Orphan

Eleuterio was bent over his desk, using his miniature wrenches to tighten the knots that had formed around the small circular case. It was pitch black, with only the measly light emanating off the small shard he had been working on. His hands shook slightly; the endurance of the metal shard had decelerated his work by months. Only today did he feel he could finally contain its power.

Elliot rushed inside, knocking the door over as she entered. In her hand, her gadget narrowly avoided crashing into the wall, but just as soon as it had, she retracted her hands. However, her old friend Eleuterio had already tumbled down and was gawking as the bright light pierced his eyes. Gathering his minuscule items, he sat back in the chair, looking at Elliot and wincing at the light.

"I told you to use the door downstairs!" he scolded her.

"I tried it, it was locked... Whatcha workin' on?" she asked cheekily, making subtle movements toward the light switch. But just as soon as she did, he shouted, "Don't!"

"You'll go blind in the dark, like a bat—except you don't have wings!" Elliot said as she flicked the light switch on, allowing the light to illuminate every corner of the room. Her friend Eleuterio squirmed in his corner like a worm.

"Close!" he shouted, and the bulb flickered off.

"Alright, you can come out now," Elliot exclaimed as she unpacked her box shaped gadget on a nearby table. The entire room was a mess. Things were thrown across the floor—paint, coffee, water—everything came together in a queer mesh to form a sticky clump. Elliot shimmied against the floor, her shoes leaving trails of string as she walked across the mess. Papers lay in heaps, scribbled on and filled out.

"Elliot, what are you—" Eleuterio questioned as Elliot sat on his desk, her hands unraveling her gadget from within a thin cloth.

"I'll be quick, Ruth is expecting me. I just wanted to drop the patent for the Scribe," she said, revealing a small metal box with a deafening thud.

"The thing for the languages?" Eleuterio asked.

"No, the thing that talks to birds—"

"You made one for birds?" he asked with more zeal, as if the prospect of talking to birds was more desirable.

"I was being sarcastic," said Elliot, looking back at her gadget, slightly disappointed.

"I am not good at catching those."

"However, if I make a few tweaks, I think I could make one for birds as well. They can't be that different from people."

"I would buy that. I would like to talk to Mr. Porter," said Eleuterio, now rocking back and forth with his knees drawn to his chest, still refusing to come out.

"You think I should work on one of those, Terri?" asked Elliot, examining the item in her hands with utmost hope.

"I am older than your parents combined! Call me Eleuterio!" he scolded Elliot from under the table, though it didn't hold the same authority.

"Not my parents. And too many syllables. Wow, what's this shiny little—?" Elliot's attention was caught by the small sparkling ball that had fallen onto the floor, its energy sparking through the cracks in its surface like electricity—except it had a darker, more ominous hue.

"Don't—touch that." Eleuterio jumped into the light to snatch the ball before Elliot could. "Not with your grimy hands," he remarked, though Elliot's hands were cleaner than his.

Something was bothering Eleuterio, she knew. There was a sullen shadow in his eyes, a fleeting blush of embarrassment and awkwardness passing over him.

"What's going on, Terri?" she asked as he rose from the dirty floor. "You haven't been outside your treehouse in weeks. The Boffin Boze Battle is in three days—we were supposed to work on this together, and you've been avoiding me like a disease!"

"Yes, yes, because I've been kept busy with this other thing. You see, Elliot—nevermind." He bit his tongue. Elliot was like a leech, sinking deep into the skin with her three teeth, never letting go.

"I want to hear it. Oh, please, Terri, I'll let you talk. I won't interrupt, I promise," she offered enticingly.

"Elliot." Eleuterio was enticed. "Do you know how much time it takes for light to reach the sun? Yes, yes, I know the exact millisecond is up for debate. But do you know how fast light is?"

"Yes, of course," she replied, her excitement palpable.

"Do you know anything faster than light?"

"The dark?" Her voice grew shriller with excitement.

