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The idea came to him while prowling through the lesser cities and more difficult to navigate alleyways that barred trespass from the lesser creatures. The skyrises built so close to each other and reached with their impressive altitudes, choked out what pitiful radiance descended from the saturated clouds. He didn’t need the light to find his way within the claustrophobic spaces, in fact he would have preferred the ominous and ambiguous shroud of shadows. However, it had become habit to spur the still intact coils in the bulbs, for the benefit of the child. For this explore he was alone, all the same, the habit of coercing illumination forth was reflexive.
In one of the stores he cut through, in sporadic glitchy phases here and over there, the store lights glittered with his passage. He cast his attention across ruined shelves, tattered materials strewn like flesh left to dry. The occasional puddle resting pristine, only rippled beneath his imposing presence colliding with the dead air. Faded papers and moldering packaging littered the floor, among patches of glossy metallic tinges.
These odd patches collected his focus. He was unfamiliar with the materials and the placement, despite the obvious decay – ever reliable, always expected, unfailing, decay. The uncharacteristic colors offered a unique change; unexpected and fascinating, in a world that tinged everything gray.
Long ago the tempered light and blasting weather ground away glossy colors of every matter or medium. When he was a child, such colors didn’t exist. Not until….
The Thin Man ceased his endless wandering to poke at the last surviving traces of the world before whatever catastrophe which struck. Before the Tower sank its roots into the cities core, and mesmerized the Residents with the only colors and light they would come to know thereafter.
It is in these recollections that he reflected he had viewed such colors and textures, swirled into the Broadcast through the transmission. Much of what filtered through, the Thin Man paid no attention to. The songs and programs entranced the Viewers, but he was spent on frivolous illusions. Once he knew the world, he learned his lesson. Never again. He wanted nothing more to do with that world.
Only the child mattered. The reason he came to this desolate area, seeking untouched provisions. This unseen blotch offered nothing but bleached colors and memories of something… from an era before an end. This was no better than an illusion, or distraction.
None of it meant anything. The colors, the songs, the drive pressed into the Viewers to engage. The Broadcaster was and remained beyond to empty temptations. The Flesh held nothing to coerce his cooperation. However, the child was… different. This he suspected. Which was the initiator to explore further into the prehistory, more for curiosity sake than boredom. He didn’t have any ambition, other than seek facets that might intrigue or move the child. A new activity to preoccupy the time for the boy.
It took some time of planning. Where to begin? How to initiate this activity? It would take time to study, but no haste was about him.
Of the pamphlets and magazines he could salvage, a vague theme constructed itself. The Thin Man still did not quite understand, of where or when this era occurred. It was a perplexing period of such things as plenty and vast colors, a tree in the mix, candles, various toxic plants, token offerings - wrapped in colorful disguises. And together.
A tree. He started with this tree. It was the most interesting aspect of this entire mystery. The inclusion of a tree into a room was amusing enough to warrant the trial of locating one such item, mostly intact (the ongoing theme of this world). By his flimsy grasp, it must be a specific sort of tree. This he could manage.
The boy was in one of his moods. that much was apparent, on the moment when he decided to bring in the tree into the shared shelter. That was fine, it kept the tyke out of the way while he worked; the task required some careful manipulation of his power to haul the tree from its box and situate it. From what he gathered, the tree from a box was unique for this custom. Among other extras. this he could do right.
Even after working in the room, the child does not emerge. Unless called specifically, or the boy had the specific intent to follow him around. This was all and well while he worked, and when he left to fetch additional accessories, he sealed off the room to prevent premature exploration. Then, spent a good portion of his time searching for gear, supplies, whatever. Anything to adorn the tree with. The fiasco he undertook was not a quick nor easy challenge, but he made due with all presented shortcomings.
It was meant to be decorated. He couldn’t divulge the reason for that, as with anything else of this hobby. But it needed trinkets of every color and shape, and interesting things of all make.
Once the Thin Ma had put the tree together enough that it resembled something from a catalog, he judged it was proper to fetch the child.
For some while the boy kept to himself, preoccupied by puzzles and other interests, such being his books. He sought the child in one of the spare rooms he left open for access, where the child liked to seclude away and work in quiet.
“Child,” he hummed. The door creaked open a little as he bowed beneath the threshold. The boy was close to the far wall, carefully tearing a piece of paper. With careful concentration applied, the square sheet took some form. “Boy.”
“Hmm?” Mono held up the cut pattern, revealing a bobbing spiral. Additional folded and trimmed shapes adored the hat he wore, like feathers, though stiff and unified. “Fun.”
