Chapter Text
Pip learned what it was like to be alone very early on.
His earliest memories consisted of wandering the dirtied streets of his old hometown. Uneven stones and debris pricked his bare feet as he waddled along like he was trying to go home. He had tried for a time, but he never found his way back. It was almost as if home had run away from him.
It had scared him at first. He’d cried a lot those first few days, in no small part due to the searing light of the sun and bustle of crowds making his head pound. The headaches were always the worst of it. People had tried to help him on occasion, but he’d been in too much pain to tell them anything. He quickly learned to sleep during the day, usually in some cramped alleyway, and then he’d come out at night when it was far less bright and crowded.
Alas, food and water were hard to come by when the streets were empty, so he occasionally had to venture out during the day when the hunger and thirst became too much to bear. Desperation drove innovation, though, and he crafted himself a blindfold from cloth scraps and tree sap. He repurposed an old bag he found as well, and if the blindfold failed, he could throw it over his head as a plan B.
He forgot his mother’s face soon enough. He forgot what home even looked like. His home was among the trash and the late-night freaks (they were incredibly kind to him, to one of their own). He stopped wanting anything else, because there was nothing else to want. This was life, and he was alone in it.