Date: Thu, 5 Jun 2008 14:56:34 -0500 From: James Pettey Subject: Cradle of Life - chapters 0-2 Warning: Story contains fictional acts of promiscuity which may be unsuitable or even illegal for distribution to children under 18 years of age. Story is an erotic novel of a fictional human species on a planet that might not actually exist. It also contains violence and death as our 10 year old hero battles the forces of darkness. Story Codes: m/b, b/b Cradle of Life By James Pettey (AKA. Malinson) Preface Should you ever decide to cast your gaze up at the midnight sky, depending on the time of year, you might just be able to catch a glimpse of a small solitary star with a single little world. You might not see the little world itself, for it is quite small. But should you have good eyes, it would look like a tiny white-swirling blue marble with a single continent plastered on the side, like an old brown scab. Imagine taking a stroll down a stretch of land abundant with trees and lively beaches. Warm air blows softly across you, freeing you from the ravages of life and enriching your lungs. So sweet and rich is the air that you can see with vivid clarity the many shades of blues in the vast rolling ocean and the immense richness of the shoreline, stretching for miles and miles. Soon you find your eyes looking up into the deep blue sky; rich colors are layered within the many white puffy clouds as the midday sun shines through them. So perfect is the orbit, so earth-like are the days and gravity, that should an advertisement firm on Earth ever attempt to describe the planet, it would be dubbed "a world without time." Just before you experience the unpleasant pull back home, you spot a lone pale figure in the distance, walking along the beach towards you. It seems to be a child, a boy of perhaps ten or eleven, with soft short brown hair wearing only amber-yellow Speedos. You look around for other people or signs of civilization. The vast beach, abundant with trees and rolling waves, is blissfully bereft of any such signs. Yet the child is real. Once the child draws nearer, you notice that he seems troubled. His head is low as he sadly gazes at the sprays of sand kicked up by his dragging feet. You wish you could approach and comfort him, but he cannot see or even hear you. Feelings of anger rise within as you realize you are unable to show him that we are not alone in the universe. You suddenly notice something odd in his private area. It seems a bit too full at the edges, almost as if the waist-high Speedos failed to drain what little water might have gotten in them. As he walks past, you notice that instead of covering his rear, the trunks delve into it in a way which does not seem right to you. Suddenly it hits you. What you have just seen and experienced is an entirely different type of human being. That individual is actually unclothed. Had you the opportunity to ask him what those Speedos are, he would have told you that it was his cradle, wondering why a grown-up like yourself would ever ask such a silly question. Then again, you cannot ask him that silly question, partly because you're invisible to him, but mostly because he wouldn't believe that you exist. He does not understand that the universe contains many wondrous people who do not function like him, breed like him, or even pass water in the same way. No, his people are the only people, the chosen people, the children of the Goddess Granthia, creator of the universe. Had you been able to ask a different question, such as why is he so sad, or why is the outer skin of this cradle organ so different than the rest of his bodily skin, the expression on his face would have become much more distressed. In fact, much to the annoyance of the local clergy, such issues are common among the youths of Granthia. This exposes the ineptness of their teachings, causing them to rely on unconventional means to maintain order. According to all three tribal teachings, the Goddess Granthia and her brother Luapus were born in the celestial kingdom of Azolthus. Their father, Azolthus, was a cruel and dominating man who delighted in the many pleasures reaped from their mother, Cemeia. He also favored his son's sadistic streak, reveling at the entertainment gained by his many malicious pranks against both his sister and mother. As Granthia came of age, Cemeia became increasingly upset at their predicament and the plans laid out for Granthia by her father. With the day of reckoning fast approaching, Cemeia released Granthia from the bonds of her father and granted her one of the family's three avatars. With the aid of the avatar, Granthia set out to create her own domain and people, vowing that it would be one of peace and happiness. Enraged at Cemeia's betrayal, Azolthus gave Luapus the two remaining avatars and sent him out to destroy Granthia's domain and bring her and the avatar back to his kingdom. When Luapus witnessed the wonders Granthia created with her single avatar, he became enthralled. Abandoning his father's quest, Luapus sought to gain control of the final avatar and transform Granthia's domain for his own sadistic pleasures. To do so, Luapus used his two avatars to create tribes of his own, sending them down to the world of Granthia. Once his tribes have eliminated all of Granthia's indigenous population, Luapus will be able to unhinge Granthia's avatar from her control, thereby gaining dominance over anything it was used to create. However, Luapus did not use his avatars properly. Granthia took advantage of his incompetence by turning his two tribes against each other. Her plan worked, but did not remove her tribe from the war zone created by her brother. Granthia decided to even the odds further by bestowing upon the adult males of her tribe the ability to convert the young boys from the other tribes, making them their own. This would ensure a quick restoration of warriors at the expense of her enemies. Frustrated at this turn of events, Luapus not only gave the adult males of his two tribes the same ability, but also tried to counter it with some evil pranks of his own. Using all his might, Luapus managed to instill the ability and desire in Granthia's tribal males to absorb the cradle-fluid of the other tribal boys into their cradles, essentially killing them rather than converting them. Unable to counter her brother's evil, Granthia decided instead to condition the process. Thus were waged the tribal wars of Granthia. There is the blue