It's me, Ilovetoread72, and I'm back with chapter two! I'm guessing you all want to find out what happened to Theodore, so I'll get on with it! ...Kind of...
Remember the date from last chapter! Don't forget to check the date for this one! I'm sorry I'm jumping around, it's just I need the information to work out, so it kinda has to go in this order. :D
By the way: I really need people's opinion on this, too – Should I continue using italics for the past? This chapter, I decided not to. Remember, though, to check the date! I'm still *a-hem* "LEAPing" around with the past and present. Hopefully, this will change when I get my plot really started.
---/II/---
DATE-Sometime in May 2105-DATE
"Mama, where's Daddy?" The boy looked at his mother, an inquisitive look on his face.
"He's... Not well. He's in the washroom."
"Why is he there so long?" the small boy asks, worry apparent on his small five-year-old face. His dad was a special person, he was his dad!
"Theo, he's really not doing well," his mother said, uncomfortably, while turning a gear, installed in the back of the apartment-like house to create electricity. Xero's "mission statement" was to reserve energy, and to keep everything running perfectly. They didn't supply houses with electricity, people had to create their own using a "Xero Battery", which could be charged in various ways.
"Don' call me Theo..." The boy made a face at the nickname he had a great disdain for. "But what is wrong with Daddy?"
"Theo... -Theodore-... Your father has been infected with a really, really bad sickness..." His mother couldn't seem to explain it perfectly.
"Oh. When will he get better?" the small boy asked.
"I don't know if... when... he will get better. But would you mind doing some turning? I must talk to your father..."
His mother left the steel wheel, and walked into the washroom. Theodore didn't move toward the wheel, he wanted to know more about what was going on. He tiptoed toward the washroom.
"Please... No..." his mother's voice leaked out from under the door.
Theodore backed up a little, only able to catch snippets of the conversation. Cure... Didn't work... Vaccine... Don't... Contagious... Bad... Leave... Late... Not working...
Theodore couldn't tell what most of the words meant, but they all seemed scary and odd. Was his dad going to be okay? This all seemed to say no.
"Daddy..." Theodore sat down on the floor where he stood, and began to cry sadly just as his mother exited the washroom. She looked sadly at him.
"Theodore, don't worry. Your dad... Your daddy will be fine," his mother said, her voice shaky and eyes unable to meet her son's. But Theodore was only five, and he blindy trusted his mother, and never doubted her for a tenth of a second.
He knew, without the smallest doubt, that his father would be fine. So, he didn't bother to say goodnight, or even give a 'hope you get well soon dadda'. He just waited for his father to be better, like his father would be, and very soon, too. So he drifted into the realm of unconsciousness, sleep coming to him just like it always had, as he calmly breathed in and out, dreaming of a better world.
Theodore's mother smiled sadly at her son, sleeping soundly on top of his air mattress. He hadn't doubted her, and now she knew there would be consequences. His father, her husband... Needed the vaccine, the cure. The only hope was the cure for xilece. Yet both her and her husband knew with great certainty that they weren't going to get it.
She knew her husband would die, that they would never get the cure for one very simple reason: She never asked for it.
---/About Two Days Later/---
"Theodore... Theodore, wake up." Theodore's mother stood above her son, who was snoring soundly on his air mattress. "Theodore, Theodore..." She sighed, turning away from the comatose body of her five year old son. Perhaps her son could survive on his own, for a little while. Perhaps he could survive while she buried her husband, her son's father.
Perhaps it wouldn't matter that her son would never see his father again.
Perhaps that would be a good thing.
"No, Maria. Push that thought out of your head." She held her head for a moment, looking at the floor. "You know it wasn't his fault. You know he didn't know what would happen. You can't... I can't blame him." She sighed. Perhaps... It would be a good thing for some things to be lefft unspoken.
Without another word, she exited the small room, all earlier thoughts erased from her head. Now she just had one question to ask herself: Where to bury her husband?
---/One Year Later/---
Theodore sighed, not for the first time, as he pushed the heavy iron wheel mounted on the wall of the small house he and his mother lived in. It was boring work, and tiresome, turning that wheel for hours a day. But, his mother was making a very special treat – baked potatoes, and the three-in-one stove, oven, stove, and small sink wouldn't operate its stove and oven capabilities without electricity. Their shock-box had slowly begun losing its electricity storage abilities, so more and more often the wheel had to keep turning to keep up constant energy, unlike the times where Theodore's mother could turn off the lights, turn it for half an hour, then have enough electricity stored to bake, or cook. Now it had to be turned non-stop for electricity, when they needed it.
He stopped turning the wheel for a moment, to rub his hands and see how close his mother was to finishing their dinner. The potatoes seemed almost done, she told him, so he walked back into the only bedroom to rest his arms. The steel wheel took quite a bit of strength to turn, and it wasn't easy to continuously turn the wheel for long periods of time.
After resting for a minute, he walked back into the small kitchen portion of the house, and took out two plates from a small cupboard. There wasn't really a table, he and his mother, as well as his father (when he was alive) would just use the small counter.
His mother placed a baked potato on each plate, and took out one of their three knives to slice the third in half, and deposit one half on her own plate, leaving the other one in the pan.
She sat down on a stool, across the counter from her son, who was already gulping down his dinner. "Mom, why is Dad taking so long on his trip?" Theodore asked, looking at his mother.
"Theodore..." She stared at him, and sighed. "Your father... I should have told you this before, but..." She looked at him. Could she tell him? Could she tell him that his father wasn't on any trip? Could she possibly tell her son that his father was long dead? "Theodore, your father..."
Before she could continue, her son interrupted her with another question. "Is Dad okay? Please tell me he's okay... Please let him be okay?" The boy looked up at her with those eyes, those sad, longing eyes, and she knew she couldn't tell him.
"Nevermind, Theodore. Your father... Is fine."
He smiled. "That's good! I can't wait till he comes back from his trip!"
"Yes Theodore, your father... Is fine..."
End---/II/---End
I'm sorry this one is kinda short. I'll be sure to make the next one longer! :D Uh... Other than that, I really can't think of anything to say. :D
YOU ARE READING
The Second Archives
RandomThe second archives. Watch out for the fanfictions. They bite.