The Thin Man knelt, and leaned lower to inspect the odd creation. “Is it? What do you do with it?”
The boy trimmed out some spare strands of paper and rolled them into loops. These loops he fitted onto the end of the spiral and slipped it down the coil. He practiced speek back to himself through his work, prattling with the off noises that made no sense.
“I have something you should see.” Carefully, he extracted the miniscule ravels of paper the child worked with. At last the child afforded his attention, when he lifted the boy off the floor. “You will like it.”
He settled the boy in his arms and left the room, clicking through the dim corridors to the spare room he added for the tree. In the short trip, the boy fidgeted with his own coat edges, and peered up at him in his usual fashion. Though he accepted that as one of the child’s odd quirks, it didn’t cease to unnerve him.
The room included one bulb dangling from the ceiling – low light was preferred, always. At the furthest wall stood the fabricated tree, adorned with the small token items collected and decorated somewhat close to the way the catalogs dictated. Still, he was uncertain to this purpose, and was far more invested in the light arrangement.
He doused the ceiling light with a bristling spark, and with a thin smirk, conjured the string of lights. The boy jarred in his arms when the branches alit with the drooping cords, and held perfectly still. Some of the bulbs could not brighten, due to the wear of the inner components, and not on account that the electric current was barred from coursing through the frayed lines.
Despite these shortcomings, it was impressive. The blue, red, pink, and green accented the frazzled branches, those same colors painted down the walls and framed a pointy orb encircling the base of the tree.
He checked the child, who remained stock still in his arms gazing, with the bill of his hat low. He let the boy have a moment to process this. “What is this? What do you think?” However, when he moved closer to the tree, the child winced and pushed back with his feet. “You are not spooked by this. Look.” The boy was looking at the tree, but also struggled to get out of his hold. When the squirming failed, the boy settled to shove back against the crook of his arm.
“Burn,” he seethed, with a growl. “T’is burn.”
“It burns?” Hmm. The Thin Man tilted his head, but yes, he could see that. He only saw a tree ablaze once in all his short life, as a child. The fire then didn’t frighten him as much, not as it did when he lost his pack. From thereafter, he hated the scent of smoke. Cigarettes became a masochists obsession.
The tree did look like it was on fire, but the child could comprehend it was not. “No. It is not aflame. You can see that.” The boy hissed when he stepped closer. “Look. It is only lights. Small lights.”
The child snorted and kicked. “T’burn. Burn. Make burn. Burn.”
He adjusted the child in his arms, shifting to hold Mono closer to his collar. “No. This will not burn. Be still, this is not dangerous. Calm down.” The boy usually made intelligible noises to convey displeasure, or anger. The boy wouldn’t hold still. “Shh, Mono. Shh.”
This was despairing, but he should have known better. He never shed his fear of fires or smoke, he settled to dismiss the discomfort as a mild itch. The child was fighting with everything to rip free of his hands and climb up his jacket front. If not for his gentle restraint. “Boy, listen. This is no danger. You are safe with me. Here. I will show you.” The boy rasped when he pried him off his jacket.
“Not. Unh-ugh! Bad. T’is bad. Burn. T’burn. Not. Not.”
“No-no-no,” he chimed back. “See here. Don’t coil up.” He glitched closer to the tree and held the boy firmly in his hands, while the child persisted to drag the edges of his hat down and draw his knees up. “Mono. Mono. I am here. You will not be burned.” He struggled to keep his own self collected, the tree did not need to flicker reminiscent to a candle (or a fury blaze). "Don’t hide. There is no need.” He used his thumb to pry the boy’s hat back, and carefully pinched the wrist between his thumb and index finger.
The child wrenched his body back as far as possible. The Thin Man sighed. But, moved the boy closer to one of the colorful blue bulbs. “This does not look like fire, does it?” Mono remained rigid and unresponsive. “It is a small light bulb. You can see that. It is not hot nor painful.” He edged Mono’s arm free, close to the painted bulb without directly touching. “These are all over the tree. It is not burning. It is only bright.”
At least the child ceased his frantic thrashing, but the placid deposition did not comfort him. “Mono.” For a long, uncomfortable time, the child does nothing. He hung by his underarms, possibly catatonic. “Mono?” he tried, gently. He rubbed the back of the child’s neck with his thumb. The heartbeat against his fingertips fluttered erratic, raising his apprehension. “Child?”
Then the boy lashed out his arms for the bulb, and strained against his fingers. With a slight slant of his brow, the Thin Man moved the boy closer. Until Mono could put his hands around the radiant dewdrop and tug it slightly from the faux branch it perched on.