"Do you know anything faster than the dark?" It was only then he realized he should keep it to himself—the idea, the thought of it, just as it was supposed to be.

"I—I think time?"

"The answer was 'I don't know,' Elliot. Learn to resign the moment," he scolded. "Bah, it's getting late. Those damned worshippers have set up camp already? Are we nearing February?" he asked as he looked out the window, slipping the enclosed shard into a drawer, swiftly changing the topic. He quickly turned his attention to the gadget Elliot had brought.

"Oh, don't get me started on those people! They say they were cleansed of all vice at the Island, but I swear on my Aunt Ruth I saw one drinking a gallon of beer at the Pallondrome," said Elliot, taking the bait.

"What were you doing at the Pallondrome?" Eleuterio asked, raising a brow.

"Besides the point, Terri!" Elliot exclaimed.

"Eleuterio!" he shouted back.

"Goodness, Terri, you sure are a grumpy old man. Reminds me—when I snuck into the Pallondrome, I saw a woman. She was from somewhere—I couldn't tell. But she spoke the Urling tongue. I tried the Scribe, and it worked like magic," said Elliot, quickly picking up another script that lay sprawled across the table. It was a print of the atomic clocks. Elliot held the print to the sun, revealing the hidden effects of the clock. Eleuterio was busy staring at the chipped surface of the shard, which was sparking with greater intensity with each passing second. Elliot knew Eleuterio had a habit of concealing information on his work in invisible ink. Paranoia? Perhaps. She liked to imagine he was simply trying to write a secret diary—except instead of recording his deepest desires and secret love, he wrote about his most radical machinations.

"Good, good."

"She spoke into this little bit right here, and it spit out what she said, word for word." She pocketed the print.

"Can we talk about this later?" He gulped as the spark flew in the wind, the sounds of the swish-swash of energy growing.

"We could talk for hours, but the guard saw me and chased me out. Third time this month. We're practically friends now," Elliot said, standing from the table, now walking around the room with her head bent.

"Will you leave now?" He was starting to get annoyed.

"Her name was Nargis. She was real pretty. I think you would've liked her."

"Yes, yes, now will you leave me alone?"

"She came for the Carnival. I miss her a lot, ya know," said Elliot as she plucked another print from the stack and rounded the table once again.

"Elliot, for Agolat's sake!" Eleuterio shouted at Elliot as the spitting noise grew, threatening to reveal his secret.

"I'll take my leave now. Ruth told me to be back by sundown. I'll leave this here for you to look at. You will look at it, won't ya', partner?" she asked with a hippy edge. Her eyes flittered under the sun, her smile wide and bright.

"I'll look at it, fine! Get out now!" Eleuterio hurried her out the door.

"See ya'—" Elliot called before the door slammed in her face, a finger-length from her nose.

"Goodness, that girl!" Eleuterio hushed to himself as he ran towards the broken-down drawer, picking up the small orb before it blew up, enveloping him in a distant land.

"I'll be back tomorrow!" was the last thing he heard as the darkness took hold of Eleuterio. The sensation of ice-cold prickles crawled up his spine, and before long, he stood at his childhood home. Its broken windows and damp walls—everything about the view made his eyes widen in wonder. It was far too real. Far too exceptional. For a moment, as a young version of himself skipped along a path and into the dilapidated house, he wondered if it was all a dream. But there was the painful rhythm of the universe, undeniably his own, that soon pulled him out of the clutches of the orb.

His breath caught in his throat. The effects of the orb were true to its purpose. Now, the best thing he could do was get rid of it. He could still hear Elliot skipping down the stairs, and he wondered if he'd made a mess of a world by preserving this orb—and if he should transport it to Dmitri at all.

Elliot was racing against time, or at least the sun, which was creeping along the coast. Aunt Ruth was on her mind, her words echoing in repetition. "I better not see you at that old man's house. Oh! I think he is certainly involved in the dark arts. He is certainly a wizard!" she would exclaim. But Elliot didn't budge. She didn't think Aunt Ruth would be able to understand it, but the closeness Elliot felt with Eleuterio preceded what she felt for her aunt and uncle combined.

