Chapter two: Cancer the orphan

some monsters are born, some are made, travel back into the dark origins of Cancer the Shade.

Chapter 2: Cancer the orphan

In a whirl of past events swirling around me, I fall as far as my discriminate memory will allow me. tumbling back to a different time and a different place, a world apart.... i remember I had chosen to leave…I had chosen to leave that world behind…there was something I had to do, something once certain, now forgotten. 

images shift and come to life as i recall every moment of every second of every day of my life back until I was seven years old, nothing mattered before this. That may seem rather cold for some, but you see for me the age of seven marked a new current in the sea of life that, until that moment, i remained barely afloat. I never knew my mother or father, No, as much as I had tried, every time I think of my past I must go in order. Form one unfortunate event to the next.

It was a June similar to this one. I remembered distantly that on this particular day there was no sun. Only the dark, grey blanket of clouds that eclipsed the entire sky, casting the world below in a grey, saddened gloom.

As I sat on a bench in front of St. Pickley’s orphanage I hunched forward and as I often did, gazing down at the worn out fabric that was my clothing. I began to cry. Not loudly, but enough so I could realize that I was crying. A swelling sensation of anger grew inside me. I hated crying, tears and what they brought with them. Ironically it seemed that tears were all that I had left in this world. I had been in four foster homes in the past seven year, no one wanted me. I was in every way alone.

“He’s just not what we were looking for.” My first foster mother and father said as they left me at the orphanage steps, carelessly depositing me into the indifferent arms of one of the many nuns that ran the grounds. It took me a long time to realize the truth behind my many care takers and as I recall my past now I believe that they realized that I would never had been able to co-exist in their little world with them. As a child I always had a superior intellect, a curiosity that at times seemed inappropriate and even offensive. In the end, my intelligence got me in more trouble than it got me out of.

 My third and by far the worst of my caretakers was a skinny deranged excuse of a man named Omlock. Besides making me do impossible takes at the tender age of three. He would severely punish me if I could not complete the task bestowed upon me. As my past self sat on a bench, rubbing the scar on the side of my arm. a long slender scar that reached up from my elbow to my wrist; a reminder from the time he had come home, so drunk he could barely walk, depressed over losing another job. In some ways I believed I had it coming, I asked him what was wrong. I chuckled darkly as I thought to myself, ‘he showed me’. Out of all my caretakers I remembered him the most. In his brief period in my life he had introduced me to a feeling that came in so many forms but hurt just the same; pain

So as I sat there, exiled from the last home that would have me, I could practically hear Omlock’s high pitched laugh, his sick, drunken laughter showering down upon me with every new rain drop that fell downward upon my lowered head. It was then that I heard a voice of an angel.

“What’s wrong?” her angelic voice called out to me. I kept my head down; I did not recognize the voice. “Why are you crying?’ she asked, her voice layered with concern rather than curiosity. I whipped my tears quickly with my sleeve. I glanced upward to reveal the shockingly beautiful girl with silky light brown hair that was neatly braided under her bonnet hat.

She wore a simple white dress riddled with blue and red patches. Her wondrous hazel eyes looking directly at me, astonishingly enough I think she was my age. “Are you a new kid for the orphanage too? “She asked as she handed me her handkerchief.

“Who me?” oh no, me and St Pickley are old friends.” I answered in a raspy voice. Ignoring the handkerchief by sitting backwards and letting the free falling rain drops tap my already wet face.

“Did your mom die?” she asked as she scooted closer to me. The bluntness of such an intrusive question took me aback, I looked over to her, my head still tilted back

“What?” I asked as I sat up straight. she read the hardened expression on my face and realized she was wrong, and blushed

“When my momie died I cried a lot too, I thought you might need someone to talk to.” She was persistent, either she was really noisy or maybe she really was concerned, though I doubted it. I learned long ago that the only person that would care about me was the person I saw when I looked in the mirror and besides, she didn’t even know my name. “My name is Cleio, what’s yours?” she said in a whisper as if it was some kind of secret.

“Cancer”. I exhaled without thinking. I hated my name, I reminded me of him, of Omlock; the caretaker that was given the responsibility of naming me. I had no last name, only Cancer.

“It means worthless in the old tongue, that what you are boy, worthless good for nothing!” Omlock said one day as I was cleaning the floors with a vile and toxic chemical that really shouldn’t be exposed to children.

“I like your name.” she said cheerfully as a smile crossed her face.

“You do know what it means right?” I asked looking at her as if she was crazy. Even though that was the first time I had ever heard that sentence before, I wondered how a word that meant worthless, good for nothing could possibly be, in any way likable.

“it means nothing” she said looking closer at me.

“Then how is it that you like my name?” I asked a little annoyed at the girls unusual chipper mood. She was trying to ruin my perfectly good bad mood.

“I don’t know any other person named Cancer, so whenever I hear it; chances are they are talking about you.” She said staring at me closely.

“What are you staring at?” I asked unable to keep my eyes off of her myself.

“Your eyes are a gateway to your soul, you know.” She said as I looked away from her again. I looked forward, not that I was looking for something in particular but I didn’t like the idea of someone knowing everything about me just by looking into my eyes. “’You've had a bad day.” She deduced nodding her head in confidence.

“More like a bad life.” I leaned back still looking onward.

“Oh come now how bad could it be?” she said handing me a cookie from her stocking.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you” I said taking a bite of the cookie she offered

“Try me.” She said as she took a bite of her own. Evidently her mother died when she was three. She was raised by her grandmother who died in a fire in the past winter. We out talked the rain and when it got dark we both headed inside the orphanage, where we talked some more. We talked about everything we could think of and when those things were talked about we took on topics that we had never really thought of before.

