Chapter 1 : "A Solitary Beginning"

|April 13th , 1894.|

The roads are soaked and muddy, making the pathways hard to go through. It was not the happiest day.

This was the day of my Mother's wake.

Father didn't attend that rainy day. It was just me, my brother, and those who she had known throughout her years of existence.

As soon as Mother died, Father found another woman to replace her.

In her casket, there she lay peacefully surrounded by flowers offered by those closest to her. A casket made by the greatest artisan in our area. A casket made of mahogany.

Father is wrong for not even coming back to help her when she is stuck and sick in her bed. Now that she had died, he still didn't come home.

Brother Harold is in a corner desperately hiding his falling tears, but then there's a man who approaches him and begins a conversation. They interact like close friends as he hugs the man with his small body.

"Who is it?" I wondered.

Soon after, the man left after talking to Harold. The man came near me, he stopped then gave me a pat on the head and said,"It'll all be alright little one". I looked up and stared at his eyes.

He smiled.

"Who are you?" I asked with a puzzled face.

"My name is Adolf Hitler, a close friend of your father's". He replied.

I just looked at him until he left and went to a group of people.

I knew the name Hitler, the man was a great artist, the talk of the town, and he is a strong man. It was rumored that he is scary and vicious, but it doesn't seem like that. I've never known someone like him would be acquainted with my father. A great man indeed. To me, he is kind, but I wouldn't have a great first impression on someone I just met, or so I thought. I hope that I'll get an opportunity to know him more, maybe someday.

Lots of people came, but I only knew 1 or 2 of them.

I never met any of my father's friends, since he was never around much. I only knew some of Mother's circle of friends.

They are here on my mother's deathbed. Some, I think, might be spouting unpleasant things about the relationship between my father and mother. I would've cared less, but they are at my sweet mother's funeral, which is unacceptable.

I couldn't do anything though.

I'm just a child, but I have a mind that exceeds any other. They wouldn't understand, those lowly beings. Children my age would go around and play all day, dirtying themselves.

It disgusted me.

The wake only lasted for 4 to 5 days.

On the day of the burial, Father didn't show up.

It was still raining that day. It's much colder, the sky filled with dark clouds, and trees swaying and shaking. It feels like the earth is a reflection of my feelings deep down within me.

Even the touch of my father's friend, Hitler didn't even comfort me.

The feeling of losing my mother is darker than the night sky without the stars and the moon.

"Mother ...I tried to hold back my tears, but I wasn't strong enough.

I just can't suppress the feeling of being sad."

My small body went cold as my eyes were swollen red and puffed up from crying over the loss of my sweet dear mother.

The men that are carrying my mother's coffin slowly put her down in the hole. As soon as Mother was in place, the men grabbed the shovels and started covering her with dirt. Mother is now beneath the ground. I stopped crying then. People said their last prayers for her and left.

Harold was still crying even though he was showered by the rain. I still knew that the water beneath his eyes were his tears. I pitied him. We are both suffering.

Not long later, he came to me and said "Let us go home" while he struggled to suppress his tears. Mary Mattlock, our nanny, went and accompanied us back home.

Mary was always scary-looking. I never liked her. She appears large in both stature and presence. Her massive frame, draped in layers of dark, old-fashioned clothing, seemed to absorb the surrounding light, casting a perpetual shadow in the dimly lit halls. Her face was a moonlit visage of pale, sagging skin, punctuated by small, beady eyes that glinted with cold, unfeeling malice.

Her voice, deep and gravelly, rumbled like distant thunder, commanding immediate and fearful obedience. The floorboards creaked ominously under her weight, and the air grew colder in her presence, as if she carried a chill from another world. Her hands, large and meaty, moved with surprising quickness, ready to snatch any child who dared misbehave.

As we were leaving, I noticed someone was still there standing in front of my dear mother's grave. It was that man, Adolf Hitler. He looked at my mother's grave with such a dejected look. I wondered why he had such an expression over her grave.

I hopped on the couch with my brother, still crying.

Not long after, we arrived at the mansion, supping wet from the rain. Our nanny immediately took some towels for us to dry off.

It was dark outside and it was getting colder. Mary went ahead to the kitchen after lighting up the fireplace.

My brother and I went close to warm up.

As I sat in front of the fireplace I began to recall the cold nights when my mother would tell me a story about

"Bony Legs" even though it's scary, I will still insist on her to read it for me at night. Once in a while, she did, and it became my favorite among the other stories she read to me. She said it was strange, but I couldn't care less about what she meant.

Every child in the world has their favorite story. How come it's strange?

"Sleep well, my dear ". She would always say without fail as she tucks me in.

It's also the last word I heard after she died the next morning.

I was broken. I never knew such things could happen. No one could have predicted this.

I didn't even notice her tired eyes and her ever-so-frail body slowly becoming close to a skeleton.

Father should have done something, but he never came home, which makes me despise him, but I shouldn't. My mother said it was not right since he is my father.

Starting that day, I woke up early. My mother was not there anymore to give me a light wake-up call. Nothing I could do but carry on.

I headed to the dining hall. Harold was already sitting there eating with puffy gloomy eyes.

As I sat down, Mary brought in some food for me. She slapped the plate onto the table and she went.

I stared at my brother's face, and then he caught me.

"What are you looking at!?" he asked angrily.

"Nothing brother ...". I replied, frightened.

He immediately finished his food and rushed back to his room.