She hurried down the slanted streets, her hands sliding down the walls as she slid down stairs and then up again. Living in the suffocating slums of Niswat blessed her with an exceptional skill for avoiding puddles and potholes as well as dangerously placed sticks and stones. The streetlights shone a bright yellow light above her. She moved in a flash, unable to stay back and look around her old family home. She gulped down the lump that formed in her throat from the excessive stress before she jumped down a narrow alley where her current home was. She paused, leaning against the wall, her breath catching up with her.

The darkness took over the skies. The burning flames of the sun disappeared, replaced by a purplish sea glittering with stars. Elliot heard only the noise of Mad Morry, who was talking to herself as usual.

"Scribbling, squabbling, tickling, traveling—I love it all.

Ukuleles and unicycles, violin n' vaults—I play 'em all," she said as she cradled her toddler, completely occupied with her own ramblings. It wasn't until the mincing movements of Elliot jolted her to reality.

"Hello, little girl, have any change to spare?" she said with a menacing smile.

"No, Mad Morry, I spent it all," Elliot replied as she walked past her.

"Oh, don't you see my crying child? My crying baby is hungry. Don't you feel bad for my crying baby?" Mad Morry pleaded with Elliot, quickly latching onto her bag.

"Leave me be, Mad Morry!" Elliot shouted at her.

"Oh, what nice shoes you have. You have nice shoes, little girl. Give me your shoes, little girl." Morry then jumped at her shoes, her sleeping toddler falling to the floor and hitting her head. The cries of the toddler resonated through the entire alleyway, but that did not deter Mad Morry.

"Leave me alone, Mad Morry!"

"Oh, but my baby—my poor baby is hungry! Spare me your shoes, little girl, and I shall have something for it to eat! She's an orphan girl, just like you. Don't you feel bad for my hungry little orphan girl?" she said as she started to pull off Elliot's shoes with her grimy hands.

Elliot then did something she regretted greatly in that moment. She kicked Mad Morry in the face and made a run for it. She frowned guiltily as she pulled the door to her house open and jumped in.

"Elliot! Stupid, stupid girl! Where were you?" Aunt Ruth shouted from the corner of their small living room, which served as a bedroom for the children at night.

"Mad Morry took me by the shoe. I could not move!" Elliot shouted at her, her frustration boiling over.

"Mad Morry! Oh, I'll show that mad hag, I'll show her—" Ruth spouted, then paused as if contemplating whether or not to say something she would find difficult to commit to. "Tomorrow! Don't you dare—I forbid you, I forbid you from leaving this house again! Oh, goodness! I was about to send Winifred to look after you. But oh, I couldn't spare the thought of losing my child. No, what if they were sweeping up children in the streets?" Ruth squeezed the remaining air in her chest into the final statement.

"Don't be so cruel," Uncle Beau said, bent over his shoes, polishing them to a shine. Elliot shimmied out of her sight, quickly adjusting to go up the stairs.

"Easy for you to say, Beau. You take in another child when you can't look after your own! Oh, it's dreadful. All of it is dreadful!" Ruth's hands flew to her hair as if to pull on them, only to extinguish the anger with a pointed finger.

"I've just come home from work. Lend me a moment or two of silence, my dear wife."

"So it is my fault! My fault again!"

That was the last Elliot heard of it. She was already at the top of the stairs, unlatching the bolt on the door and letting herself out again. The fresh air—or what was her idea of it. The walls suffocated her even more than those alleys. If only she could live in treehouses like Eleuterio. The air was sweet, the people always avoidable. She stood at the edge of the roof, staring off into the distant sky. She heard a slight rustle—it seemed others had the same idea.

The island sprung to life, its dazzling lights flickering on. The stars in the skies disappeared, replaced by the dancing lights—a circus show. The Carnival would start soon, just like any other year. And Elliot could only watch, sigh, and pretend it was of no importance to her—like every year.