tribe, who prefer darkness to light, thus dwelling in the cavernous mountains in the center. The impetuous red tribe and the lighthearted yellow tribe dominate the outer edges. Each tribe believes it is the chosen one. The wars have persisted for a long time, with the forces evenly balanced between all three tribes. However, within the last several decades, something unusual began to transpire with the blue tribe. They became increasingly organized and unusually aggressive. Their numbers began to swell at the expense of the other tribes. To combat the onslaught and restore their footing, the red and yellow tribes formed a delicate alliance. It was not an easy decision to make, especially given their religious differences. However, the death toll both sides suffered has eroded those differences. This new alliance sparked a religion that proclaims the teachings of all three tribes are wrong. Its adherents believe that Cemeia gave Granthia all three avatars. According to them, Granthia then used them to entrap Luapus and used him to create her domain. Regrettably, such a religious viewpoint is not for the timid, especially when a tribe's religion serves as the ideological foundation for its ruler. Nevertheless, believers from all three tribes have strived to maintain the balance until Granthia's agent of freedom arrives, according to prophecy. They claim that with the elimination of any tribe, death and desolation would befall the world. Alas, recent events have shown that the delicate balance amongst tribes is on the verge of collapse. Chapter 1 Eleven-year-old Happy Wanderer as he was often called, loved to frolic in the flowerily fields near the shoreline close to home in the yellow tribe's territory. It was a mostly clear day with an occasional color-cloud here and there. Happy was a slightly thin boy with soft short brown hair, an amber-yellow cradle and a pale-pink completion that defied the sun. Yellows never need worry about sunburns as blues do, reds however can burn but not after a good tanning. Today could have been like all the others, but recent events brought serious concerns that spoiled the mood like something fierce. After a few hours of roaming the beachfront, Happy dragged his bare body back into toward fields in a search of distraction. Unlike otherworldly people who may find need to cover their bodies; people of Granthia have different standards of attire. It stems from tribal religions that believe the Goddess Granthia bestowed color to the cradle as a symbol for display. It is therefore an act of sacrilege to cover the cradle in all three tribes. Since tribal governments are religiously based, anything sacrilege is therefore illegal. Exceptions to this are the use of cradle-skin shorts. Unlike normal hide, cradle-skin is composed of a fine elastic-like weave that when shed, resembles an ordinary non-elastic fabric. Because only the adult male sheds, normally once for each year, it became an established belief that Granthia intended his cradle to be both the establisher of color and clothing provider. Granting that being bare is still socially acceptable, particularly with spring-like weather year-round, most official gatherings now require otherwise. Choosing a nearest tree, Happy sat against it and looked down the hillside facing the ocean. He was going to play with his bug colony up over in the adjacent field, but reminders of such a play was currently at the center of his dilemma. Despite his best efforts, everything was caving in on him like a twisted darkness growing with each day. He closed his eyes in dreadful remembrance. Happy was kneeling on one knee partly to watch his bugs but mostly to saturate his right side. Gravity pools the front restricted juices down in the crotch area, leaving important glands in the sides stressed for nutrients. Kneeling allows the juices to saturate those side areas; this serves with body regulation and nervous system stability through the release of special endorphins. Unlike some humans that might exist elsewhere in the universe, Granthians have many important glands located within their cradles. Cradlejuice, a milk-like substance of cradle skin color, not only serves as a medium for reproduction, but also as an important liaison between the body and these glands. Although his curiosity of the cradle had become more prevalent, he had yet to poke around the front waistline entrance to his cradle on account of his mother's yelling. Her grave warnings on how never to provoke the unfurling of his cradle-lip or stick anything inside it was rather embarrassing to hear. At last it finally comes. Crawling down the established path, the bug predator arrives. Happy's cradle agitation increased to combat the mounting tension. Closer and closer the enemy bug arrives until it has spotted its prey. "Happy, what's the answer?" asked the teacher. Nothing could be more disconcerting than reality as its yanked away from under one's feet. Happy was sitting in class by a window feeling the many eyes of his classmates. He was wearing his amber-yellow elastic banned shorts his mother made from the remaining shedded skin of his late father's cradle, he also wore his white kardleweed school shirt, socks and brown bambleskin shoes. Twisting from his frustration, Mocanly's nose-fitted glasses became crooked as he let out a weary sigh. He was a tall and stern man, his black shoulder length hair peppered with time and his face weathered with intolerance. His traditional short black and yellow school tunic looked patched with chalk dust and his lemon-yellow shorts appeared crinkled with age. As Mocanly's face conveyed thoughts of wishful punishment, whispers of jokes rippled over the class causing many to fight smiles of laughter. They were all the same age as Happy with similar attire, but each had different shades of yellow shorts and skirts clearly indicating their many family lines. Happy's amber-yellow made him the darkest shade in the class. "He's about as dense as the shade of his color." whispered Kalib to his neighboring friend. Kalib was the kind of kid you inevitably find in a school, one that has it all and is not afraid to show it. He comes from a family of purebloods, which are one of many different shaded family-lines priding themselves of their pure linage. Anyone, whose linage dose not crossover into another tribe, is a pureblood in so long as they maintain record. Females, being the only gender capable of shade conversion within a tribe, are