Play Detective

Blind Passage of Time No. 1 (AKA: A Brave Boy)

In the morning, thus began a steady understanding of observation between the two.

Mr. Wammy began to run more experiments to test the waters on his limits, and they laid with the skills unfulfilled within seven years. He could do more of what he could do than the average boy, but the abstract like when he would learn... just certain little things with his cognitive development. A good thing was his advanced working memory, allowing him to recall immediately to solve patterns. He swore by completely subjective morality, and while there was an obvious sense of which consequence was greater, he would immediately flit back to it's inital wrongness. The subject of his understanding of empathy versus egotism was very cloudy by the test results: it seemed much more egotistical if one had to guess. [Egotism does not equal conceit, as per definition and use in the subject of development.]

And so, L saw plenty of psychologists who told him the same thing, blaming it on various causes. Many fell plainly on abuse and neglect as per the notes on his medical record.

His classes were changed around, Mr. Wammy searching for the right pace and the right environment as well as the right subject. His penmanship was improved by Mrs. Fowler, his English skills cheerlessly improved by Mrs. Englebright, and his curiosity explored by Mr. Creach.

Mr. Creach was the organic and inorganic chemistry instructor, and taught L about elements, protons, bonds, and elemental properties during the recess periods: Mr. Creach and his wife lived almost on campus, within walking distance if you didn't mind the inclination to the hill. His dear wife did, but he did not. Such disputes accurately defined their relationship.

During a simple experiment involving the rapid polymerizaion of p nitro aniline and discussing reactions, he noticed the boy he held back behind his arm startling once the dark column erupted from the beaker. He was a startler, but recovered with clumsy readiness.

"Oh..."

"Now you see it?"

"Yes... I think I do."

Taking his hand from stroking his beard in admiration of his student's success, he laid it upon the boy's lightly fleshed shoulder. Black eyes drifted up from his lab notebook and up to the man before him.

"I hope to see you in Chemistry classes when you get your credits."

L nodded, the black mop atop his head knocking into his eyes. It reached his shoulders now, and attempted to hide everything above his nose. He was nine years old.

"Yes sir."

After the boy had helped clean up and gathered his things, the two set out together into the hallway. Steps teased the wood, each tap affirmed by a satisfactory echo.

"You're going to be a very brave boy someday."

L turned towards the sound, lips parted.

"Yes..." The man muttered, blind to being observed. What had mattered had been said.

L grew steadily, once two inches when he was eight, then the rest muddled along. For the time being, he was still a small boy, and his face took a resting appearance of dissatisfaction in it's confusion of being neither sharp nor pudgy. It was growing towards the former, but stuck inbetween.

His roomates grew and changed rapidly, running this way and that way around the growing metropolis rising within their minds. They raced on the russet tracks, around and around, bounding furhter, higher, faster, while L seemed to be standing in the midst of it. Reaching forth his hands and dropping the first fruits upon the grass, feeling the sunlight through the windowpanes and the shrouds of fuzz shielding the sun itself. He grew quietly, and only when one stepped back could they sense his new height and thickened bough, his newly budded blossom, and the second bounty of fruit forming pea sized pearls of green.

The breeze moved his hair about gently, swirling in the corner as he flipped through a book. The sun shone, unwavering and warm, allowing him to warm his thin frame from the interior chill. Being cooped up was admittedly preferred, but gave him an inescapable chill at every moment of every day. He still dressed in light summer clothes to avoid suspicion of being feverish, but favored long sleeves. His arms felt gangly and awkward bare.

His hair in question, which we strayed from, was growing and reached over his ears now. He hair that hung in his face was roughly severed, and gave the appearance of hair much cought after by female models. Short pseudo-bangs, and an overgrown boyish haircut. On him, he looked ragtag, which wasnt too far from the true financial status of the orphanage. It was hidden well, but this mop of hair in particular served to mock their efforts.

Mr. Wammy still met with the boy, and enjoyed their time together. L was fairly pleasant company, unusual for a boy of his age, and unusual, also, of a child to be so thoughtful. Almost daydreaming.