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#Post#: 394871--------------------------------------------------
The Forgotten Hayward
By: Christofer Hayward Date: November 4, 2015, 2:47 pm
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Darkness. Pitch black everywhere. Not a single light to be seen.
For a moment, there was silence, complete peace and serenity
until cold, wet hands started to creep their way over his body.
He could feel them surrounding him, their breaths like ice on
his neck, their nails scraping over his skin, their pained moans
echoing in his ears. He tried to pull away but their grip was
too tight, their clammy hands clinging onto his body as if it
was their only source of life. Parting his lips, he tried to
scream over their voices but all that came out was a feeble
breath of air, his heart starting to pound harder as he
struggled against what was now becoming restraints.
The hands were overlapping each other, fingers intertwining and
becoming chains that locked together tighter and tighter. He
could hardly breathe now, his eyes straining to see through the
dark for any kind of light that might show him a way out. The
more he pulled and tried to get away, the weaker he seemed to
get, as though these hands were sucking the life from him to
take as their own. He fell to his knees, still trying to cry for
help but only managing a feeble whimper before the hands began
to crawl across his face. He shook his head, scrambling to
escape but it was no use. His heart pounded as he felt them
cover his eyes, their touch so cold it stung.
They slid over his mouth, leaving only his nose clear of their
grip, then stopped. Their moans came to a sudden silence and
their writhing hands became still. He waited in the ice cold
dark, his breath rugged through his nose as he tried to gasp for
air. Then finally, a single hand slid across his face and
covered the last gap on his body. He struggled and writhed,
encased in what felt like ice, trying desperately to scream and
break free. He managed to bite down hard on the hand that
covered his mouth, causing a shriek of pain from whatever it
belonged to as it pulled the hand away. With this new gap, he
drew in a deep breath of air and let out a piercing scream.
This time, it was loud enough to wake himself up.
#Post#: 395547--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Forgotten Hayward
By: Christofer Hayward Date: November 6, 2015, 7:37 pm
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Back Story
It was a cold morning the day Castor was born. There was nothing
special about it at all really, no big events happening, nothing
out of the ordinary. Just a young woman in a delivery room
surrounded by nurses and a midwife. She was regular too, a
farmers daughter who had moved to the city to try and find work
and instead found a man. A very handsome man who had instantly
caught her eye. Their fling didn't last long but they had plenty
of perfect nights together and it was on one of those nights
that Castor was created. The nurses had watched as the woman
held her new baby close, whispering sweet words in his ears and
thought to themselves that he was going to be well loved and
well taken care of.
Yet, as he sat down on the steps of the orphanage, now a boy of
mere seven years old staring up at his mother who had once held
him so close, he pondered something. Was he worth so little that
even his mother was willing to leave him? Did he really mean so
little to her? He closed his eyes as she bent down and placed a
kiss on his forehead, leaving a warm breath on his skin.
"I'm sorry, my little Castor sugar," she whispered softly, her
thumb brushing against his cheek to wipe away a tear. "It's for
the best. You can't stay with me any more, it's not safe, I
can't give you what you deserve." She paused, glancing up at the
front door of the looming building behind him. "They can give
you food, a warm bed, more than I could ever hope to give you.
They'll take good care of you, but you must behave." She pressed
her forehead to his and closed her eyes, her hands on his cheeks
as she breathed him in for what would be the last time. "I love
you." her last words to him before she hammered her fist on the
door and quickly left without even so much as a glance over her
shoulder. It would be too difficult for her to turn again should
she look back.
But of course Castor didn't understand this at his age, he
simply saw a mother abandoning her child. His heartbroken sobs
could be heard echoing throughout the street until the orphanage
door swung open and a woman appeared, short and round-bellied
with a name badge reading 'Beryl'.
"Oh dear child, what are you doing out here in the cold?!"
Castor looked up and sniffled, now realising that his little
body was shaking not from just the crying, but from the freezing
cold. "Come on, quickly now. You'll catch your death out here."
she stepped to one side and held the door open, gesturing for
him to come in to the warmth. He gave one last look towards the
end of the street where his mother was now disappearing around
the corner, wondering if that would be the last he ever saw of
her, then darted inside to begin his life as an orphan.
It was a hard life, whenever someone tried to adopt him he'd
mess it up. He tried to behave and be polite, but he always
seemed to make bad choices or something would cause him to get
angry and he would go into a rage. One family had brought him
back to the orphanage claiming he'd broken their daughter's arm,
but all he could remember was her asking him why he had no real
family and then black. The older he got, the more it seemed to
happen.
Someone would say the wrong thing to him and suddenly black and
when he came to, something would be broken. Then there were the
nightmares... Oh how they tormented him. Being swamped by dark
hands until he couldn't move, being pulled apart and suffocated
and crushed until he felt like his lungs were about to burst
from screaming. Most adoptive parents brought him back after the
first night saying he was a disturbed child and needed help.
None were willing to actually give it though.
Eventually, Castor outgrew the orphanage before he could be
permanently adopted. While Beryl tried to tell him about how it
could be a good thing, tried to make him see the positives, all
he could think of now was that he had no family, real or not.
His mother had left a note in his pocket when she'd left him
explaining that he had family abroad, but they were distant in
blood and he'd never even heard of them. The orphanage had tried
contacting them with no success, but he didn't mind. His blood
family clearly didn't want him, no one else wanted to become his
family, he would travel instead. No rules, no responsibilities,
no worries. No one to tell him where to go or to be stuck at
home waiting for him. He could go where he liked, when he liked.
The orphanage had been aware of this plan for some time and had
set up a small fund for him to surprise him with when he left.
They even bought him a jacket to wear, "For those cold mornings
when you're sat on the steps." Beryl had told him with a smile.
He appreciated their kindness and gave each of them a hug,
before donning his new jacket and throwing his bag (containing
what little belongings he had) over his shoulder.
This was his life now. No looking back. He'd learnt that from
his mother.
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