still purebloods, as long as they never left the tribe. Being a pureblood qualifies you for positions that may even lead to the Lord-Presidency itself. While the assorted forms of government on Granthia lean democratically in tradition, religion follows that only purebloods lead the tribe. Even though his golden-yellow color made his blonde head appear angelic, his foul mouth suggested otherwise. Be it timing, lineage or just plain luck, Kalib always managed to interject his commentaries in ways that annoyingly escape retort for just then the door opened. Stepping through the door in a slow and shaky way came what used to be the school bully. He was not horribly bullish especially against Happy, but was never afraid to go on that far if steered in that direction. His hair was red and curly and his freakily face plastered with expressions of remorse. Happy's effort to avoid the sight of Renald's missing hand served only to noticeably enhance the spot of blood that dotted the bandaged center. His apprehension increased despite the sudden shift of attention away from him. Renald approached the teacher respectfully and handed him a piece of parchment. Dubious of Renald's new apparent persona, Mocanly agitated his nose-fitted glasses more to annotate hesitancy rather than correctness. Quick twitches of contemplation only made them more crooked as he gave an approving nod toward a desk in the back of the class. Almost bowing with gratitude Renald turned to sit, his heavy form still gaining respect out of fear of breaking his altruistic nature. After a brief pause wondering whether Renald's accident was a blessing or a curse, Mocanly turned and stared absentmindedly at his mathematical scribbles up on the board. Without hesitation, he quickly erased whatever he was doing and set out to continue the math lesson with a fresh example. "Okay class," said Mocanly as he began writing. "I want you take a look at this particular example of fractions. It is important to understand that these specific examples." Mocanly's hand stopped in its tracks, the chalk was frozen on the board as if glued there. Slowly, he turned in the direction of the breathing. You could have heard a pin drop were it not for it when Mocanly's face stretched beyond relaxed annoyance. All eyes were on Happy as he was rocking back in forth in his chair. His eyes fixed on the board beside the teacher as if nothing was wrong whilst noise from his panting showered the room. It was not exactly clear to anyone if Happy was even aware that he was the new object of attention. If you ever had the chance to ask Mocanly's family what kind of man Mocanly was, they most certainly would have pointed out that he was a man of few words. After a face beyond contempt failed in the enticement of Happy's attention, Mocanly deformed his closed lips while dropping the chalk on the holding plate with a deliberate snap. Nobody in class so much as flinched as they watched Mocanly scornfully soak in the noise of Happy's clueless intrusions. Like a force of nature, Mocanly's form moved with a smooth unyielding elegance as he sat at his desk. Carelessly dropping his spectacles to the side, he propped his head on a hand. His cold green eyes gazed down as if to petrify the very wood in his desk. "Out." said Mocanly in an unfamiliar tone. Happy blankly turned to look at Mocanly as the whole class looked at him. "Get OUT!" repeated Mocanly still looking down on his desk. Waves of embarrassment stretched at Happy's brain, causing his whole body to wither in disgraceful humiliation. Sensing the swell of that force in his throat, he quickly scrambled for his things. However, the pin-needle sensations spiked as he leapt out of his desk, sending him and his things shamefully to the floor. "GET your FILTHY cradle out of my class, NOW!" growled Mocanly. With wet streaks already lining his face, he abandoned what remained on the floor and made a dash for the door. It was by no means a proper retreat however, for just as he cleared the room his deserting mind crumpled his body against a prevailing wall. While Happy crouched in silent distress, Mocanly began tossing out his remaining things. Parchments and costly books with bug-doodle drawings laid spread-out accost the empty hallway like discarded trash. If it was not enough to emphasize the point, Mocanly ensured his accentuation with a firm slam of the door. Either unable or unwilling to continue his recollections, Happy reopened his wet eyes to gaze back out over the rolling waves, his back comfortably meshed against the tree. Mocanly's words kept replaying in his head repeatedly pushing everything else aside. He drew his knees to his chest as the feelings of worthlessness overtook him. Without caring to notice if anyone would see or hear, he dropped his head to his knees upon the failing of his constraints. Everything around conspired against him; even his own younger brother, his one and only true playmate, had become distant and painfully immune. His watery eyes twisted and distorted the ground with the thoughts of his brother. What was the secret? Why am I so different? One of the predatory bugs he would often search for came crawling under his legs. Its centipede-like body twisted and warped in the distortion almost as if it knew and wanted to contribute with the contempt against him. Despite its best efforts at mockery, Happy was more furious than frightened. Truthfully, there really are no dangerous creatures or insects to be found anywhere on Granthia, at least not on land. Without warning, the bug sparked the rejected memories of the aftermath. Happy's mind was so reeled after Mocanly's words that his recollections became surreal. He remembers his wanderings in the hallways without his things, but he could not remember ever walking outside. Memories of kids smiling and laughing at his wet face along the way were horribly vivid, yet he could not remember the running trip home. He felt the anger swelling within him. His mind suddenly became defiant with angry questions. Why could he not forget Mocanly over the trivial things? Just what kind evil and twisted Goddess would allow such things to happen? Happy took his bare foot and stomped the bug, yet parts of it still lived. Its wiggling form jeered at him in such a way that he grabbed the nearest rock. