Uncertain Beginnings Oct 24, 2014 8:48:41 GMT
Post by Zechariah Artuna on Oct 24, 2014 8:48:41 GMT
This story begins much like many before it, on a cold and bitter winter’s night.
The snow hadn’t yet started to fall that year, though the ever rare November rain was descending in its place on that night. Heavy from the heavens it fell, as if some higher being was crying dark tears of sadness; a predestined, unknown sign of things to come? Perhaps, if you believe in that sort of thing. Even though the rain was intense, with thick and heavy raindrops, there had not yet been any thunder or lightning that night and the wind was unnaturally calm. Not weather entirely rare for this region of the world, but it wasn’t exactly commonplace either.
It was the dead of night and much of the city was already asleep, people warm inside the comfort of their own beds. Silence threatened to consume the night and if not for the distant bustle of traffic it would have been successful. However, on a small street deep within the residential district of Juillet, the capital city of the proud Juin nation, a single working street lamp struggled to offer its illumination through the heavy and obscuring rainfall. In spite of the weather, the woeful cry of a newborn baby broke through the relative silence and echoed outward into the seemingly endless darkness that the night offered to all those willing to except its gift. The cries originated from a small wicker basket that resided on one of the many doorsteps that ran along both sides of the small street, a baby neatly tucked away within. It had been abandoned, having only felt the warm embrace of its mother once or twice, never having even seen her face, before being left to fend for itself. When had the baby got there? Who exactly had left it there? Those questions have never been answered, not even to this day. No child should ever suffer such a fate; being left alone, unprotected from the unforgiving elements.
That was no weather for a child to be left in, let alone a newborn baby. The wailing cries were no doubt a testament to the pain, or at least annoyance, that it was feeling as the cold and the rain, natures very own percussion orchestra, saturated him. Thankfully the ordeal wasn’t long in lasting. You see, a few nights previously, on the eighth day of the eleventh month, twins had been born to the couple Jacson and Faith Artuna. The first and eldest, if only by a few minutes, was a small bouncing boy who they named Alexander, and the other was a beautiful princess of a girl given the name Ruby. The couple had finally been granted their wish, a family of their own with two beautiful and healthy children to look after, to dote over, and to love unconditionally. It sounded like such a natural thing, but after having a lot of difficulty in conceiving the two of them had learned that the little things, even those that seemed utterly natural, should never be taken for granted.
It all sounds pretty perfect, doesn’t it? I know for the longest time I thought that having a wife and children that you loved had to be the most perfect thing ever, but in truth very little in life is truly perfect. It can often take no more than one small, unexpected thing to ruin everything. Equally a small change can change everything for the better, in ways we often can’t even consider until it happens. I’ve found it often depends on a person’s nature or their point of view, perhaps even their state of mind at any specific time. I guess you could say in this situation that wailing baby, left alone out in the rain, was considered as both.
It was a week and a half after the birth of Alexander and Ruby that the great storm hit the Juin capital city, where they all lived happily together. As expected from newborn babies, the twins had been up the majority of the night, unable to sleep and crying, and in turn keeping their parents up, naturally. For some would argue that fate had its rotten, fickle hand in events that night; though I personally don’t believe in fate or destiny. But you see if Alex and Ruby hadn’t woken their parents on that night then neither Jacson nor Faith would ever have heard the wailing cries of the unexpected guest that awaited them on their doorstep; the first link in a chain of rippling events that would define countless individuals over near twenty-five years, as hard as it might be to believe.
Suddenly a burst of light exploded out onto the dimly lit street as one of the doors to a house on this small stretch of street opened, the door belonging to their house. The two silhouettes of Jacson and Faith appeared in the doorway, the two babies strapped to her torso, all of them looking down at the mysterious basket that had been left for them. ‘Beware of strangers bearing gifts’ or so the saying goes, but what if the stranger is no longer there when the gift is received, are we still to beware it? Probably, but if that gift is a newborn baby left out in the storm? Who in their right mind would reject such a thing?
Jacson Artuna was a giant of a man in both build and height, even more so standing next to the petite form of his wife, who stood at perhaps two heads shorter than him. He had a rough exterior, worn by hard fought years of harsh experiences, almost as if time had started to take its toll on him far sooner than it had any right to; this was always no clearer than it was in his unforgiving eyes. Stereotypically of almost all Juins his eyes were as black as the deepest darkness, and his full head of hair was an oaky brown colour. The grey hadn’t started to creep into it properly at that point, though my only memories of his hair involve a heavy amount of grey throughout. In comparison Faith was as different as could be. Her figure was slender and feminine, yet it had always been that way, if the earlier photos were anything to go by. The definition of beauty, or so I had once believed, she never wore anything by the softest and most gentle of peaceful expressions. I don’t think I’ve ever known a kinder person than her, though Ruby was mirror of her in many ways. The thought of her would make me smile, if I could.
The scene that follows next is one that I’ve been told countless times, in quite contrasting ways. I think the truth likely rests somewhere in the middle, so I’ll tell it the way I think it most likely went, considering all the everything I’ve ever been told...