Chapter Text
The monsters only came out at night.
During the day, he was beaten, had to scavenge, and hid wherever he could whenever he could. His body constantly hurt somewhere, and the most profound of ache was only alleviated when he found edible things he could shove in his mouth and nearly choke on. He constantly went back to a grey building which let most of the wind in, because the people there sometimes tossed such things to him. If he stood in their path too much, or tried to produce sounds like they did, the morsels would come with hits, and he would throb all over and have to endure the red liquid spiling from his skin. But if he was just at the periphery of their vision, they sometimes would speak a bit more quietly, and simply leave him be, with the scraps which would fill his body for a few suns more.
It was the best part of his existence.
At night, he was beaten, had to scavenge, and hid wherever he could whenever he could. But the only beings which looked like him were small and powerless like he was. The biggest beings, the ones which yelled and tossed things at him at night were monstrous. They all looked different, and never like him. Some had hands which were bigger than his whole body, others had sharp tendrils which probed at him everywhere, a few were burning hot to the touch. They crawled on the ground, flew over his head, stuck to the walls. They either had no eyes or too many, the liquids coming out of their mouths could corrode the ground or vaporize in pungent smokes. Their strikes hurt more, the thing they would shove in his mouth made him sick more often than not and burnt when they came back up, and the nooks he hid in were sharp and cut him, leaving red as the only colour in the night.
Yes, daylight was better. And each time he collapsed under the moon and felt himself pulled into the night, where the smoke hid the sky and the monsters came too close, he wished the sun would rise again soon.
With time, he became to understand a bit of what the others said, the ones of the day who were like him. He never quite managed it with the monsters of the night, they all made sound differently. But some words of the people of the day were always the same, and always seemed to refer to the same things. He understood that his name was Ivan. He understood that the thing which made his body rest was food.
“Nah, she left him there, as if we’re a fucking charity!”
He was touching his bruises in a corner of the grey building when he heard the two people speak, the ones who gave him food the most, yet also hit him the most. They were looking at him.
“Of course I thought of selling him, but he’s way too young, and way too fragile. Who’d buy a dead body?”
Ivan understood that they were talking about him, otherwise they would not only look at him so much. But their words were unfamiliar, he did not know what they were saying. The purple splatter on his arm hurt more when he pressed the middle of it, rather than the edges. He knew by experience that it would change colour soon.
“We have to move, and fast. He’s not worth the hassle; we barely have space as it is. Let’s just leave him to the orphanage, this way he’ll survive and nobody will investigate.”
When they took his arm and dragged him out of the grey building, he let them. He had learned long ago that it was much less painful this way. They walked. And walked. And walked. Further than Ivan had ever been. His legs hurt, but less than his arm, so he kept the rhythm. He saw things he had never seen before. Moving, bright images on some buildings. Green places where other small beings like him were screaming. Colours everywhere, because the sun was up. The colours would inevitably disappear in the night to give way to a black sky, grey buildings, and white smoke. Above the colorful streets around them, the sky was covered in greyish clouds, almost white, and it remained cloudy when they finally stopped walking.
“Stay,” the one who had taken his arm said, before both people left him in front of the door they had reached.
Stay. He did not know this word. But it had to be important, since it stood alone. Stay. Stay. Stay. Ivan looked around. His body was not hurting yet, but he would have to go and look for food soon. Those parts were unfamiliar. He did not know where the metallic boxes were around here, nor the places which had lots of food to throw in the boxes. Maybe he could make a turn around the building, always turn right. Maybe he could follow someone at random.
While he was pondering his options, rain began to fall from the sky. A few drops at first, and then a downpour.
With no more choice, he stood at the door, where a little roof kept him dry. He knew going under the rain would make his head and nose hurt for days if he dared do it. He looked as the other people in the streets began running or shielding themselves with whatever things they had on hand. He looked as the street quickly emptied and only Ivan, the buildings, the green place and the rain remained. He preferred it that way. It was still day, so the world could still be quiet.
After a while, the door at his back opened.
The first thing he noticed was the scent wafting out of the building, and which clung to the person who had just came out of it, and looked down at him with surprise. It was…soft. Not aggressive or painful like the other scents were. The person from the building had long hair, blinked a few times. He braced himself.
“Hello, are you lo-…ah…” the person said, their words nearly too quiet for Ivan to catch above the rain. He had never met someone so quiet, someone who looked at him so closely, eyes focused on the red scratches on his cheeks, the bruises under his eyes and the purple on his arm, “I suppose you are not lost.”
Ivan did not understand what they were saying, but after a while they opened the door wider, and gestured towards it.
“Come on in then, we’ll see what we can do.”
He knew going into unfamiliar building was a bad idea. He had tried, once. Never again. The buildings of the day were just as dangerous as the ones of the night.
But this one really did smell nice. The person spoke softly. It was unfamiliar. And Ivan, despite his best efforts, was always drawn to the things he did not know. So, he followed the person inside. They closed the door, led him through the bright corridors. The walls were blue, there were pictures everywhere. Ivan looked and looked. At one point, they crossed a large room where a lot of little persons like Ivan were. But they were quiet. Speaking between themselves, moving some wooden things around. Ivan only caught a glimpse. They did not seem to be assembling metals which burned, or tissues riddled with sharp needles, like they would have been during the night. In the place where the smoke never stopped and the walls screamed. They had all their limbs.
He met more tall people. They spoke for a long while. They looked at him. But never touched him, nor hurt him. Until the one in the white room, who very slowly prodded at his bruises. Who sprayed a liquid on his bleeding wounds, which stung but did not hurt too much. Who put things on it, pieces of white tissues, and spoke to him calmly. They led him to another white and blue room, where the ground and walls were cold. It was bad. Ivan knew the cold would hurt him for days too, as the rain.
They took off his clothes, put him under water, covered him with bubbles. Dried him off. He did not understand. He understood even less when they gave him warm food in small containers. He ate it anyway. He had never known food to come so easily, and he was so eager to take advantage of it before it was gone that he nearly choked on the bread. It was not even damp, nor green at the edge.
Then they put him into a room, and showed him a bed. Ivan knew those: the people in the grey building always slept on similar things. Ivan did not want to sleep. This was nice, the food had been so filling, he was now smelling soft and nice, like the building. He did not want the monsters to come again. He did not want to be in the cold again.
But they were leading him to the bed, and so far, following their directive had led to good results. So, Ivan let himself sleep.
That night, he finally discovered what would happen, if he ventured too far. If he was caught doing the wrong thing, by the wrong being, at the wrong time. Suspended above the abyss, held by a hand too large, he felt the calling of the end. Of a long, long fall, which would break him instantly. No more food, no more cut, no more scents, no more colours. But, most of all, no more light crossing the black night.
In this moment suspended in time, he felt something, too many things at once. To see such brightness seize his being and disappear…He felt empty, to know that those bright spots in the sky could fall too, that nothing would ever last. Yet he felt so full at their beauty, at their light, in their last moment. How they burned the brightest before going out. How the void seemed all the darker when nothing remained. Like those shining spots, if the hand which held him gave out, he would burn ever bright, brighter than he ever had for his sudden will to remain, and he would vanish into the darkness forever.
Ivan did not want to stop looking at them, ever.