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE GRANTHIA! AND I HATE ALL OF YOU! DIE! DIE! DIE!" yelled Happy as he pounded the bug into oblivion. Satisfied at the bug's conversion into dirt, Happy hurled the rock far and high toward the ocean. It made no sound as it disappeared within the waves, not so much as a pimple. Defeated and out of breath, Happy sat back down against the tree to wait for the coming sunset. He wanted desperately to be able to find his father in the clouds before evening came. Earlier that day Lara was contently at work reconstructing a pair of shorts for Happy's eight-year-old brother Dalen. Since female coddles do not shed like the male cradles do, her skills in material management were quite legendary. Satisfied at a strength test of stretched rubber, she set out to sew it in when she heard the door open and shut. She stopped to listen to the sounds of knocking feet as they thumped their way up the stairs and into a room. "Happy, is that you?" she said already knowing the answer. When the response was a slammed door, she set her sewing aside and got up. Moving to the stair case she looked with a disinterest to climb. "Happy, what are you doing home so early?" she said. When the echoes of her voice faded off into memory, her sandaled feet began to tap drearily up the stairs. Lara was a tall and firm woman with a pretty face and long blond hair. She wore a brown kardleweed shawl over a matching shirt; her amber-yellow coddle-skirt looked clean yet shortened for new material. When she approached the wooden door, she knocked after trying the locked knob. "Happy? Sweetheart, what's wrong?" she said with careful concern. "Go away." muffled a voice. She tried to look through the keyhole but Happy had since grown wiser. "What happened?" she said. Silence was her only answer. "Happy?" she continued. Twisting her face in confusion, she wondered briefly if it was wise to unlock the door herself. She had many discussions with people who had warned her about violating a safe haven. Running a hand over a frustrated face, she turned and walked away. Angry thoughts of accusations against the school flooded her mind as she descended the stairs. What are they doing to him? Are they deliberately making his problems worse? Somebody is doing something wrong and that somebody is going to pay, she thought to herself as she entered the kitchen. Several hours later, a bamblebeast drawn carriage labeled, 'Heckinshire Education System', turned off the main trail and up the dirt path to the wooden house. Bamblebeasts look like a cross between a horse and an elephant, being only slightly larger and much slower than a horse. Apart from bugs, birds and frog-like amphibians, bamblebeasts are the only known land animal to exist. They are a godsend in terms of food, transportation and leathered accessories. Although their main diet is primarily grass and plants, as omnivores, they will annoyingly eat just about anything that gets into their mouth, including bugs, birds and frog-like amphibians. Swinging its short trunk with delighted glee, the gray bamblebeast thumped its way up and around the slight curve to the two-story house, which comfortably sat away from the community. Its brown trimming generously masked the many peelings of white paint, while the scores of flowerily plants accentuated its homely appearance. Adjacent to the house was a small red barn and adjoining pen where the family bamblebeast chewed its grassy meal with dismal disinterest. When the carriage finally came to rest on the dirt trodden yard, the doors on both sides of the wooden carriage squeaked as they opened. Stepping out came two elderly men, the headmaster with gray shoulder length hair and the school counselor with short gray tightly combed hair. Both wore the traditional black and yellow school tunics etched with emblems of various official titles. Their black ankle-sandals sparkled from the rarity of outside use as the counselor looked at the headmaster questionably, his new tangerine-yellow shorts waved in the blowing wind. "Is this the place?" asked the counselor with disbelief. "I'm afraid so." answered the headmaster as he waved forward. Lara had eventually gone back to her sewing, all the while keeping a keen ear on Happy. Her life with her two children was becoming more complicated with each passing day, raising concerns on whether to hire more help. Although there was plenty of money saved for her to live comfortably without her working, adding a hired hand threatens that. Just as she was pondering the benefits of a maid she heard the knock on front door. Stunned and slightly concerned she put everything aside to answer it. "Hello madam." greeted the headmaster with a polite smile. Lara was not particularly pleased to see him but wanted desperately to give him a piece of her mind. "Headmaster Cullins, Counselor Beakly. Just the two I wanted to speak to." she said with a blank face. "Did Happy come home?" asked the headmaster. "Yes, he's upstairs sulking no thanks to you." snapped Lara, her face showing signs of contempt. With a quick careful glance at the counselor, the headmaster proceeded lightly on the thin ice of Lara's notable temper. "May we please come in madam so that we may discuss the problem at hand?" asked the Headmaster with careful humility. Lara eyed the two suspiciously in hopes of a slip to justify murder. Unfortunately, the two were dreadfully polite, causing her to respond reluctantly in-kind. Pushing the door further open, she stepped aside to invite them in. His room had become his world of refuge since his mother took to alternative approaches. At first, it was a blessing, but later became more of a refuge for refuse. Shirts, toys and various things of past interests laid so thickly, that the narrow pathway from the door, bed and dresser, was in danger of a collapse. Stripped to his bare cradle, he was in bed on his stomach bouncing a leg up and down in blank contemplation. He worried over his missing books and wondered what might have happened to them. As he pondered his proceeding school days, he heard his mother yelling at someone. Sitting up on his bed, Happy intently listened to the conversations but the muffled words made no sense. With that, he quietly unlocked the door and eased himself into the hallway, carefully minding the squeaking sections of the floor. As he neared the open railing, he crouched low to watch the scene. "Try to understand madam," said the Headmaster patiently. "we have done everything possible, but I'm afraid it's out of our hands." "This is true madam." added the counselor. "with the war going badly times