“Not hurt,” the boy muttered.
“No.” He sighed, when the boy pulled the bulb up and stuck his tongue against the painted glass.
“Wah-erm.”
“Very warm. Don’t bite that.” He drew Mono away and knelt down. “This will not hurt you.” He set the boy on the floor and crouched beside him, one hand settled against his back to prevent and unprompted flight. It seemed after the initial ‘discomfort’ and introduction, the boy was pacified; he stood, gaping up at the entire display.
“Tol.”
“Most trees are.” He tipped his head, watching the narrow thread of the child’s shape eclipsed by the illuminated vapor. “This is harmless. You will not be harmed,” he reminded. It wouldn’t surprise him if the child shot up the tree then and there.
“Pretty,” the boy whispered.
That is what he wanted to hear. He took his hand away and set it on his thigh. “You like this?” The boy nodded, and shuffled closer to the trees base. The base was nothing but metal slates which unfolded, and kept the pseudo tree free standing. Before the boy could act on any impulse, he stalled and considered the inclusion of a few wrapped packages. This had no context, and the Thin Man admitted his grasp of this activity was difficult to learn reference. However, consumerism wasn’t unknown to him, as was the escapism the Signal provided to its enslaved Viewers.
No risk would present itself to risk dredging up this topic. The Signal was a stimulant, but a nonsensical box he tampered with personally, meant nothing. He maintained and tempered this environment himself, and all parts and pieces would be harmless. The child was perfectly safe.
“What could those be?” he posed, anyway. The boy enjoyed puzzles, he found comfort in conquering unknowns. The boy flipped his gaze up to him. “Go look at them.” He nudged Mono by the small of his back.
The child swayed, but didn’t move toward the parcels. His fixation remained on the tree, which he stood beneath and gazed upward. Until he could no longer stand, and settled to sit cross-legged.
This didn’t stump the Thin Man, the packages in their current state indicated nothing and could not tease their contents. The applied cover wasn’t striking, not like the faded colors from the pamphlets he browsed through. For the time the child was enamored by the tree he dragged in and put together, and he admitted, with the bulbs gleaming and the trinkets glittering against the blaze, it was a satisfactory display. Given what he was allowed to work with. The packages came as an afterthought, in and among his trips to accumulate the varied decorations. It was nice to have the child stare at something else for a while.
“Do you like this?” The boy nibbled on his fingers, unwavering focus nailed to the tree.
“Mmm.” That was good enough.
“It is yours. I thought you would like to keep it.” The child looked to him.
“T’what?”
He shrugged. “Look at it. Climb it. You are allowed to climb it, if you want. It would make you feel safe, won’t it?” The boy moved his gaze back to the tree.
“Oh.” He yawned. “Important.”
The Thin Man hummed. “Yes. I suppose it is.” In a patchy glimmer, he reappeared at his full height and turned away. It’s reassuring when the child does not pursue directly on his heels, though he appreciated the devoted admiration when it came about (sometimes too often). The boy enjoyed this gift, and he had the small add-ons to investigate. It was a poor replication of what he suspected the whole sum of this activity should be, but for his limited grasp, it was satisfactory. The boy knew no different. If it engaged Mono, it was worth the hassle.
__
Despite the child’s transparent interest in the glowing tree, the other attributes of this cutout patch of prehistory did interest the Thin Man. On his patrols, he took time to cross the transmission and arrive to that eroded cavity in the city and browse through the tattered ruins. Like much the text abandoned to the harsh weather, the fragile scraps of memories decayed beneath the heel of time. Enough evidence endured within empty hollows of buildings and shattered windowfronts, to coerce the direction of his compass.
The Thin Man did not gather further items, not like the tree or the specific lights to string along its branches, or the surviving trinkets to dangle and glow. Introducing the glow tree was distressing enough for the boy initially, and that had despaired him. Mono was always very stoic and quiet, until some anomaly intruded upon his environment. That was the only time the boy did speek, and he was uncertain… if he wanted to coerce the child into engaging with him further, beyond that staring.
Through the waterlogged buildings and catalogs barely connected by a transparent skin of water, he explored more of the package offerings nested beneath other trees. He knew from the Broadcast, these parcels held interesting offerings. It was not uncommon for children to offer tokens to one another, as a show of competence and health. One time he had offered a fish Food was not shared, not usually. Useless things like interesting artifacts, a shiny thing, an unknown curiosity - children could afford to offer such baubles to one another, while scavenging for essentials. The act itself was not done in the same way as was gleamed in the whimsical tomes. The pamphlets insisted it was something... of happiness. Joy. Affection.
