See, I told you! An actual update, with pictures and other things!
Chapter 2, Part 1: SnowmenWelcome, dear readers and shadowy patrons, to this, our second chapter. Well, I suppose that at this point, "volume" may be more apt. I have chosen to divide my work in archiving and near-archaeological re-assembling of the Alchimia family's history thusly, for a number of reasons. First, it marks the shift in our major primary source: Aurum still maintained records, which I will refer back to from time to time, but as one of the major subjects (really, perhaps, the major subject) of this work is the path to immortality, as it was achieved by members of the household, the more relevant notes will usually come from the member that, at this time, was still striving, leaving the viewpoint of those who had achieved.
Second, Aurum's notes after the incident we describe in this part become very often so steeped in metaphor and secret code as to be, like the writings of ancient alchemists before her, nearly indecipherable. As such, I can't be bothered.
Third, on a personal level, I believe Ferrus's narrative to be the more heart-grabbing one at the time in question, and that it will more satisfy my readers than notes on clone-fish breeding programs. Additionally, it is my fervent wish his oftentimes shorter segments will help me appease my shadowy patrons, who were deeply unhappy with my failure to meet deadlines. If I hope to maintain a steady pace in spite of my having only one usable typing hand for the next several weeks, this will have to be my salvation.
Let us begin.From the Journal of Ferrus AlchimiaSo, Mom finally did it. I’m not sure immortality rendered her all that different, to be honest. I didn't expect it to – did she? That’s the sort of question I’ll never really be able to answer. Maybe it changed her slowly, every step of the way. I’d like to think that’s the case.
I overheard her telling Aunt Darleen about it that night.
”I’ve finally done it, Darleen. Achieved this little immortality, after spending almost all my life on it.”
“Oh, Aury! I’m so happy for you… Except…”She paused and gave it some thought.
”Except?”
“Well, it’s silly, but… Everyone else here will still die one day. Except I guess Little Ferrus, because he’s the heir, right?”L-little? I’m almost a young adult…
So that’s how people think about me, huh? Oh, well. I guess if it’s Aunt Darleen, that’s OK.
”Yes,” Mom said, without flinching.
”… I guess that makes me sad, too.””For yourselves?” My mother looked into Darleen’s face, which had this strange and tender smile – it was a pure mother’s smile, the light falling on it in a way I need to find a way to capture.
I want to preserve it in some form or another, the way Darleen shook her head, hair whisping across her shoulders.
”No, silly. For you.”And I want to preserve the look on my mother’s face, isolated in its confusion, receiving a compassion she wasn’t prepared for.
One day, I’ll need that compassion, too.
This bit was written almost in isolation, kept away from the regular flow of events. This was something art critics in years to come would have salivated over had they ever seen it – A Portrait of Divergence, while never a work Ferrus was wholly satisfied with, was considered one of his masterworks for its portrayal of emotion – it was considered both powerful and inscrutable by critics at the time.So, guess whose brother decided the best way to learn to drive involved running away from Dad, across a mountain in a blizzard, so he could drive back?
The police didn’t exactly understand the thought processes that surrounded this. I always support the police, but…Here? I especially support the police. I really support the police.
(…Don’t tell Diane I said that, OK?)
Dad, though…Dad understood it. He just laughed it off, saying,
”I did the same thing when I was your age. Except without the mountain. And the blizzard. And my dad didn’t know about it. And I kind of just stole the car so I could sneak out and buy happy meals and pick up a girl for the back seat… Good times, good times.”
“I don’t need to steal the car, but can I use the car for that?” My brother did not mean happy-meals, but he certainly sounded happy.
“Son, there are few things worse in this world, more corrosive to the soul, than indiscriminate womanizing.” Dad was very serious.
”So only if she’s cute. That’s discriminate.”In some ways, Jaycen was better suited to advising the son whose trajectory was very different from his own life. After all, while maybe it wasn’t the best-spent life, he had no regrets.
Life’s been nothing but snow days since Winter started, so we’re taking a break from sculpting to try and enjoy the snowfall. By sculpting with snow. We made a bunch of snowmen, though I admit I think I couldn’t quite get the head-body ratio to look right (To which everyone, even my brother, rolled their eyes). Still, it was a lot of fun. They were quick and simple, and I could, very easily, just obliterate anything I wasn’t pleased enough with. I take what I do seriously most of the time, so I like just making things like this, with their clumsy smiles.
I also built an igloo, where Diane spent the last night of her teenaged freedom (my perspective) or “Crushing lack of freedom, as The Man and his age-ist keep us down just for being born later than Him.” I asked her if she really thought age-ism was a real thing, outside of the context of the poor treatment of the elderly. She swatted me on the arm with a bright smile and trotted off to enjoy the cold, and the faint pinpricks of the stars peeking through the almost, but not quite, opaque ice.
The endless snow days have meant something else, though, too. Mom’s getting antsy about Stan’s education – well, that’s how I read it. She insisted that
“Given the increasingly absurd lapses of the local education system in the face of mere precipitation, certain action will be necessary.” This translates to tutoring, and lots of it. At least Stannum gets saved by Mom’s work calling her away.
When she returned from work, she summoned me to the front yard.
”I have located a package that, I believe, you should also bear witness to, and assume at least partial ownership of.”“Why?” I asked. Mom doesn’t smile the way she was smiling often – she does not smile often at all. It’s not because she’s unhappy; I’ve never even thought that, and I know my feeling about her feelings haven’t always been great. Or accurate. But she was smiling so hard.
”I have received a gift from my father.”With that hanging in the air.
I’ve never met my Grandpa.
To me, he exists as a shadowy figure, just outside of reach or reality. Like Santa. Or someone from the distant past, but who’s always sort of on the mind of someone around you, so their presence lingers in the air. I’m named after him, so I think about him a bit: who was he? Why were he and my mother both named after metals? Why spark this obsession?
Was he nice? Would he approve of me, having been given his name and all? Would he like me? Or would he just sort of shake his head, sad I’m not a scientist or alchemist like him and Mom?
…I’m not sure I’d like me, if I were him. I have a lot of trouble liking me the rest of the time, honestly.
It turned out to be a pair of eggs, left on our front lawn. And a note.
”In Celebration of the Family’s Accomplishments
- With Love, Always”[/i]
It didn’t actually say who it was from. But Mom insists. She won’t hear anyone even consider thinking otherwise. I envy that certainty: we’re not normal people. Mom even said there was someone she was hiding from – what if it’s from them? Or a trap from someone who wants to study her (or me, but I don’t think I’m that important, scientifically-speaking), locking her away inside some dark lair to cut her apart and see what makes her tick? Is she going to let that happen, just out of the hope that he’s out there, somewhere? I can’t change her mind, but… It’s all really strange. What if something happens?
…And if it is Grandpa… Why didn't he just talk to us, then? I mean, this isn't a mail package. This is just some random note on our doorstep. And besides which, how would he know about Mom’s immortality?
Mom wants me to watch one of the eggs for her, since she believes we were meant to share them, and because they are of “a supernatural nature, likely to respond well to our own.”
I’m worried about what will happen, but still, it couldn't hurt to be nice to the little eggs, right? I mean, they’re just babies. If I just left mine out in the snow, just because I didn't know what it was or who wanted us to have it…I’d kind of be a monster. Anyway, it’s nice to talk to.
