Brandin

I only remember one thing about my upbringing, and that was the noise, the smell, and the vats. The endless vats. It’s funny, really, the people, my mom included, I don’t remember much of. They were shadows, just feet and hands that would appear from behind the vats, behind the leather, behind the giant pots of dye. Faceless, almost, every one of them. As much as I was invisible to them. I soon became invisible to the other kids too. We used to run and hide and play around the vats, but I was younger. I had to invent my own games. The vats and the vapours became my friends as much as any living, breathing thing. I would see shapes in the smoke, I would draw things on the sides of the vats, I would connect the piles and the people and the paraphernalia into patterns and pretend relationships.

When nobody looks at you, you can do what you want. My mom would take care of me at night, but she was too worn out to do much. I learned how to get by. During the day, I could move all over the factory, could even leave if I wanted. It’s easy to take things when you’re small. I found a small corner, made a little hovel out of old rags and bits of leather, and hid away in there, alone with my little pile of trinkets and tools and old rubbish I used as toys. I had nothing to see, nowhere to go but I could pretend. And so I would. I would imagine all sorts of things, big stories and bigger theories. I liked to figure things out. I would arrange my toys into designs, and project my thoughts onto them. It seemed fun. It would pass the time. Sometimes I thought I could see things, right there in front of me. They seemed so real.

The day I knocked down my little hovel with a mind pattern was the day I knew something was different.

I know the stories, I know that I am cursed. I know I am to die. I know the church will hunt me down.

If they knew about me.

My mom’s been waiting for me to go out on my own. I let her know I was heading out. She smiled and wished me the best. She doesn’t know. All she knows is that she fed me and got me to 15. An accomplishment, here in the stink. I love her dearly. And that is why I will hide this well. I will use it, and I will survive. And one day, when I’ve made some coin, I will give back to my mom.

One day.

For now, I have found a home. A band of brothers and sisters who do not ignore me. They don’t know my gift yet; I haven’t told them, not yet. But I suspect they sensed the strength in me. I sense the strength in them.

The vats already seem so long ago.