All terminology and concepts which did not exist in this world. That era was long dead, with no place in the shadow of the Signal Tower. Survival was the appeasement token, and like anything children claimed, it had to be stolen.
While perusing tattered rolls – some colors and patterns partially remaining – he pondered this tree. And the eye-catching containers, concealed in colored wraps. He gave the child whatever he needed – food, shelter, assured his safety, and of course, his treasures. From fluffy animal beasts to blankets and hats, the child had no place for want of a thing. The boy had no complaints, no requests, nothing.
He supposed, much like a tree decorated with trinkets, even bones and a few tools, he could gather up a few items and the process of breaking the gifts open would be entertaining. However, he could search for other curiosities that would make the process worth the boys time.
Whenever he departed the shared shelter, he isolated a partial of his patrols to rooting out interesting but unnecessary supplies, and electing items that might intrigue the boy. Along with rare or near nonexistent ingredients, or suitable substitute mixes for meals.
The entire event was an interesting project for himself to undertake, more so than fortifying the building and generating the chambers for the child’s preoccupation. He had a book for food preparation, full of dishes with bizarre (unknown) ingredients, but he could manage. The diversion in his usual routine managed to attract the boy, with more curiosity than the child’s commonplace shadowing. Rather the child hover under foot, the child was hiding in the shadows beneath some of the furniture. And as always, staring. Silent.
On a rare occasion when the boy strayed from his secluded hide space, to snoop in the room he worked primarily to bundle the offerings, the Thin Man gave the boy a clean sheet of metallic page. To do whatever with the boy might choose. And hopefully, make the child interested in the parcels awaiting beneath the glowing tree.
The glossy sheet fascinated the boy. The color was a glaring green and retained much of its sheen, due to the tight wrapping preserving the layers. He paused to observe, while the boy angled the small portion beneath the lone bulb of light blazing from the rooms corner.
“Can you see your reflection?” he prompted. The best the child might manage was a messy silhouette, the metallic gloss was not that reflective. The boy still folded the page over and into a few smaller shapes, before unfolding it.
“Hmm.” The boy padded to where the Thin Man knelt and sat beside his knee. He spent the time folding up and unfolding the metallic sheet, while the Thin Man bent and tucked the paper.
The technique was not too difficult, despite how small the packages were. The Thin Man had suitable practice with tending the boys unending injuries. It was about the same. Throughout his work, the boy ceased the folding and sat observing. While he was finalizing the tight folds over the last parcel, the child tugged at his pants.
“Do what?”
All of this would have been skipped if he used his power, but, diverting some of his concentration to such a menial task would take a toll. This was fine, and the child was interested. He hummed, while finishing a thin crease and flipping the box over.
“Wrapping these.”
The boy followed his hand, as he set the parcel down with the small pile nearby. “Oh.” The boy resumed folding the metallic page; at this point, the sheet was shedding glittery flakes and revealing the waxy backing. No further inquiry followed.
“A treasure is inside.” He took one of the smaller packages and set it before Mono. “Do you want to open one?” The child raised his eyes from the folded page and shook his head. “Would you like to help me wrap one?” He took one of the packages and removed the paper coating; this cover wrap was less interesting, but catered to colorful patterns and faded lines.
As before, the child shook his head. He stood and wandered out of the room. The Thin Man watched him depart, and sighed. He did not blame the child, the process of wrapping and setting these tokens beneath the tree was not all making sense to himself. If not for the portrayed images in catalogs, the colorful boxes and ribbons would perplex him to stunned inaction. He thought he understood what should happen, but all the same, this process was perplexing.
To what purpose was there in hiding the gifts, in plain sight? The colored wrap was not a deterrent, Mono was content to fumble with the offered sheet. Answers from the world and long-ago did not come, and the fragments swirling through the transmission did not convey inspiration. For now, he let it be. A new uncertainty whittled at his mind.
Should he continue wrapping gifts? The exercise lost interest and ebbed at his time, even if he should decide to draw on his power to make short work of the papers. He could make the package shell more enticing, but he was uncertain what the original designs would be. Colors. That was his conclusion. Charming and flashy colors. Like the glowing tree. Inviting colors with hidden secrets.
A few times, he wandered to the room and found the boy up in the branches, investigating the trinkets tied on. For a while, he would stand by the wall, observing as the child took interest in the height he could reach, or checking each teardrop bulb that gleamed. Sometimes, the child made it his mission to undo as many of the thread cords possible, and let the small items fall – weaving along the stiff branches – until the item plopped onto the floor. Among with the pile of wrapped packages.