have changed. Happy's contribution to our survival is of utmost importance, one we cannot afford to lose." Lara's temper was beginning to fade from the stress of the hopeless argument. Happy's heart began to pound worryingly in his chest as he fought to contain himself. Upon seeing a light of victory the counselor continued. "In normal circumstances he would be transferred to the Home for the Distressed, and I assure you madam that they will only make things worse. This new cross-color conversion program with the reds is exactly what he needs." concluded the counselor. Happy's heart banged his chest so hard that he was certain of detection. He felt his body grow cold with terror at the thought of being converted. Lara covered her mouth in tearful completion. Moving to a window, she looked out over the stretch of land to see the strip of blue that was the ocean. She gazed longingly at it from joyful memories long past. "He'll forget everything." she weakly said through her cupped hand. "Everything will be put behind him madam," replied the counselor. "It will be a new lease on life," added the Headmaster. "He'll be like a baby," Lara continued weakly. "He's eleven so it won't be that bad, but the sooner the better madam." replied the Headmaster. "Once he turns twelve his body will enter the change and there will be nothing we can do," continued the counselor. "When he grows up to discover that we could have ended his suffering, I assure you madam that he will become very angry. He will grow to hate you, himself, his color and indeed everyone around him. As you should know our society is in condition to handle the burdens placed by such a person." Walking up behind her, the Headmaster put his hand lightly on her shoulder. Lara dropped her cupped hand but still gazed with fond memories out the window. "You know madam," said the Headmaster. "In all my years I never once looked at the process of conversion with any fondness. Having our youth turned against us in both body and mind is a horrid thing to go through. That being said however, an apparent curse had suddenly become a blessing for both our peoples. Think of the many-orphaned children who have benefited from the loss of their miseries. I implore you madam to seriously consider this for I would not wish Happy to be exposed to the alternative." When happy saw the teary face of his mother nod in acceptance, Happy's heart pounded out of control. He began to feel pin-needle tingles in his face and hands as his breathing loss touch with his awareness. Boards creaked and the door squealed as his lugging body wobbled in retreat to his haven. Massive amounts of noise came from his wobbling dizziness. With his room officially destroyed from the stirring of his constant falls, he found himself urgently looking for that which he knew not. Before his shaking hands become worthless, he climbed over the many things to open the window. He had to escape, to run away, and the well-known roof path was his best option. Almost slipping to his death, he safely climbed down the contours of the house and headed out toward the beach, huffing in rhythm with each step. By the time he got to the beach, the doom of his situation seemed to have stabilized his body. He was running away, never to return. After a few miles, his mind began to ponder the doom. Where would he go and where would he sleep? How would he eat? His walking slowed with hopelessness. Eventually, he fell to his hands and knees on the sandy beach. Mists of vapors from the crashing waves moistened his hair slightly increasing his dejected form. He began crying uncontrollably. Memories of his father bestowed greater anguish when he envisioned them erased and forgotten. His mother, brother, home and everything he was, gone as if it never happened. Looking at his cradle, he tried to burn into his head its familiarity. However, upon hearing from others the process, he knew that it was futile. After awhile he became silent, paying more attention to his surroundings than to himself. He felt so empty inside that it was if he no longer existed. Turning his head away from the ground, he looked and gazed at the incoming waves, his eyes reddened with distress. Over time, he eventually pushed himself up to sit on his legs, still gazing with a blank face at the ocean. Light breezes of incoming wind caressed his bare body as carried mists brought pickles of coolness to his skin. Soon he got up to turn back around, slowly trailing the waterline as he did so. He began to wish for someone to appear and take him away, a place far away where he and his memories would be safe. In hopes of a granted wish, he quickly looked up and down the sandy beach, but its vast emptiness revealed no such person. As the sun began to fall below the horizon, he finally caught a glimpse of his father. He was riding a bamblebeast, no, a small boat. Yes, it was definably a small boat. Looking intently at the cloud formations he could see his father looking back at him as he sailed away. Laying his back on the tree, tears of leaving him forever began to run as he battled the clouds from deforming. Suddenly, a quick flash of darkness filled his eyes while a force pressed his head harder against the tree. His breathing strained through the blockage bringing in foul air that stung his lungs. He pounded feebly against a discovered arm as his intense struggle soon waned. Colors of light overtook the darkness as his legs squirmed with weakness. Feelings of calmness began to settle over him as his final thoughts reached out to his father in the clouds. Chapter 2 Happy awakened on his back in a dark room, tied and gagged on a small bed. As he struggled against his bonds, the muffled cries from two other children who were across the room silenced him. Turning his head, he strained to see through the darkness, but there was only a faint light under the bedroom door. With his constraints firmly locked in place, it was not long before panic overtook him. For some time, the sound of his muffled screams took center stage while his pounding heart drove his body wild with fear.. Happy panicked beyond control. His spasms labored for oxygen, replacing his voice with wet roars of air. Lack of vision worsened his dizziness and pushed him further into alarm. It was the most horrifying experience of his life; his own nightmares did not dare feature anything like this. When his lungs could no longer draw breath to scream, he was left drained of all hope. He had