Cleio and I both lived for the next eleven years in St. Pickleys orphanage. a institution of character and religion that rested on a high grassy hills overlooking the small town of Barsha. There was a simplicity about this place, to this world; dirt roads ventured upon by horse drawn carriages, lush and green pastures and farms nestled in the center of a vast mysterious forest that circled the town from every direction. The only way in and out of Barsha was to take the only road, the kings road. a cobblestone path leading out of the forest, dividing the town in half and ending at the top of the hill, at the door steps of the church. quaint enough, the church could hold the entire town within its walls; majestic brass chandeliers, expensive stain glass windows, and silver candle holders to line the rafters. the orphanage however did not receive the same patronage. the orphanage consisted of a long wooden  shack built onto the back of the structure near the monasteries garden.  I'd never been quite the religious kind, I had always wanted to know everything, the thirst for knowledge as annoying to the nuns, but their library, and the one room that served as a school was enough for me. I remembered the nuns holding order in suggesting that every action contrary to what the nuns wanted would resort in damnation.

 In the morning, we would all attend a school that was taught by the nuns that  worked in the convent. The work was not difficult, in a sense it was a little too easy, we would eat at noon and at half pass three we would disperse unto ourselves until diner. At exactly four sharp Cleio and I would travel to the large oak tree that rested in the center of the vast garden the seemed to stretch out for yards behind the orphanage. Regardless of the fact that we had spent the entire day together before meeting, we would act as if this was our first meeting.

“Good day to you sir” she would begin extending her hand playfully.

“And a good day to you miss, awful weather were having isn't it?” I’d always respond, shaking her hand firmly.

“I don't know sir, I rather like the Sun.” and then she would laugh, the laugh that could make gargoyles smile.

“Well to each his own.” Id say back. We would meet every day, and every day we would no longer be Cleio and Cancer. Under the shade of the oak tree, sitting on the massive roots that rested above  ground we became whoever we wanted to be. It was our favorite game, but as I slipped deeper and deeper into my recollections of events long gone, I begin to remember not just the good memories, but the bad ones as well.

Reviews

[Hatter57]

Yaseen,

The first sentence really throws me here for a coule of reasons. First, the similarity between whirl and swirling is jarring; I really think you need to find a way of rephrasing this. Secondly, you say "his memories", which made me think I was now in the mind of the girl who was Cancer's "essence of happiness", that she is bound mystically to him in some way, and maybe is even the voice that guides him. But reading further establishes clearly that everything in this chapter is from Cancer's point of view, so this should have been "My memories". I promise I'll try not to keep harping on minor inconsistencies, but this one-two combination takes the reader right out of the story and deserves some mention.

How complete are Cancer's memories supposed to be? He remembers his first foster mother, when Omlock was his third foster parent? He must have been pretty young then, and the memory is pretty detailed. Also, how precocious can a baby or toddler be to generate such a response from his foster parents? I think you'd be better off attributing their reactions to a subliminal response to his gift; some psychic vibration that resonantes on a level below consciousness that leads the caregivers to decide that they are not compatible with this child.

[Amanda J Hopwood]

. : I'd never been quite the religious kind, I had always wanted to know everything, the thirst for knowledge as annoying to the nuns," Instead of as annoying, try just was annoying, or it annoyed the nuns.
I Really really want to know what made Cancer a shade!! On to the next!

[Jake Donald Stephens]

A flashback chapter!! Getting to know the character's origins, and being kept in more suspense for the main story line, all at once.
"It was then that I heard the voice of an angle".....I think it should be "angel". :)
"It means worthless in the old tong".......that would be "tongue".
Try running a "spelling and grammar check"....it should be found under one menu or another, depending on your program. (In Microsoft Word, it's under the Review one.) It will offer suggestions on how to fix these little things.

I think the story is turning out brilliantly. Great descriptions of characters and places, an original setting, and as I read it I can tell how "inside the character's head" you really are. By extension, I feel like I am sitting there right next to him during these experiences.

I wonder what has become of Cleio? I like her, and hope to see her again in future chapters.

I'm so glad I have discovered this book to read. It is exactly the type of story I enjoy....wildly original, not quite like anything else.....so thanks for posting it!!

[Lydia Shutter]

“Only the dark, grey blanket of clouds that eclipsed the entire sky, casting the world below in a grey, saddened gloom.” Imagery as vivid as this is excellent for setting the scene. The fact the character never knew his parents and cannot or will not recall his life before the age of seven seems very significant to me and might be used in a later chapter. For a child to feel unwanted and to be shuffled from one foster home to another must be a tragic way of life. Tears seem appropriate. That Omlock character was a cruel and evil individual. The words you write hold such an honesty...I could almost see the scar on the boy’s arm! Cancer was a child who was forced to rely upon himself so when Cleio tried to befriend him, he did not trust her. Circumstance has a lot to do with the way we all react in life, does it not? St. Pickley’s orphanage sounded like a bad place in a picturesque setting and Cancer was fortunate Cleio and he lived there together for 11 years. Together they learned to trust and it seems that Cleio found his confidante. I truly enjoyed this story. When I have time, I will read more.

You do have some typos and some verbs in the incorrect tense, but your meaning comes across quite well. You have a lot of talent. Lydi**

[Yaseen J Malik]

Thank you lydi!!! Your insight and opinion as always are held in the up most regard. Im glad u were able to see the first steps into my attempt to formulate a multi layered character and a three demntional platform for the story to progress. I look forward to your opinion on the rest