words managed to still echo across Kuja’s mind. He made it sound as though just a simple question was ignominious. “I find it pathetic. There are no such things as wishes—or miracles, for that matter, that come true in this universe.”

Kuja heaved another sigh, thinking of something to wish for if it even amounted to anything. He wondered if the wish even counted a couple of seconds after the star fell. But ultimately, he wished for a life filled with the wondrous flavors of an emotion he never seemed to harbor—happiness. He wished for a friend to laugh along with and for someone to understand him. He wished that he would have a life worth looking back upon, and for someone to tell him the simple, yet impactful words, “You’re not alone.” But at the same time, he wished his existence would have never come to be. Maybe if he never existed, his father wouldn’t have had to call him a failure. If he never woke up again from his tumultuous slumber, he wouldn’t have to resent each day drowning in the sea of his own solitude, constantly feeling inferior to others. It made his mind get corrupted with malicious thoughts thinking about the person who brought life to him.

He kept questioning himself why he even bothered complaining in the first place. He had all he needed and everything everyone ever dreamt about; a lavish palace, glimmering riches and the finest of jewelry. He owned the most beautiful of paintings framed with gold to accompany the walls, and statues holding candelabras to guide the way throughout his labyrinth of a palace. He possessed a whole library containing a life supply worth of books, and yet he constantly found himself drowning in his own sorrow, with no one on the other end to help pull him out of the sea of lament.

He soon forgot that he was looking at the glorious canvas of the glittering night sky, gazing at millions of gorgeous stars that failed to grasp his attention. A thought crossed his mind for a moment; perhaps it was the stars that offered to take his despair away. Perhaps the reason why they existed was to bring light to a person’s life, to give them a sense of relief, to guide the lost souls back home. Although there were plenty of scientific explanations that elucidated how stars were made, he pretended that all of that information did not exist for a little while. He rid all thoughts of his supposed “father”, all contemplations of the terribly painful week he had, and made himself focus on the story the moon, the stars, the nebulas, and the galaxies were trying to tell him. He felt… oddly at peace. All of the life-threatening thoughts plaguing his mind had silenced themselves, with only the wonders of the stars entrancing him. It was an eccentric and foreign sort of feeling; to have everything be silent for once, but he was content, to finally feel nothing but utter tranquility, with the glorious moon’s rays kissing his porcelain skin.

And in a way, his wish did get granted for a small fragment of time. He wasn’t alone, as the stars and the moon smiled down upon him, watching as he appreciated their celestial beauty, compelling him with the stories that they loved retelling; and casting a light in his darkened heart.

#kuja ff9 #kuja #ff9 #final fantasy ix #final fantasy #short story #fanfic #square enix #squaresoft

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frankensteinsss · 2 years

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Summary: Whilst Andrew prepares for his day, he recalls a distant memory in the midst of his lament. Word Count: 1.5k

Cadaverous, cold hands splashed piercing, frigid water onto a distraught man’s face, stunning him awake. Proceeding to dry his face with a towel that was as smooth as silk, he glanced at the reflection of himself, which glared odiously at him. He shamefully brandished a complexion that was as white as the snow that rested on the Alps; a small, faded scar running across his nose, and two smaller ones that adorned his left cheek, crossing one another. Neck-length hair that seemed to be whiter than the finest sheet of paper disguised the right side of his face, serving as a sort of veil to conceal half of his shameful appearance. A permanent, sorrowful expression that was cemented upon his visage only revealed the feelings he had towards himself.

He loathed this part of the day with every fiber of his sickly being, where he would wake up from his tumultuous slumber and face his pathetic form in the mirror, and condemn every little detail about his visage that him and the wretched souls around him despised. He grew sick of having his crimson-violet, lifeless eyes stare right into his darkened soul, spitting venomous phrases about his appearance that were aimed towards his heart and brain. He was appalled and repelled with his own features even if he caught just a mere glimpse of it in the corner of his eye.

Heaving a sigh that was deeper than the ocean, he left the washroom and proceeded to change out of his sleepwear. He put on a simple white dress shirt that matched his skin tone, and slipped into a coat that was darker than the night, his gloved hands matching the somber color. His pants and the ascot tied around his neck were a dull hue of dark forest green, and his worn-out boots and leather belt were a somber shade of brown. His shoulders bore a slightly tattered capelet that donned the same, gloomy shade belonging to that of a funeral. Lastly, he bestowed a necklace upon himself containing the symbol of the Cross. Sauntering slowly towards another mirror, he checked if his outfit was more acceptable than his complexion. Ending up staring at his reflection for too long, his mind recalled a distant memory when he was a delicate child.

“Look in that mirror,” an older, frail woman crouched down to her small son, looking directly at his reflection. “Do you know what I see? I see an angel right before me, and every day I’m grateful to take care of him.” She scooped up the tiny boy in her arms, ambling a little closer to the antiquated mirror.

