A writing project I have.
This is an original steampunk fan fiction that I am writing for my own amusement.
Summary:In a world where the future happened in the past, a young man with an individual gift, will be provided with the choice to save his family, his friends and himself.
(Lame... I know)
Enjoy the Prolouge!
The streets of --- , the heart of the --- district, were unfeeling, dark and filthy. The sky was always grey, the buildings were all black and the people, grim. Grown men begged and peddled on the streets while others were prone to snatching stray potatoes and bruised fruits that bounced out of merchant carts. The women wore nothing but corsets and skirts rusched to the knickers, drifting in and out of shadows waiting to seduce traveling visitors in hopes of full pockets and want of easy company.
The children, sadly, were no better off. There were the younger ones who were unaware of the poverty that surrounded them, still hanging on to whatever innocence they had left. Playing games that involved an imaginative world that only they knew. Others, some older, some younger, who were left to pick pocketing, conning and deceit.
Then there were the children that didn’t move at all.
Some moaned, some picked at the gravel for anything to suck on and provide nourishment, and all were forgotten. The abandoned of society. The ones that took shelter in the cities alleyways. Bracing there backs against the brick, sooted, walls of buildings, wrapping as many rags around their tiny bodies as possible, shivering against the cold that never left. Some comforted, others remained silent, all cried, their tears creating running channels through the thick grime of sunken cheek.
A lone carriage with two horses, one coachman and a lone passenger interrupted the pattern of languid lifestyles of the natives. Big, greedy eyes watched the strangers pass, hungry for the prosperity it represented. A caravan started to follow. Stalking, wanting. After several hundred meters the coachman reared the horses and halted the vehicle in front of one of the most remote alleys of all, forcing the people to collide with one another in surprise. The coachman stepped down from his post, fixed his cloak and top hat, then opened to door for his employer.
Gasps were echoed throughout the crowd.
It was a nobleman from the Great City!
An older, middle aged man with striking white hair that was neatly groomed to his shoulders, a goatee sprinkled with jet black accents. He was clothed in a golden waistcoat, high tan trousers, polished knee high, brown leather boots, and a purple velvet cloak, with long tails that trailed behind. Atop his head was a satin lined top hat that sported the spectacles of a scientist or inventor. In one gloved hand the nobleman held a black walking stick which completed his image of pure refinement.
The people recoiled, some even shaded their eyes and hid their faces, for none had ever seen such royalty. The nobleman acknowledged his driver with a touch of his walking stick to his cap and then proceeded into the dark unknown savage darkness.
This small sliver of road was not a popular site for squatters and that is why the boy chose it. He grew tired of the hearing nothing but the noise of misery, he chose this exact spot for its peace and silence. The boy had no shoes and sported only a tattered undershirt and pants. Yet, something, or someone had invaded his privacy. The boy stood absolutely still and listened, for he had excellent hearing, and tried to build a profile of his intruder. The boy knew this person wore boots, and he also was aware of the vibrations underneath his blackened fingers that were created by the tapping of a walking stick on the uneven cobble.
The vibrations ended right to the left of the boy, and the boy sensed the rustling of the man squatting beside him. The boy lifted his head and piqued his ears in the unknown persons directions, ready for flight at any moment. A gripping silence held the couple until the nobleman finally spoke, “Hello little one.”
The boy gave no answer.
“Why will you not look at me little one?”
The boys eyes sharpened but did not, and were not focused on anything in particular. The boy did not look at the man, because he could not. The boy was blind.
When the nobleman realized, his grey eyes saddened at the sight of the boys glazed over blue ones. Then the nobleman fully took in the boys ragged state, and only god as a witness, the nobleman shed a tear.
“Would you like to come away with me little one? Would you like to leave?” The boy still did not move. “I have come to take you away from all this, if you are willing” The boy raised his head and opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. The boy had had no use for his voice in a long time, he felt he had forgotten how to use it. The nobleman noticed this and added to his offer, “You do not have to speak little one, if you cannot. A simple nod of the head will be enough, if the answer is yes.”
The boy waited, waited for all of this to be a dream. To be sure that this promise of rescue was not just an illusion of constant unfulfilled and unanswered wishes. When the boy convinced himself that he was still in reality, he bobbed his head, just enough for the nobleman to tell of his answer.
The white haired nobleman tucked away his walking stick and scooped up the emaciated child. All the natives could do was stare and be envious, envious for the fact that freedom did not choose them. The travel back to the carriage was short for the boy was light. When master and boy were situated and comfortable within the vehicle, the coachman returned to his post and whipped the horses into a steady trot.
Inside the boy clung to the man, and man, to boy. The mysterious nobleman stroked the boys matted golden hair until the boy relaxed, and settled into his arms. Soon, the child was asleep, and man was relieved. ‘Finally,’ the man thought to himself, clutching the boy tighter to his chest, ‘finally I have found you’.