His Origins

Where does one begin the story of their life? Is it from the time of their birth, the moment they where pulled out from their mothers womb and brought out from the comforting darkness into the hellish bright light of the world. Do you believe birth and life was something that the child hoped for on the inside. Did they understand the implications of what it was meant for them to be born? Most likely they do not as most children do. Born to be raised and nurtured by the parents who brought this new life into this world. A new life, which never asked to leave the comfort and warmth of their mother’s womb.

For one, his life didn’t start at the beginning. The removal from the pain free womb of his mother’s stomach hadn’t been the start of his life. To him it was mostly a preface, and understanding of where he came from. Looking back at the age of twenty-four he would have to thatthat, his life began at their death a faithful seventeen years ago at the tender age of seven. With warmth and love of those who created him stolen away, no one left to protect him from the pain. This new pain had been the start of his life, in a way chapter one of his story. His life starting as those who placed him into the orphanages stripped him of his real name. Due to his irregular and un-American sounding name, Runistis Gustavia, the committee in charge of his care shortened it to Runi Gustav. Now with this new identity what ever he would have inherited from his family was lost in the sea. His past lost within the filed away papers of the system that took him in.

Stripped and naked to the world of all the comfort and warmth he had left the child found himself locked away within the dank walls and dreary hallways of the orphanage. It wasn’t as if he had been an ugly child from the start. His hair kept short though it grew to just under his ears to which he preferred had been a strange color of fiery red almost a carrot orange in color. This had been in grand contrast to the color of his eyes, an emerald green color with hints of almost a cat like quality. His skin pale and milk like in color soft to the touch almost feminine like to the eyes. Perhaps that had been his problem from the start, no families wished to adopt him though all the mothers he met loved him on sight, the fathers had been almost too cautious of his girlish nature. For what father would want a girl like son, when the norm had wanted a son that would play sports and win medals not beauty tiaras.

Eight full years of being unwanted, unloved and cold to the elements. It had been eight years too long and he the child became the young adult. Children so young can always speak like hurtful whips against sensitive skin. Words of un-provoked bitterness came from the other boys. Tripped into water puddles, pushed in against the mud, the accidental falling down the stairs to split his soft lips and scrapped limbs. Their glares and bullying came from the attention the girls had given him. The first sting of jealousy, its mark had been etched deep within memory, to be buried deep and hidden from the surface. He looked for help from the adults, and only found that they showed no interest in his welfare. He was alone, the sword and shield of his parents love broken and faded with each passing year. No knight or hero from the story books came to fight against those who wished for him to simply not exist.

At fifteen he was still beautiful in his near feminine grace, with a near impossibility to get rid of such a grace. The other more ‘normal’ boys continued their harassment of the boy about his looks. They’re weapons had been hurtful words and even more hurtful fists that rose in still unprovoked anger. Still no sword and shield came to defend him from the attacks, no savior or hero for him to depend upon. Brutality and harassment from his fellow peers had been a means to an end in this chapter of his life. He wanted freedom from the walls that kept him locked in. Being that he was a thin boy it was easy for him to slip into places un-noticed by most. A creature of mimicked habit he had picked up from the older boys in this hellish prison a most useful skill in that of lock breaking. During the night he climbed into the airshafts and crawled along till he found the main office of records for all the boys that had lived and still lived within their confines.

Upon reaching the cabinet of his desired choice, Runi pulled through names, countless names of children who still lived within these walls. His emerald eyes focused in on one name in particular, his lips slightly formed a smile as he carefully removed it from the drawer. Pushing it closed he listened carefully for the sounds of anyone coming his way. Hearing nothing but blissful silence the boy left the office out the front door. He remembered the entrance having seen it before while other children left taken in by their new loving families. His eyes watered remembering that he would be leaving here without such a family. Reaching up to rub at them he stopped at the locker for his things and opened it taking the donated coat and things he was able to claim for his own then hurried for the front doors. A new sense of freedom ached within his skin as he unlocked and pushed open the final obstacle to the real world.

The chill of night ran through his thin frame causing him to shiver to the elements. Runi didn’t care; this was his night for freedom. Slinging the bag of his only belongings over his shoulder he made his way down the streets at night. The silence had it been truly silent would have been enough to turn him around to go run for the supposed safety of the church orphanage. He repeated a quiet mantra to himself stating over and over that he would not return to that hellish pit for more abuse. Alone and cold he made his way towards the main part of the city. Needing at least one warm place to stay for the night and possibly be able to sit there and read through the file he stole from the orphanage.

When had it come to this? Now standing outside of bars singing to drunks as they dropped loose wads of cash or coins upon the filthy piss soaked streets beneath his feet. He probably wondered that himself as he continued to sing for them. It wasn’t very pretty, as he had hoped; the stares of the drunken men that stumbled from out of the bar frightened him. But by the time the place had closed for the night, he at least made enough to buy a bus ticket out of this town and perhaps a little bit of food. His newly collected money soon shoveled deep within a front pocket of the only pants he owned. Runistis picked up his pace into a flat out run as he passed the shadowy faces that remained on the streets. The leering eyes of the homeless and pimps that littered the streets caused him to shiver in fear as he made his way to the bus station. Running from this nightmworlworld into what he hoped was to be his new heaven.