Crow and The Moon

'A cursed child...!'

Perhaps my parents were right.

It was no surprise to me when mother left for a better life; I would've made the same decision if I were in her shoes. Coming from a wealthy family, there were no talks of divorce as she discarded her marriage with my father like spitting out a chewed piece of gum. She soon remarried and lived a much happier life, without a doubt.

The poor man left behind was overcome with grief. He slowly sank deep into depression and became addicted to the limited pleasures of alcohol and drugs.

My father was a good man. As a child, helplessly watching him crumble into such an irredeemable state was traumatic to say the least—especially when he became unreasonably violent towards me.

'You...If it wasn't for you! Everything was fine until you came into our lives. We should've aborted you when we had the chance.'

I never got to attend school given our financial standpoint, but I was curious and eager to learn. So I decided work, but not for money.

There was much to know about this world and even for just a second, it helped me forget about who I was.

What 'I' was, that is.

Knowledge was a gateway into worlds unknown. But I could never escape the painful clutches of my life, no matter how hard I try to distract myself. With the deep comfort I felt when I 'Learn' came repercussions that I should've seen coming.

Jobless, alcoholic, and a junkie. Father was the cliche definition of a mess. Friends and family tried their damnedest to help him back up, yet all of them couldn't truly understand how the broken could never truly be fixed.

He and I had a bizzare relationship from an outsider's point of view. I was always insulted, beaten bloody and cursed at whenever I was home. It was literal abuse, at least that was how it was identified from one of the books I read.

But, that was 'normal' for us. I never held anything against him. There was no hate or grudge to be expressed on my side, just a slight annoyance. Whether I was turned into a punching bag, forced to sleep in the rain, starved for days, or even that one time where I lost part of my left ear while he was carving me up.

I am numb. I have become numb. No matter how badly I was treated, all I felt was the slight annoyance of being hindered. There lay no weakness in me anymore.

Everything was always so bland and boring, except for the times when I was learning. Unbeknownst, or rather, ironically, I had also found my 'drug'. And for the following 40 miserable years of my life, it all stayed the same. I longed for a greater stimulation, a greater knowledge.

'Or is that really what I am looking for?' I would often question. It was only at times like these that I could slightly understand how 'unfortunate' I am, as I was often reffered to.

But Life is a mischievous one. The future is always so sudden and abrupt, bursting forth without warning.

Just as the day I met my daughter.

If it were anyone else, they would've been horrified to find an infant in a trash bag. I have no idea why I hid her like a fugitive from my co-workers at the garbage collectors—it was not as if I had never commited an irrational act but this was a special case.

I was curious. It was rare to find someone more unwanted than I was. This small, insignifcant child was bringing about something new within me.

'How did it feel like to be cast away like waste?'

'What was it like to be such a bitter disappointment to actually be thrown out?'

'Why are my hands so cold while I watch her struggle to breathe as she slept so blissfully?'

And then I realized. For the first time in all my life, I was curious about me. A new-found interest in oneself derived from the consequences of another individual, strange as it may seem.

It was difficult suddenly becoming a parent. The only silver-lining was that there was no one to critique my mistakes and none to nag at my misgivings; so it would be accurate to say that this child was raised in a highly experimental manner.

I named her "Alva".

It did not have any special meaning or whatsoever but with that context, perhaps it is special in its own way.

Alva Curtis. If I were to describe my child, it would take about 766 pages—pointing to the logbooks I've collected in the course of this 'study'.

She is like the Moon. Always going through phases and moods yet she never fails to return to that full and sweet smile of bliss and affection. Like the waves, her presence has brought motion into my life. I am confident to say that I have found the true meaning of life, at least of mine; and it is all thanks to her.

I was 'Learning'. I still am. But this time, the feeling of 'slight annoyance' was no more.

I knew of joy, distress, triumph, desperation, anger, laughter, and so much more 'emotions' that I've already lost count. Even some that words could barely describe.

As we continued, I've come to realize how horrible my past was. Yet I wonder, why did it not bother me at all? Yes, I was abused, humiliated, broken, demeaned.

So what?

There will always remain the shadows of my past, but I shall use them to better the life of my child. It does not matter what happened or happens to me and I shall spend the remaining days of my life tending to hers.

...or at least, that's what I thought.

*

[You have been chosen by The Labyrinth!]

*

The future always was so abrupt and unpredictable. Changes happen in the blink of an eye and the reality we all new...vanished.

.