“But, mum, everyone in the village calls me names and stares at me strangely.. the people outside our house think I’m a… a demon.” The little boy nuzzled close to his mother’s collarbone. He was referring to the vast amount of their rather hypocritical neighbors surrounding their tiny, dilapidated house, who preached about loving one another despite shouting curse words and giving disconcerting stares of utter death directed towards a child. Even more distressing images of children hurling rocks at him and adults threatening the poor boy with pitchforks and torches began to lurk their way into his eyes—his grainy vision becoming much more misty as he reminisced upon his cruel fate.

“Pay no mind to them,” His mother caressed his white, soft strands of hair. “They don’t know how much of a blessing you are to the world. Do you know why I named you Andrew?”

Andrew shook his head. “Why?” His desolate, tear-brimmed violet eyes focused on his mother, lighting up a little with the feeling of curiosity.

“In the Bible, one of the first followers of Jesus Christ was named Andrew. Your name means courageous and strong. The apostle Andrew helped spread the message of Jesus Christ and God to many lost souls, guiding them to the light. And just like him, you guided me through my most horrendous of times. Even if you can not go out in the sun and play like other children, or have a sight as clear as them, you will one day overcome what limits you. That is why your name is Andrew,” she smiled warmly at him, gently stroking his cheek and calming his tears, “When other children and adults say that the color of your skin is wicked, and that your eyes are the devil’s, remember my words. You are a child of God. Your beautiful skin and eyes were crafted by His wondrous hands. One day, all of those people will truly realize they were wrong, and will finally discover how much of a blessing you are.” Finishing her words, she tenderly moved away Andrew’s snow white hair, and placed a kiss on his forehead benevolently, bringing him back to the present. Upon reminiscing this memory, his vision seemed to blur even more than it had been before. He felt nostalgic for his mother, and countless of memories began to flood his mind—small, crystal fragments of the days where his mother would place an hourglass upside down, and hold him benevolently in her thin arms, humming a lullaby for him to drift off into the land of dreams; hearing nothing but her mellifluous voice and the tranquilizing sounds of the grains falling softly in the hourglass. These were the only moments in his childhood where he truly felt safe—away from all of the rambunctious shouting, away from the various cruel souls who taunted him. Andrew ultimately longed to see his mother, and decided to pay her a visit. He dried his tears with his darkly gloved hands, and proceeded to head out of his door courageously, with his head held high as opposed to its usual position of looking at the barren floor. He was strong for dealing with the outcries and poisonous glares of his neighbors, and was more than brave to face them with each and every passing day. “It’s the demon!” A deep voice cried out, prompting strangers to turn and look at Andrew with blatant disgust and absolute hatred. Children hid behind their mothers and fathers, whilst others paid no attention at all and carried about with their busy day.

Stones and sticks were hurled at Andrew, who ignored them and continued walking, pretending that they were not there. These types of people never failed to frighten him terribly, but over the years, he had grown skilled at not showing any emotion towards them, and had grown numb whenever they would hurt him successfully.

“Wretched vermin!” Another voice roared, “Go back into the stinking pits of Hell!”

All types of objects were flying all over the place, with the initial goal of hitting some part of Andrew, in hopes of knocking him down or receiving some sort of reaction.

“It’s the White-Haired Monster! Run for your lives!”

This time, multiple people tried to throw water his way, all unsuccessfully drenching him. The bustling streets of London were quite dangerous for Andrew, as he would constantly get bothered and attacked relentlessly despite his quiet demeanor; however, these voices gradually became silent, and soon the assaults became no more once they realized that their efforts to wound him had no effect. Purchasing irises at the flower shop, the clerk gave him a piercing, but all too very familiar, stare of death as he paid for them. However, Andrew was unbothered. He focused on the irises, and how they were both his and his mother’s favorite flowers.

“Irises resemble the connection between Heaven and Earth. They help guide deceased souls to God and His Kingdom.” His mother’s voice played in his mind as he ambled towards the only person who showed him genuine kindness. Strangers shielded their children’s eyes and looked the other direction as he passed through, but Andrew soldiered on, ignoring their existence.

“Good morning, mother.” Andrew placed the vibrant, purple irises onto her grave. “I hope you haven’t been too lonely. I think about you every day. Today marks the seventh anniversary of your departure to Heaven.” He looked to his hands, which were softly clenched on his lap. Andrew was trying his best not to shed a tear, as his mother detested seeing him cry.

Withholding his tears, he continued, “Today was the same as always. However, I always feel better when I am with you.” He told his resting mother about how his week went, about what happened at work and what he thought about. His days were rather uneventful, but somehow, he managed to stay chatting with his mother until the evening.

To the world, he was a wretched soul, a cursed man who only had ill intentions; a monster who had no right to live or to have even been born. But to his mother, and to the multiple friends that were awaiting him in the future, he was simply a human being just like anyone else, such as you and I, desiderating to be finally understood, desiring for the warmth of humankind.

#andrew kreiss #idv grave keeper #identity v #idv fanfic

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