no thoughts or feelings left, only a blank awareness. When his acute fear faded into silence, his fellow captors resumed their muffled struggles with renewed vigor. Creaks of wooden floor planks from outside the bedroom soon became noticeable, bringing silence to Happy's roommates. With his head turned and eyes wide open, Happy gazed at the growing light under the door. After a brief fumble with the rusting knob, the door finally opened, and the room was flooded with the light of a handheld candelabrum. Once the man came into partial view, Happy's eyes refused to investigate. He just laid there, eyes fixated on the floor where the man stood. Numb and senseless, his consciousness managed to conjure a vague image of a large, pale, naked man, whose vast blue cradle was dark and shadowed. After a short pause, the man walked out of Happy's view to the front of his bed. A curtain of blackness enveloped his moist body. With visuals gone, his feeble cognition wandered back and forth from his fast heartbeat to his heavy breathing. Otherwise, his helpless body laid exhaustingly still. Everything abruptly changed when a hand was laid upon his chest. Its warm and gentle pressure distracted Happy's mind completely. His heart suddenly palpitated under the hand, bringing forth a slow and comfortable beat. Upon noticing this, the man withdrew his hand and continued to watch him. Happy's slow-moving chest breathed easily, his half-shut eyes wet with calm. Heightened noises from the others' struggling disrupted the moment, and the light shifted awkwardly around their frantic movements. When the shifting light settled on a nightstand, the creaks of footsteps on the floorboards elevated their struggles. Still fixated on the floor of the entrance, Happy's incapacitated eyes still revealed nothing despite the aid of the light. When the creaking stopped, a muffled scream soon took its place. Although the reverberating sounds alarmed the other kid, Happy's paralyzed state remained unaffected. When the man carted one kid out the door, Happy caught a glimpse of pink skin and long brown hair that whipped with struggle. Once the door closed behind them, the muffled sounds of struggles trailed away, leaving only the solemn pouts of the remaining child. After a long while, Happy's mind tried to ponder what he had seen, but attempts at thinking only brought further fatigue. Strong desire to look at the other kid struggled against his fixated trance. Unfortunately, the crusade against his will drained the last of the surviving strength from his half-open eyes. When they eventually closed, everything around him disintegrated. Somewhere in an obscure reality, horrible noises arose from all around him. Little by little, his mind began to piece itself back together. Realizing he was half in a dream, he fought violently to wake up. When a bang of a door aided his cause, he snapped awake to discover a room with two empty beds. Happy was ashamed of falling asleep. As he pondered the second child's disappearance, an image of a younger boy came to mind. Cursing the offensive image, he focused on his hearing instead. Apart from a brief thumping noise, deadly silence was all that remained. Happy stared at the weak, drooping ceiling as his tear-soaked gag cooled his cheeks. For awhile, calm rushed over him as he glanced at the many darkened holes that dotted the dirty, wooden walls. His calm retreated when the silence broke. Unsure of his surroundings, his heart slowly increased its force, causing his breathing to deepen. Immense fear returned as Happy fought for control. Quickly dashing from the fires of the candles to the gloominess of the abandoned beds, his eyes began to water from distress. Paralyzed by fear, he failed to even notice the returning man. When Happy's eyes ceased darting around, they shot directly to the man's cradle. Dark blue and horribly engorged, the man's unnatural cradle made his mind dizzy. Happy began to lose control again; his body consumed by panic, he resumed shooting his eyes from side to side. Against his better judgment, the man untied and eliminated the boy's gag from around his head, dropping it on the floor with a wet smack. "I CANT BREATH. AAAAHHHH. CAN'T BREATH.." screamed Happy repeatedly. Watching the boy's panic-stricken state nosedive out of control, the man's patience wore thin. "BE QUIET!" he said, punching a hole in the adjacent wall. Happy's face grew unbelievably red as it cringed in the deepest, silent cry that only an infant could mimic. His demeanor was so distressed and eyes so profound that the man's distant heart pushed at his throat. Rummaging a hand through his dark, thinning hair, he quickly picked up the candelabra and left the room in a confused haste. Walking down the hallway to perform his next task, the entire two-story house overflowed with the misery of Happy's presence. This house was located in a community of reds that had failed long ago. It had been abandoned for so long that the smoke of the two dead children was not detectable. Many dense trees and bushes had long since covered the local roads, making the house an invaluable makeshift lair. In the heart of its basement was a menagerie of working glass tubes and flasks spread out on a table. Rising from a chair in search of a specific journal, Bendai felt a familiar feeling of intrusion swelling inside him. His body swayed and dropped to its knees with such force that the added cradle-fluids of the two children stretched his cradle beyond comfort. "Yes, Mistress Mother," he droned. Although the basement was blissfully bereft of her musings, her voice boomed in his head like the sound of thunder. "BENDAI, YOU INSOLENT DOLT!" her voice boomed. "WHY ARE YOU NOT HERE? DID YOU NOT COMPLETE YOUR TASK AS ORDERED?" "Yes, Mistress Mother," droned Bendai. There was a dangerous pause. "WELL?!" encouraged her voice. "I will come at once, Mistress Mother," droned Bendai. "DO NOT TEST ME AGAIN BENDAI OR YOU SHALL PAY THE ULTIMATE PRICE!" the voice warned. "Yes, Mistress Mother," droned Bendai. Bendai was cast down on his hands by the intensity of her voice. Once he recovered, he immediately cupped his cradle as it swelled in painful duress. "Must..hurry," said Bendai weakly as his bloated cradle agonizingly stretched upon standing. After several hours, his cradle began to pleasure him as the fluids receded, which distracted him from his hasty research. Throughout the night, he continued unabated, desperately poring over the wealth