None of which the child showed interest in.
Once the child left the room, the Thin Man busied himself by tidying up the mess. A ceramic figurine had suffered damage, but this was no issue for his capacity. The bits of straw went back into the item, the cracks mended and the shards melded together; whole, complete, renewed. He finished by retying the more durable doodads that suffered trauma, and fixed the lights. With all in order, he would leave the room.
The glowing tree fascinated Mono. The tree changed nothing, but it was something new with a few extra tricks. However, this activity would lose its edge, and he would be seeking a new intrigue to retain the child and restrain the dour episodes.
It was during one of the long pauses from the city patrols, when he entered the room and found the child where he expected to find such a child. In the tree branches, sitting much in the same way the boy did when he was gazing spellbound by the full moon – only, the boy gawked at one of the red bulbs, while wearing a hat. Beneath the tree, as always, the wrapped parcels awaited untouched.
“The packages have gifts in them,” he reiterated. The boy glanced his way – the bundled shape sat at the same height as himself – then went back to watching the rich glow of the bulb. “You can open them. There is nothing wrong or bad about that.”
“Hmm.”
Nothing would come about verbal incentives. He took the boy and lowered him to the floor, near the packages. He knelt by the boy and tapped a wrapped box. “Look at these. Why don’t you open one? See what is inside.”
The child stood and stared up at him. “Pretty.”
He rubbed the boys back with his fingers. “Mm. Some work went into this. But it is yours, and I want you to find your gifts.” He plucked up a smaller parcel and set it before Mono. “Try opening it. If you want, I can wrap them once more. The contents should be more enjoyable, though.” He was not certain about that, but it was up to the boy.
The child nudged the box with his foot. It was larger than a building block and would be difficult to use as a tool, let alone carry. The wrap might be a confusing matter, so the Thin Man pried at a folded edge. “It comes undone. Try it.” When he withdrew his hand, the child gripped the parcel by its sides and shoved it to his knee.
“Want.”
He pressed the package back. “No-no. This is for you. I cannot open it.” The child stood staring at him, with the package against his knees, and his hat askew.
“Then keep.”
He tugged at the folds, clicking the worn paper. “You will keep it. Try opening it. Here. Look. Mono.” After tapping the box, the child dropped his focus to it. “Go on. It is a puzzle. Show me how it works.”
The boy took a step back and looked aside, his eyes trailed over the tree and then fell back to the box. Then... pushed to his knees same as before. “Shh.”
He could not fathom what stumped the child about this activity. Much of the boxes and packages of this world had no clear indication to their contents, and much of a child’s foraging was done by scent. Clear food odors enticed exploration, anything that did not have clear purpose went ignored. Children never had a scrap of their short lives to spend on anything that couldn't either advance their course, let alone was not edible.
“Open it, child. Show me what is inside.”
The boy hefted the package up and shoved it to his thigh. “Y’want.”
He took the box and set it down. “No. This is for you to open. You like to unfold the paper, this is the same. Do so.” He undid a folded end. “You can help me.” The package was already halfway unwrapped.
But it seemed at long last, the child was set on the right track. He pulled he wrapping away with slow caution, eyeing the underside of the box where the fold remained caught. The Thin Man tugged the folded wrap away, freeing the boy’s focus. Mono watched the flaps of the box pop up.
“Inside,” the Thin Man encouraged. “The treasure is inside that box. Maybe there is food.” That was kind of mean, he admitted only to himself. The prompt didn’t press the boy into action, and the child stood staring at the stained sides of the cardboard container.
Upon no action, The Thin Man caved and retrieved the contents. A hat. A thing he always brought to the child when he chanced over one in good condition; the boy had numerous duplicates and no shortages. Hence, the child was not excited to see another of this particular style.
“Oh.”
No shortage of hats. Ever. No scarcity of foods. All needs mollified, no wants overlooked. It baffled the child why he made an elaborate disguise for these items.
“Try opening one on your own. Hmm?” He set the hat beside Mono’s feet.
“Hmm.”
The Thin Man drew forth another parcel. “Here. Open this one.” The boy stared at the long box pushed into his arms, once again at a loss.
This is how it went over the next span of time, of the Thin Man working to get this boy doing this activity unprompted. It was not an entire waste, the boy did do his speek, and after a few assisted unwraps, at last began undoing the colorful (and tinged) paper on his own. Though it was clear, as with the Thin Man, the whole process and meaning behind this was lost.