I was left alone at the long table. It was silent.

The house felt empty.

I've finished my food.

I stood up and went to some parts of the mansion. Then I remembered my mother's library on the second floor, and so I went there. I passed some corridors and some portraits of my late ancestors and well-known relatives. As I entered, I was amazed at how many books were there.

Since I am on my own, I tried to read the books on the shelves behind my late mother's desk but was unable to do so. Since it was all far reached from my abilities yet though I'll be progressing sooner.

And so I ran to my brother's room. He was sitting on his bed. As I entered, he had a sad expression on his face.

"Who told you to enter!?". He asked furiously as he hurriedly wiped his tears.

Scared, I ran outside the hallways aimlessly. Soon I was outside, behind the mansion.

On the right side of the field is a big old tree. There, I go every time I am troubled or scared when my mother is not near.

As I approached the big old tree, I noticed someone standing in front of it. It was Fred R. Silvers, a close friend of mother. I recognized his back. Tall, well-kept build, and his warm-toned skin, tousled hair, and chiseled features drew attention effortlessly. His piercing blue eyes and warm, captivating smile could light up any room. Dressed in tailored suits, he exuded confidence and sophistication. His smooth, velvety voice and genuine laughter made everyone feel special. Alexander was a blend of intelligence and mystery, making time seem to slow down in his presence.

"Hello, Mr.". I said

Surprised by who it might be, he looked back.

He looked at me and smiled.

He bent his knees and pulled out his hands from his pockets.

"What might be your business here, lil' Francis?". He asked.

I told him what happened and after hearing my story he displayed a concerned look on his face.

"Would you like me to teach you to read ?". He asked while he reached his hand out to me.

I nodded.

He held my hand, and we went back to my mother's library. Once or twice he would come by to teach me to read. He even taught me Latin. I admired his intelligence.

One day I was studying alone, and suddenly my brother barged in all angry and jumpy. For no reason, he held me up and started to beat me several times while laughing maniacally.

Bruised and pained, I couldn't sleep that night. Mary didn't even bother to help me when my brother abused me. Instead, she also slapped and punched me since I was not behaving well and that I shouldn't bother others.

The day Mr. Silvers came to teach me. He noticed the bruises I had.

His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at me with concern. He asked me what happened, but I didn't dare to tell him. Scared and stressed by his questions, I shouted at him and ran to my room. I collapsed on my bed feeling cold and helpless. Mr. Silvers checked on me and knocked on the door, which I didn't answer. Unable to reach me, he gave up and went home.

Months went by and he never came to visit. It was my fault, but what could I have done to avoid all of it?

Brother is scary. I couldn't seek someone's help at the thought of what my brother might do to me.

Many years passed with all my brother's beatings to me. Each morning I felt pain. I tried to hide once, but it made him more aggressive.

"Where is father?". I wondered.

I've spent my days reading and enduring Harold's and Mary's abuse. They seem to enjoy hurting someone small like me. Such a crooked personality, Brother.

How can they find abusing someone fun?

After my mother died, I think Harold used abusing me, his brother, as his coping mechanism. I guess it is fine being like this. It hurts though.

Mother, you shouldn't have left me.

"Oh, how much Brother has changed". I thought to myself.

Near the windows, I sat and stared outside at the big old tree as the sky was being covered by clouds and water slowly falling from above.

Death crossed my mind as I saw a dark figure behind the big old tree.

I couldn't believe it, but as soon as I blinked my eye it disappeared like a dream that is bound to be forgotten once you wake up.

I never once fought back to my brother. I am way too weak, yet I'm smart. I believe pain goes away eventually and this is the world's cruelty. Yet I know that soon I'll grow up and have more hard paths to choose.

I'll study. I know how to read. Not long, it'll be my birthday. I'll be turning 3 years old.

Since I am still weak, I should just study. No one is going to help me. My mother always says that I'm special. I wouldn't argue about that.

The sun rose above the sky, and its beams shone into my room, slowly creeping to my bed. I was awoken by the sound of transportation. It's just a letter carrier.

"Ah, a letter has been delivered". I whispered under my breath as I looked out my window.

I immediately jumped out of my bed and went downstairs to the front door.

The letter carrier handed me some letters. Usually, Mary receives them and reads them out loud while my brother and I are eating, but I felt today's letters were different from any others that have been sent before.

There was a letter from my father.

I gave the other letters to Mary to read to Harold. I left my father's letter for me to read first.

________________

My Children,

I trust this letter finds you in acceptable health and that you are managing as best you can under the circumstances of our current situation.

I write to inform you of my impending arrival at our residence. A person, whose presence I have deemed necessary for reasons that may become apparent in due course, will be joining us shortly. I do not anticipate that their presence will significantly alter the day-to-day operations of our household, nor do I expect it to affect you greatly.

I suggest you make the necessary preparations for this individual's arrival and extend to them the maximum level of courtesy.

As this change will be of little consequence to our lives, I expect that you will handle it with the requisite indifference and efficiency.

Yours,

Father

I wonder who that would be?

A friend? A relative?

Would they also stay here at my home?

I guess I'll just wait for a few more days until his arrival. Until that day I'll just wait and hear the bird's songs.

Soon Harold would eventually stop beating me up too. "He wouldn't dare hurt me in front of Father". I told myself as I walked past the corridors to my late mother's favorite library.

I spent my whole day inside the library and was never bothered by anyone.