of his grandfather's journals. "What were you trying to say, Grandfather?" Bendai said when the remaining writings became more distorted and cryptic. Setting the journals aside, he continued his laboratory experiment. Slowly pouring, brewing, and dripping the many chemical liquids, he smiled as the final green concoction began to clear. Suddenly, the liquid bubbled violently, spitting out mists of purple. Without thinking, he immediately emptied the many hours of work into a bucket of water underneath the table. "DAMN YOU!" he yelled, shattering the emptied flask against the stone wall. After a brief pause, his growing anger caused him to knock down a shelf, taking others underneath it in a domino catastrophe. Books, glass shards, and various objects scattered to the floor, thrusting him deeper into a pit of desolation. Unaware of the noise contained in the basement, Happy's quiet form remained painfully tied to the bed. Hours of crying and pleading had settled into a whimper. By the time reality escaped him, not even the cloudy light of dawn disturbed him. Carrying a plate of food and drink for his remaining visitor, Bendai walked unsteadily down the hallway, his battle-scarred face stricken with fatigue. His cradle-fluid had receded to normal levels, leaving behind large ripples of cradle-skin. Setting the meal on the nightstand, he looked at Happy's dormant form. After few minutes of contemplation, Bendai slowly began to untie Happy's arms. As he worked the knots, Happy groggily awoke to stare into Bendai's flustered face. "Are you letting me go?" asked Happy in a weak, painful voice. "I will if you do what I say," answered Bendai, still focusing on untying the knots. As the first bonds were removed, Happy rubbed the painful, red marks grooved into his wrists. "As long you don't try and leave this room, I'll leave you untied," Bendai said, his bloodshot, green eyes demonizing his face. After a nod of agreement, Bendai noticed the boy's eyes widen at the sight of his warped and crinkled cradle. Looking down at himself, Bendai gave a silent curse for not wearing his shorts. However, the look of curiosity on the boy's ignorant face relieved his concerns. "You're a blue," blurted the boy as Bendai worked the lower knots. Bendai was too distracted by the frustrating knots to respond. "What happened to the other kids?" asked Happy cautiously. After lengthy delay, Bendai responded, "I let them go." "Who were they?" Happy shot back. Ignoring the question, Bendai said, "What is your name?" "Happy," he replied. "I'm Bendai," he stated as he undid the last knot tying his ankles. Happy immediately retracted into the fetal position, massaging the red marks on his folded legs. Turning his head to the side, he looked quizzically at the food on the nightstand. "Eat," ordered Bendai as he gathered the rope. "I'll return later." Happy was wobbling suspiciously, shooting Bendai a distressing look. "Do you need to go?" Bendai asked. "Yes, please." Happy shakily replied. "All right, come on." Bendai said reaching out. Grabbing the boy's hand, he led him out of the bedroom and into the adjacent hall. Rotting holes were just as abundant throughout the house as in the bedroom. After successfully navigating many questionable planks, they entered the restroom. Except for a collapsed area of floor in the corner, the restroom looked hygienic. Happy stood next to the toilet, which was an oblong glass bowl embedded six inches off of the floor. Satisfied at its cleanliness, Happy looked at Bendai. Reading the boy's face, Bendai said, "I'm not leaving, so do it or go back to your room." After his pout failed to persuade, Happy turned and squatted on the bowl. Bendai's face cringed with disbelief at what he was witnessing. Urine slowly trickled from Happy's behind, dripping down the underside of his cradle. "NO!!" Bendai yelled. Happy's small form jolted in embarrassment as Bendai placed his hand on top of the boy's head. Kicking Happy's bare feet into the correct position, Bendai pushed further until the boy was just right. "PEE!" yelled Bendai. Jumping at the command, the boy let out what he could, eyes glaring ahead like some captured animal. Running his other hand through his aging hair, Bendai silently cursed when he felt the boy shaking and saw the tears dripping down his face. Letting go of the boy, Bendai grabbed a towel and waited, but Happy's bawling only intensified as he squatted pathetically. Fighting off feelings of guilt, Bendai yanked the boy up, wiping the rear of his yellow cradle with parental distaste. Bendai led the boy back into his room and almost slipped in a collapsed floorboard. Once in bed, Happy suffered an attack of whimpering hiccups. Bendai quickly said, "Eat. You'll feel better. I'll be back," and exited. Once the bedroom door was shut behind him, Bendai cupped his mouth and his eyes swelled with tears. Rubbing his face to regain composure, he stared at the floor in contemplation. "It must be done," Bendai whispered to himself as he wandered off. Water dribbled throughout much of the house as the rains persisted. With his work completed the previous evening, Bendai tried to rest though he had to tend to the boy. Much to his displeasure, Happy was becoming increasingly more comfortable and inquisitive as the day wore on. "Be quiet. I have your dinner," said Bendai angrily in response to one of countless questions about his wrinkled cradle. Even though Bendai had his shorts on, they hadn't dismissed the boy's curiosity. When Bendai set the plate and drink on Happy's nightstand, the boy reached to feel Bendai's shorts. Instead of slapping the boy's hand, Bendai gently moved it away like a caring parent. Feeling worried about this, Bendai said, "You will be home by morning." Since this was going to be their last night here anyway, Bendai hoped that this lie would make the boy more complacent. He gave a silent curse at Happy's faded excitement. Everything hinged on his success and emotional stability. Looking up at Bendai, Happy said, "The water tastes funny, and I don't feel good." Not feeling well himself, Bendai said, "Don't worry; you'll be fine." As Bendai turned to go, flashes of lightning flickered across the room. Happy responded by twitching nervously. Happy yelped. "Where are you going?" "Be quiet and eat your food," he said as he opened the door to leave. "But when will you be --", Happy was cut off by the creak of the closed door. "Why did I have to choose him?" Bendai asked