Steven Jacson ©

Kenneth's birth

Helluuuuu, it's Steven!

I wanted You to meet my new baby brother, he's two years old! 

Haha, I made you think he was still a baby!

His name is Kenneth

She's afraid he's like me, Daddy was even more scared. I never got to play with him, when he was a REALLY little baby.

Mommy said she didn't love him. Daddy got mad, And Mommy said that she couldn't help it.

Daddy said Mommy might not have any babies anymore. The doctor said that she was too old, and her body wasn't that good, so it might not ever happen, again.

STEVEN is 4-years-old

When Kenneth was born, my father was extra careful, I was locked in a bedroom with all the needed tools and such, I was told I was super hype at this age and needed to be watched more closely.

Kenneth stayed with my mother but father watched over me only, to father, mother loved Kenneth, it seemed. I couldn't even tell if she truly did or not.

I knew she didn't love me, then she says she never loves him, when dad's around she's nice and it perplexes me as to why.

At 4, you don't understand most things, like "Why is mommy  nice to Kenneth in front of father?" Which is, at the time, "Why is mommy nice to Kenneth?" Not "Why is mommy only nice when companies around?" To a toddler, it can look as if she's nice at one point and mean the next, not like she has "conditions."

I knew she wasn't nice, though. I knew her actions made me unhappy, and thus, she was mean to me.

 [The narrator will now be from the point of view of a much older Steven telling of his childhood.]

Kenneth's birth was at the castle dorm, I was in another room, locked away, I guess it was for a good reason, though. I can't blame my family. Who would let a sick child around their fragile and low immune systemic newborn baby?

Kenneth became a good part of the royal family, despite mother's separation of us to most of our royal counter-parts, especially the violent ones and criminals, those imprisoned for beating up our queen of all people.

When Kenneth was two, he liked to touch anything and everything like I did, but with my low immune system, it broke a lot of my playtimes and turned into beatings and bedtimes.

Bedtimes as in bedridden until healthy or healed up, when it came to "beating bruises."

Whenever father caught him putting something unsanitary in his mouth or chewing his toys, father would fly into a rage, look to me and ask "Did you touch it?"

As I got older, I thought my brother have a better immune system, so I was confused as to why it mattered.

Father pulled me aside and explained "Your brother is a very unhealthy boy, well, no, he's not, well, he is..." He kept stumbling and I was at the age where I just want him to shut up and get to the point where I could go and play.

Father told me "Kenneth is a baby, like you, in a sense, he can get ill and get so ill he can die."

It dawned on me that Kenneth was just as sickly as me, if not... Lightly better.

I was scared of touching Kenneth, so I separated myself until I was deemed by mother, "Able to scramble the remains of the uselessness of life with Kenneth."

I loved "scrambling the remains," it was fun to have fun!

Kenneth tried to walk like I did, talk like I did, cough like I did.

It got me in trouble a lot with my father, I told him "Kenneth isn't sick, he's copying me!" But father would reply "Why is he with you, then?!" Then father would rant and vent, then beat or hit me.

My father continued down this path until he allowed me to have a window.

I looked out of it, and what I saw baffled me. So many villagers of our Kingdom with wheelchairs, tubes, coughing whose fathers let them outside and even hugged them.

Like, I got hugs, not when I was sick and, of course not, but nobody hit the kids, the mothers were so active in caring for them, so kind, showing genuine love, or at least, "What I knew was genuine."

I took care of myself when my own mother took "charge over her no-good and useless son."

I didn't know how to combed my blue hair, so it looked a mess. It looked like bed hair, guys can get bed hair, but most often have their mothers or fathers deal with it and when the men are grown, they fix it.

I felt like  was neglected and ignored by my mom, she didn't love me, I knew it. It hurt to be around a mom for that long that berated me and told me she hated me.

Sometimes, she'd joke about my illness, calling me "Sick Willy," She'd tell me I was "Weak Willis."

My mother made up countless lies about me, too. For some reasons I didn't know, she'd tell others I was a dwarf, she'd say I was 20, even though I was 4.

People often actually believed her and told me I was too old to be living with my mother, then would be perplexed as to why I wondered why and asked in the voice of a 4-year-old "Why? Do you know mommy doesn't love me?"

People would voice their opinions, yelling "You are too much of a baby to be a grown man!" Which was true, while I believed a person could mimic voices, it wasn't entirely true and I'm sure that while you can, you don't have the ability to get all voices.

To be Continued...