Broken glass amongst the dirt floor, and stains that mark the cream colored walls. An elder fox in his mid-fifties can be seen setting in an old tarnished wooden chair with a glass bottle firm in his grasp. Almost as if he cherished it deeply.
“Come on you waste. You are going school!” A deep voice called out, still sitting in his chair with his transparent bottle. “So help me if you are late you disappointment!” The old fox grunts and acts with anger.
“Come now honey, you know what happened wasn’t his fault!”
“Then whose was it?”
The woman paused, and the stained room filled with guilt. Shards of glass still lay on the floor beneath where the bottles had shattered. Holes in the dirt walls remain webbed from nesting spiders and doorframes hold no purpose. They stand no longer with great support but rather cracked splintering wood drooping inside the frame walls.
“It’s okay Aunt Eden, he means well, I know he does.”
The floors even made from dirt shared the same stains the walls did. Windows were oddly full and looked almost untouched. There was a pile of dust in the window frame, and the curtains were gray from all the dust. Unpulled, the house remains in the dark, lighted with nothing more than a lamp.
Sylar, however, was getting use to the way his uncle treated him. It wasn’t right be any means, but there wasn’t anything he could do at the time. It wasn’t time for Sylar to head to school. There was an hour gap between the time his uncle told him to go and the actual time he was suppose to be in class.
Quickly- trying not to let intrusive thoughts get the best of him, Sylar gathers his homework and misplaced papers that were placed on his rotted desk. The miscellaneously placed papers weren’t important, not to the teacher anyways. Sylar uses any scrap paper he can find to write ideas that course through his mind.
Sylar’s room, covered by no more than a worn sheet was cluttered. Filled with books, and scattered paper made up most of his clutter. He found a passion to write after his parents passed, and kept it as an escape for when he needed it. Obviously his mind would churn up some wicked stories.
Rushing off to the field, frightened (who wouldn’t be). Sylar’s aunt sticks up for him once again. Hoping to lighten the mood of the distraught elder. “Why must you be so hard on him? He has been through so much and you only make things worse on him!”
Not a word was said, Harnold just gave a menacing glare. A sign he wanted her to stay out of it. His wife knew why he was so upset with Sylar, but she also knew nothing was his fault. It was just one of those hatreds that grew stronger from memories. Unfortunately, Sylar was a memory.
“Harnold-” she was stopped before she could get any further than his name.
“What! It is what it is. Look, I need to clean up the messes Sylar hasn’t yet! That lazy kid doesn’t know how lucky he has it.”
“Harnold! You had a much easier life than he has and you know it. What changed you?”
Thinking long about what Eden said, he didn’t respond, he knew nothing Sylar did caused what had happened. It was just a freak accident.
“Eden, tell me this, why did we have to adopt him? Everything was going great... until we adopted him.”
“He needed a home! You can’t be that oblivious to why we choose to bring him in! You use to love being around him when he first arrived too, where did that go? Where did he go wrong within that 10 years?
Ten years ago, when Sylar was first brought in by his aunt and uncle everything was at peace. Sylar got along perfectly with their daughter, as they played after school like any siblings should. She helped Sylar get over his depression for the most part, as much as one can help. While Sylar became her best friend.
“Sylar just has something around him, I’m not sure what it is but he is cursed Eden, cursed.” Harnold finished the last sip of his beverage, and he got up to get another. He was wearing a white stained T-shirt, with red striped boxers.” Matted fur covered a good portion of his body while he walked around with his spare tire.
Harnold made his way to the cooler, which held his pick of thirst quenching liquids. The cooler was dug out low on the floor, found within the kitchen. With a decline from the living room to the kitchen to reach a further depth in the ground where it keeps cool at anytime of the year.
“He isn’t cursed!” Eden says in a voice that sounded like she was just ready to give up. It was pointless to convince him otherwise.
“He is Eden, the sooner you realize that the better.” Harnold mentions while thinking back on the day that changed everything for him. He pops the metal cap off his beverage, and heads back to his well worn out, stained chair. “Look Eden, as much as I would love to talk about all of this, perhaps it can wait another day. I have some outside work that needs to get done.”
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