himself as he walked down the hallway. Up and across the hallway was a larger bedroom with a missing door, old dusty furnishings, and a large bed. In the far corner, a collapsed area of the ceiling exposed an even more distressing room. Moving to a table, Bendai uncorked a small vial and dripped part of its contents into an empty cup. Filling the cup with water from a pitcher, Bendai hesitated before gulping it quickly down. Slamming the cup on the table with a labored breath, he rubbed his face in distress. Lightning continued to flicker, and the accompanying thunder jolted Bendai away from his preoccupation with himself. "Bendai?!" Happy yelled in a weak, nervous voice. Dropping his hands down in disbelief, Bendai returned to Happy's room. Crouched on the floor in the corner, Happy faced a puddle, his eyes filled with worry. "I'm sick." Happy breathed. "Stay right there," Bendai said, turning a hasty heel. Bendai ran to the bathroom. As he bent down over the bowl, it was almost too late. Perspiration beaded on his forehead after emptying the contents of his stomach, which caused him to worry about his concoction. After cleaning himself, Bendai took the remaining towels and headed to the boy's room. Lying back in his bed, Happy worried over his sweating fever. "I'm scared," croaked Happy. "You'll be fine," Bendai soothed as he cleaned the boy with the towels. Bendai did not like the gentle way in which Happy was looking at him, yet he found himself too weak to reinforce his aggressiveness. When Bendai had finished cleaning him, a thunderous bang vibrated the whole house. Grabbing Bendai's arm, Happy pleaded, "Don't leave me!" With his tough facade completely lost, Bendai gently replaced the boy's hand and said, "Don't worry. I'll be in the other room." Taking a quick detour to the laboratory, Bendai rummaged through the debris of his tantrum for anything of value. In his search, he came across his father's old scroll case. He looked at it with intrepid sadness. Etched on the side of the red, round case was the family crest, which depicted an open river valley with a rising sun. Without understanding, he suddenly collected all of the journals and placed them in the furnace with the ashes of two children. Later that evening Happy laid on the bed as quietly as possible. He felt ill and weak, and his eyes were still wet from crying. Light from the candelabra illuminated the many rotted holes, which he spent the bulk of his time staring into. As he rose to get a drink of water on nightstand, he heard a faint knock in the distance. His worries faded as his attention shifted from himself to the noise. "Is everything ready?" asked Bendai. Happy could not discern the response, because the sound was too faint. Even after the visitor entered the house, the conversations were quiet and reserved. Too weak to investigate, Happy wiped the sweat from his forehead. Soon, he began to hear a slow rolling and tapping on the hallway floor. Turning an expectant head toward the closed door, the noise passed it and trailed off. After awhile, the noise doubled back to pass his door again. Then, the faint conversation resumed before ending with the closing of a door. Bendai entered his bedroom, his stern posture weakening from the concoction. Removing his shorts, he began to pull at his warped cradle skin. With some discomfort, the wrinkled skin began to peel off, exposing a firm, wet under-skin. When the shedding was complete, Bendai placed his cradle-skin on a nearby dresser. He nearly collapsed from exhaustion, but luckily he was able to crawl into bed. He felt he was losing control of the situation and worried over the concoction's safety. With the journals gone and his time short, he began mumbling silent prayers to Granthia before drifting to sleep. Lightning flashed violently as he stood at the doorway facing Happy. Unsure how he got there or if it was a dream, Bendai stupidly turned away, but Happy latched onto his side from fear of the violent storm. With his higher cognition absent, Bendai wobbled back into his bed and held up his covers in invitation. Before he realized it, Happy's head was resting comfortably on his chest. If this was not a dream, he wondered, then why was the Goddess allowing this to happen? Knowing the emotional difficulties that it would cause, Bendai coddled Happy and gently stroked his head as he fell asleep. Tears began to drip off Bendai's face from memories of the two murdered boys. Their faces and screams pierced his hardened heart and deepened his guilt. "I had to do it. I have to do it. We must be free," mumbled Bendai in defense of his actions. Lightning crossed the sky all night and into the morning. Bendai awoke in a dizzy haze, unsure of the time. Glancing down, Happy's sleeping head was deeply planted on his chest. At least I got him in my bed, he said to himself as he looked around the room. Quietly and gently, Bendai adjusted so that Happy was lying on his back. Chalks of white lined Happy's lips and circled his closed eyes. Placing his hand on the boy's forehead, Bendai paused with concern before he continued. Placing his finger on the center waistline of the boy's cradle, Bendai gently stroked back and forth along the brim of the waistline. Uncurling out from the center of the waistline extended a long, thin-lipped protrusion that resembled the lips of a closed, stretched mouth. Happy gave an annoying groan as he stirred in his sleep. With his cradle lip already protruded, Bendai got on top of the boy and pressed it on top of Happy's. Without any further assistance, the two cradle lips moved their involuntary reflexes and locked into place. Bendai held the boy's head intimately close as screams of pain erupted from his throat. Failing to slow the process, Bendai decided to try to comfort Happy as their cradles fought each other like bitter enemies. As Bendai's cradle furthered its domination, Happy regained consciousness. "I CAN'T FEEL MY CHEST!" croaked Happy as he struggled for air. Bendai could sense Happy's weakening pulse between the lengthening delays of his breaths. "It's almost over with," encouraged Bendai, sensing the approaching end. "I CAN'T FEEL MY FACE. I CAN'T FEEL. I can't." Happy's words trailed off. Bendai sensed a final give inside the boy's cradle, causing Happy to sink down in deathly stillness. With the battle over, both cradles began to interact with each other as if they were one. Sensing his victory, Bendai looked around feebly then fainted.