The boy was taken by the kite. The kite was a rare find, barely held together if not for the Thin Man’s restoration. It glided when the boy let it fall, and that latched onto his interest. The Thin Man was uncertain how this thing should work, but the boy came to his own conclusion.
After running around with the fanned toy at his fingertips, Mono did find a spool of thread included in the packaging which held the item prior to its excavation. After tying a center flap to the fanned wings, the boy could run around with the kite at some length. The wide wings glided above his head by a meter or more, with each lap he hurried with.
Ah, it was like a plane. Unfortunately, the kite had no rubber band, and the thread could not be wound up tight. It appeared the thread only gave the kite freedom to float.
While the child was running back and forth endlessly, the Thin Man glitched into his path and knelt to catch the boy. When the child ceased his path the kite began to wilt, in a sharp dive to the side. Mono tensed against his hands, but the Thin Man supplied a gentle touch to the toy and managed to keep it aloft. Much as he did the plane.
And now the child stood observing, fascinated by the kite idling in midair. Nearly touching the ceiling. “Tol,” he whispered.
The Thin Man crouched with the boy, watching the kite slip along the pseudo current. “I suppose it is. Isn’t it?” The child didn’t reply, overtaken completely by the spectacle. No questions came his way, the child was satisfied with this trick.
At some length, the child still remained transfixed by his new activity. Some wrapped parcels remained beneath the tree, and the Thin Man let the current wane. The kite drifted down, and Mono plucked at the thread in an effort to anchor it to the above or whatever powers held it. Alas, the wide wings drifted to the floor, near the wall.
“You have other treasures,” the Thin Man tried to amend. “Go look at them, and later you can try your toy once more.”
The incentive of the kite did kickoff Mono’s interest. He might have thought another kite would be awaiting, but the Thin Man didn’t know what the thing was and only supplied the thing to be unwrapped, no further thought or intent suspected. All went well enough, the boy was pulling out the parcels without coaxing, he tore the paper apart and explored the contents with new fervor. And it almost felt like those old imprints from the catalog came to life in this period, if only for a moment.
Which didn’t last long, when Mono discovered yet another large plush animal. That did make the Thin Man smirk. He was too accustomed to the stoic expression, it was a small wonder seeing the boy flash among expression of eagerness and that disappointment. The shades came by a flicker, and he began to anticipate the moods he thought the boy could no longer touch.
One other item the boy took vivid interest in was a color set. Not the typical art supplies the child was accustomed to, but some sort of paint dyes in the few primary colors. The color vials were too big for Mono to make practical use of, but the Thin Man sat with the child and showed him how colors mixed by dripping globs onto a clean sheet of a box side.
Of course, this led to the boy hand printing on everything with a flat and clean side. Including his pants, but the fabric – much as the rain – could not stain. The child amended this by putting handprints on the back of his hand and forming a colorful collage.
“Enjoying yourself?”
The boy directed his shadowed face up to him, but did not make speek. The child resumed working on the side of the box, experimenting with how to fold his hand over the corner, and the curious way the shape of his hand formed partially. As well, Mono hefted the empty box up and checked the smear of color against the gleam of the glowing tree. By the child’s expression, he took this was very serious work.
“That should be enough,” the Thin Man supposed, as he glitched and appeared in his tall stature. “Let those last gifts alone. It is time you had something to eat.” When at the doorway, he realized his child had not followed as he was prone to. “Boy.” Internally chiding himself, he turned back to view the expected scene.
The child tore apart one or more of the boxes, and smeared the mixture of colors on the makeshift palette in order to transfer the colors with his fingers. It would not take long for the dye to be spent, but he did not appreciate being ignored. “I will not call you again. Leave those alone, and come along.”
The response he received, was a child deliberately kicking aside a slim box and working to tear apart another portion of cardboard. To add color onto. He looked at the Thin Man, but resumed his work.
The Thin Man did not bother with a second warning. He retrieved the child and left the room. He did have something to make, though uncertain he was with the ingredients. The mixtures and edibles from the previous patrols had not been sifted through, but he was certain he had enough to work with to make the basics of a recipe.
The kitchen space was down a set of steps and in the furthest edge of the building. He still didn’t care for kitchens, but it was easier to make some food rather than struggle with scavenging for whatever – he didn’t know what the child preferred in terms of castoffs. He could still discern what was edible enough and what was rancid, but keeping a suitable yield of food to work through without it spoiling was more difficult. Dry ingredients kept longer than the calorie bricks the Residents of the Pale City gnawed on.
