Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24510587-20190305012653/@comment-5543592-20190307015323

Daireg nodded, leading on.

They arrived at a cave not long after. An unpleasant, damp alcove, made unpleasanter and damper by the unnatural film that overtaken the world.

Daireg made himself comfortable immediately, sitting down on a rock near the cave's entrance, and looking out at the trees. Birds chirped discordantly. He smiled, briefly, in memory.

The other orphans stayed away from Daireg.

It was not because he was bigger than they were. He was average in size, in appearance. In all ways, he was a normal boy. He ran to meals. He laughed. He smiled. He played in the yard, threw the ball, slept, had nightmares, wet the bed, cried, and had temper tantrums. There was only one, albeit major, difference between Daireg and the other children.

He was pretending.

When Daireg smiled it was only because someone else had. He only laughed when other people were laughing. He only played because he knew it was what children did, only slept because he had to, only cried for attention. As for bedwetting, well, even murderous psychopaths are three once.

The nuns couldn’t sense Daireg’s otherness in the way children could. Daireg was special, the nuns would say. A special boy. Unique. Different. When he would stare at them without blinking they would note how peculiar he was. The nuns did not use the word “creepy,” but they thought it. They would whisper among themselves. “There’s something wrong with that boy.” “He’s not right.”

But it was a phase, the nuns were certain. Daireg would grow out of it. His own mother hadn’t wanted him. That was oh so hard on a boy. He was, after all, an orphan.

When Daireg was six he was throwing stones at a tree, with the rapt, intense fascination all small children have for what grow-ups find to be relatively mundane. One of the stones struck a pigeon, knocking it from the branches. The bird flopped around ungainly on the ground, one of its wings injured, and Daireg squatted over it, watching the animal struggle.

He watched the panic in the bird’s eyes as a larger animal loomed over it. He watched the frantic speed in which it had moved to escape him. He watched, unwilling to interrupt the bird’s efforts, as the pigeon finally got onto its feet and hopped away, its wing pressed against its side.

He went to sleep that night with the rest of the boys but had trouble filling. In his mind he saw the bird staring at him. The bird had no expressions, but the terror in its eyes was unmistakable. The fear reflected back into Daireg and it filled him with something he couldn’t express. Something vast and riveting. He thought of the bird all night, drifting in and out of unconsciousness, and before he knew it the sun was up.

He did his chores, as always. Swept floors, washed dishes, knelt at the stairs and did his prayers. He praised Ruptga for the sun, Morwha for his life, the HoonDing for his good fortune. He did not mean the prayers, only reciting what he had been told, rehearsing the nun’s teachings without effort.

Oh, Daireg is so troubled, the nuns would say. But look at how pious he is! His prayers are flawless!

Daireg did not mind washing the dishes. It was soothing to him. Melodic. It made him feel cleansed, as the cutlery was. The things came to him dirty and as he worked on them, worked on them until his hands were raw, they came away sparkling and untouched.

The other boys do not like Daireg, he is without friends. But look at how hardworking he is! He understands that pride of a job well done!

When they would put the brush in Daireg’s hand, he would scrape the floors clean of all grim and dirt. This brought him a different pleasure than the dishes, for no one noticed a small, thin boy scrubbing away at the floor. He became invisible. It was an escape for the eyes of the others. For a brief hour every day, he was unnoticed in a place where his every action was scrutinized.

That Daireg is unruly, yes, but when he sets his mind to something he manages to succeed!

When Daireg returned to the yard, the pigeon was back in the tree, nursing its healing wing. He picked up more stones and had knocked it down again with three throws.

As it flopped on the ground, wings flapping uselessly, he squatted over it, eager to watch its struggle again.

The bird seemed to remember it had been in this circumstance before, and this time it was able to get back onto its feet more easily.

Daireg’s fun was spoiled. When he reached out to knock it down the bird fluttered its wings defensively, whacking his hand. He drew it back quickly, smarting.

The bird turned its head to look at him with its dark eye, not afraid of him. City pigeons rarely were of humans, and unlike most boys, Daireg had chased the pigeon with joyful glee.

Daireg felt a twinge in his chest. A tug, like the plucking of a string. It was an unpleasant sensation, the opposite of what he felt in bed the other night, thinking of the bird.

He picked up on of the nearby stones and struck the pigeon in the head with it. The bird’s thin skull split open. Orange brains spilled out, across the ground, Daireg’s fingers, and his boots.

The stone was orange too and he hit the dead bird again, this time at the wing joint. The limb hung useless and Daireg grabbed it with greedy fingers and pulled it off, long string of sinew tearing away.

He tore at the bird with manic energy, delighting in every new sound it made, every new sight he say. He delved into the secrets the bird’s insides held, the things that had been hidden from him. Daireg held his squishy treasures in his hands and took pride in his hoard. Behind him there was a scream.

The nuns took turns beating him with a stick for the next half hour, although not before stripping him down and dousing him in water to wash off the gore.

The beatings focused on his hands, wrist, and buttocks. Daireg did not cry. He sat passively, taking the abuse in silence. After the nuns dubbed his punishment sufficient, they spent two hours lecturing him on the immorality, cruelty, and violence of what he’d done. When that was done, they sent him to bed late.

The next day, Daireg returned to the tree. The pigeon had been cleaned up, but he had found something new. In the grass there were mice and he found it easier to hit them with stones than the pigeon. Daireg would cut their underbellies open and watch as their organs spilled out. He would watch their hearts beat outside their body frantically, before ticking to a slow stop. It pleased him greatly.

The nuns liked this no less than what he had done to the pigeon. The beatings increased, both in frequency and intensity.

He would lie in bed at night and think of the mice now. He wondered how a person’s organs looked when they were outside. How long would Daireg’s heart beat outside of his body before it ticked to a stop?

In the courtyard one day he threw a stone through a window inside of at a mouse. He picked up the largest shard pressed the jagged edge into his skin, watched as little streams of blood trickled down his skinny chest.

Half the orphanage came running outside, drawn by the sound of shattering glass, to see a shirtless Daireg cutting into his chest.

At the start of what would be Daireg’s final physical punishment, he had started enjoying it. The nun who would’ve been the executor of his punishment ran from the room, shrieking with disgust. Another, elderly nun had come in later to pull up Daireg’s pants and take him to bed.

The punishments ceased after that and instead the nuns had all animals on the premise exterminated as a countermeasure. Daireg was also banned from the courtyard—the nuns had determined Daireg’s drift from the gods had started the instance he’d begun to spend time there. It was an effective solution, at least in the meantime. They had dealt with such things before. Daireg’s behavior had horrified them, but not surprised them.

He was, after all, an orphan.

Daireg turned his eyes back to the others. "We will not be here long.  Rest while you can." He told them.