Reminiscence

Solus

He doesn't know when his life starts and his first memory begins. Can't pinpoint the exact moment his brain starts registering the world around him long enough for instances to be engraved into the confines of his mind.

He knows, however, that the old, fraying walls that surround him have always been there. Like the discolored dents in the ceilings and the cracks that slither and twist into the worn wooden tiles of the floor, they persist and remain. He can't remember a time when they weren't there.

Somehow, the familiar sight of the chipped wallpaper each morning, comforts him.

Rubbing the sleepiness and blurriness out of his eyes, he shuffles out from under the ragged, scratchy cover. Reaching for something on his nightstand- he can never remember what- his hand and mind reach a standstill as he finds nothing to reach for.

His mind flashes to the nightmare he'd been fighting off just before his timely wake-up call. Slumping as the only thing that emerges from his memory is the ever-persistent acidic green light that has plagued his dreams for his entire life. At least this time, there was no hissing or screaming accompanying it.

His feet dangle from his bed and he has to scoot closer and hop down the structure. Conscious of his small stature as he hits the floor. The wood beneath his bare feet is cold to the touch, rough, and uneven.

His one-bedroom apartment feels way too big and empty. The silence that accompanies these early hours of the dawn makes the hair on his skin stand on end. Realistically, he knows that just within a few minutes the noises will begin to emerge along with the waking world. The stray dog that passes his street every day will bark at everything that moves. Just like the neighbors next door will start their screaming match, either ending with loud, slammed doors or even louder creaks in the woodwork.

Nevertheless, he knows better than to disregard his few minutes of peace before the chaos. So, with light, tired steps, he waddles into the tiny kitchen, pulling the stool beneath the sink until it's positioned right in front of it, and wastes no time climbing it.

Its height is, thankfully, perfect for him to be able to reach the faucet comfortably. His fingers stretch towards the toothbrush nestled safely within his favorite mug, going through the familiar motion of brushing his teeth without conscious thought.

The water in his bathroom sink has been out for a few weeks now. He's come to learn to live around the things that mysteriously fail to work in his apartment. His landlord- he learned the hard way- was not overly eager to be disturbed. He thanks whatever luck he has that his shower's water, albeit cold and icy, still runs relatively well.

Rinsing his mouth one last time, he hops down from his perch, kicking the stool until it slides under the stove.

He doesn't climb it though, instead, he marches to the fridge, peering inside to gauge the state of his remaining supplies. The groceries that used to mysteriously pop up once a month for as long as he could recall suddenly stopped showing up a few weeks ago. A few weeks after his fifth birthday, to be more precise. Instead, a monthly allowance had been popping up on his counter. The perpetrator never left any trace of their presence and he quickly learned to ignore it, else the intrusions drive him crazy. He suspects it's the masked men's work. Anbu, he thinks he heard them being referred to as.

It didn't take long for him to find out, however, that the money he got would do him no favors. On the very rare occasion that any vendors agreed to sell him anything, they tripled the price on everything he even dared to look at.

He's been rationing what little he had left ever since.

His stomach rumbles at the thought, and he fishes the lonely egg from its plastic confines. He walks towards the stove, holding his find carefully so as not to drop it.