He left the boy on the table and began the work. Biscuits and such proved the easiest to make, and required the minimal of mixing let alone work. Flour, water, powder, and bake. The boy enjoyed biscuits. He ate whatever he could catch.
This time, he would experiment with some of the recipes he browed over. Some of the listed ingredients he did have on chance, despite how uncommon they could be in the usual kitchen. Viewers ate protein cakes or calorie bricks – fast edibles to keep their heads focused, and their bodies mostly alive.
The usual flour went in, with the powder, and water from the tap. The additional stuff would be a bit of sugar, not too much. Some shortbread recipes called for oils or butter, and at times milk. Oil very rarely kept, but he did have dehydrated milk powder. That might work.
While the biscuit baked in the oven, he joined the child at the table. During the work, the child had relocated into the chair, and watched him by just over the edge of the tabletop.
“You made quite a mess.” The boy wasn’t too colorful, all things considered. Mostly his coat cuffs and collar, and his neck. “Was that fun for you?”
“Boxes,” the boy murmured. “Make t’fun.”
He nodded. “Yes. Which did you enjoy most?”
The boy tightened up in his coat and bit on his lip. “Colors.”
He took out a cigarette and lit it. “Hmm. Making a mess. Of course. Who does not?” Children would always be prone to tearing up whatever they laid their hands on. It was not so much in their nature, as they inadvertently had to deal with some obstacle, or hostility. “Crayons and all tools are ever illusive.”
The boy resumed his staring. He had hoped the new inclusions would rekindled something…. It was time for the biscuit to come out of the oven.
The sheet he baked the biscuit on could hold more, but Mono didn’t need that much food in one sitting. Once it was cut into portions, a fraction for later meals and another partial to serve, the flatbread cooled quickly.
“The slower you eat, the more I will give you,” he stated, as he set the small plate down on the chair. “This is different from what I usually make.” Three-fourths of the served biscuit was already gone. He supposed, the boy ate as slowly as a child could manage.
“Was it that good?” He paused, debating on the second serving.
“Best.” Probably a second serving. The child licked his fingers and the crumbs off the plate. The Thin Man retrieved the plate, before the boy could eat that too.
“You will wait shortly before another serving.” He flashed around the kitchen, organizing the tools and dishes used for mixing. “You do not need to eat that fast.” He took a damp rag and returned to the boy, only to work on the muddy coloration staining his coat, and now his face.
“After you eat, what will you do?” The dye came off without much fuss.
“Sleep.”
He chewed on the end of the cigarette, and masterfully ignored the stare. “You have not finished unwrapping the packages. A few have been left untouched.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” he echoed. “We will look at them shortly. Did you like the wrapping?”
“Hmm.”
The boy received a few more servings of food, and as he ate, the Thin Man worked around the kitchen to finishing sorting away supplies and do the check for the newer ingredients. Supplies came from the Night Stockers, but he did not know from where those supplies came from. They went to the stores for the Residents of the city, the creatures and semi-sentient beings not lost entirely to the croon of the Signal Tower.
Somewhere in and among his preoccupation, the child had gone scarce. Typical. There was no point relocating that boy, given he didn’t need to do anything further with the child.
Sometime later, the Thin Man sat with a book in his room trying to finish the last chapter, along with his last smoke. He wondered, should he take the other toys and wrap them, for Mono to tear open? The boy was not interested in the activity, at least, not until he suspected something new would be hidden away. The kite was a lucky find. How many times could he tear open a parcel, before the routine waned? The purpose of the entire activity still puzzled him, and he probably didn’t do it right. Not that it made a difference to Mono.
Thinking on it, the whole exercise seemed foolish. Events occurring out of the ordinary did not mean much, the unexpected was to be expected, or fatality followed. Nothing in this world was as it seemed – a sing box, veracious plants, creatures with stretching necks, parasitic snails. A Tower full of living flesh.
The tree did nothing to frighten the boy, aside from the initial suspicion it was on fire. The tree was new, it was different, and it was harmless. And very fake.
The Thin Man set aside his book and left that room, to take the corridor and find the room with the tree. That was where the boy was.
None of the trinkets from the tree had been displaced or smashed, neither had the remaining packages been touched. The child did gather some of the wrapping and shredded boxes, and with some blankets, made another nest in the prongs of the trees base. If not for the transmission, the boy would have been expertly hidden. Had he not had that connection, he could have overlooked the rubbish.
Despite how perilous the forest was, he regarded it as a special time. It was where he awoke, and began his journey to connect the two ends of an ever expanding loop. Until that time, he had the wilderness, his coat, and the terrifying unknown of a purpose. A purpose he thought was his and that he had full custody of, with no idea of outer volition or interference. The trees stood so monstrously tall, but knew no malice. The reaching branches afforded safety, forming a flimsy net to quarter him from the ground and all its hazards. He could even find warmth in a snug hollowed out log, stuffed with moss and parched leaves.
So much. Endless exploring, boundless freedom. Before…. Ḩ̷̙͑ē̷͎̬̿͘r̷̞̞̳͐̆.
During his haze, the child had awoken and came out from the nest. Three of the remaining parcels had undergone some work, the wrap shredded and the toys dumped out. A better pair of pants lay strewn over the edge of one box; the child’s old pair had become worn and frayed. The Thin Man would repair the coat, but the child could do with some better clothing. He was never given new clothing.
And the boy was sitting on the floor among the tattered mess, staring at him, with his hat all but tipping off entirely.
“What if I put the packages in the tree branches?” he posed, aloud. It would force Mono to test his rickety abilities. That he was certain of.
“Mm. Be tol.”
The Thin Man chuckled softly, and lowered down to sit beside the boy, the smoke trail of his latest cigarette wove around the rim of his own hat. “Indeed. They will be very tol. Would they?” He reached over and settled a hand around the child’s back. That unwavering gaze never faltered.
“Climb. Ladder. Tree.”
If not for the child’s fear of fire or flames, he might’ve brought a candelabra to light. However, the issue with the heater unit was fresh in his mind, and he did not want to do that extensive of repairs again. As it where, he had enough trouble keeping the baubles where they should be. Or should he not bother? He summarized, it was not important. The boy did not toss them from the height on purpose, the tethers came loose as he clambered through the metal branches.
“You are a very good climber,” he murmured, distracted. He planned to find another pamphlet, something with more intriguing content to inspire new pursuits. None of the books offered insight, as suspected. No wonder the Tower found a home to lay its roots into. The ancestors of prehistory had been worthless and their ideas frivolous.
“Very.”
The child was content, and he was glad to have the boy with him. At times, he wished he had done… something else. More. He was never certain what he would have changed, or how he would have gone about altering certain events. He could not begin to understand why it was so difficult to look at the child’s face (even when the boy donned a low rimmed hat). Those eyes had changed so much. They were such a stark contrast to his own, and the selfish weariness he carried. Such as time was capable of working through the barriers of a detached reality, the child reflected something he did not understand. Something he had been sheltered from. The boy intimi—
“I love you.”
“Yes. I love you.” The boy left the shelter of his palm and scooted in close to his thigh. The small hands gripped tightly to his slacks and the face stared at him with such intensity. “Mono.” The boy hummed. “We can look at the remaining packages after you have a rest. How does that sound?”
The child tucked his legs up and knitted his fingers tighter into his slacks. “Mm-hmm.”
If he tried to move the boy, he would go ballistic and fight. This child was a particular thing, impossible to read or connect with. However, he accepted all of that. “Would you like a story?” He replaced his hand to the child’s back. Mono was shaking. “What about the one you made? Can you start it for me?” The boy was done responding, and had folded over and buried his face against his knee.
The Thin Man was such rubbish in dealing with these fits. He leaned back and studied the glowing tree up and down, his hand kneading at the child’s back, working to soothe out those jarring twitches. This would have no clear end, not for some time. He could only stay with the boy, and once the child recovered, he would venture out to collect whatever else he needed. Anything. The child knew no more of needs, the Thin Man made certain to provide all his wants.
Regardless his efforts, it was clear he was not doing enough.
The world he had nothing to do with, no longer wanted anything to do with them. He only had the child, and that was enough.
In time, the boys jittery movement quieted and was replaced by the slow, even breathing. At last. He traced his finger over the child’s shoulder’s, keeping sharp attention to the looseness of the muscles. Incase Mono roused unexpectedly; his rest was always riddled with terrors and jolts. The dream haunts never really left him, and he supposed they never could dry up and scatter like dust. But he could keep the unpleasant memories from sneaking up on the boy, while he was vulnerable.
He watched the glowing tree, unwilling to shift even an inch. One of the gleaming bulbs dimmed softly before darkening entirely - such an insignificant change, yet someone the tree lost a portion of the bluish light glistening across the wall. Eventually, the meta coils within the dewdrops would go out in all of the lights and he would need to find another string. It was temporary, but he could make this right. Eventually. In time.
Only time stood looming on the horizon of impossible unknowns.