The Boy Without A Name

Chapter One

Epiphany was ought to unearth the enigmatic energy of his psyche's most esteemed prepossession of onerous integrity. Swathed sweetly into the pensive profundity of his heart, it was demanding deceitfully to be known to all, crushed in the cumbersome cage, swaddled sentiently, it was time to say what was haunting deliriously, resounding reasonably, testing tentatively: his identity.

He necessitated a hesitant step towards the direction of the drawing-room, pausing abruptly to strain his hearing and reevaluate his thoughts. Desisting enough, he gathered the incense of hope that entreated upon his essence enduringly and walked a lonesome walk that provided him with a sense of self-solace, an assurance in the way his limbs synchronised to comprehend what he needed from them most urgently, understood what he expected deliberately to be known and helped him in a way most arduously.

Cowardice was inherently an option amassed in the fables fabricated and fermented with time, dilating their insignificance and popularising the bravery required necessarily to follow through life's precarious plan. Self-consolation was dubiously demeaning him of his prized strength and overthinking was leading him astray, far aft from his premeditated purpose.

Communion, eyes bridging the discrepancy, forthcoming and fervent, beckon him over silently. Silence ensued amidst the thunderstorm, a tenor of lamenting thoughts, a shrill of bashful droughts. At his mind's compelling behest, he worded his thoughts precisely, stuttering somewhere between those glaring gazes, his resolve never faltered. Greyish blue orbs reflected the smooth and scintillating brim of the fresh Calla lilies, brimming with the hopeful mist mirroring the faith alike for rainfall in the barren wastelands of a desert.

Clause, there was often a premeditated, unintentional pause that followed before a whirlwind, nature's inference in the matter of a consequential catastrophe, rendering the Earth's living matter to either overthink or underestimate the unattributed nature of such an imposition. What was presumed to be a prolonged silence carried forth by an unusual state of calmness, was abruptly abandoned like the aforementioned feelings of inordinate analysation, accompanied by nonchalant behavioural instincts?

"You are an utter disappointment, Emmett."

"What do you mean by that, Mum? I don't understand.."

"You are precisely aware of it, son. I do hate repeating myself."

"I beg of you, do not judge me because of this, my sexuality is an inherent piece of who I am, it is something that cannot be ruled by expectations. I am asking you to have faith in me, as my parents, more or less."

"That is more than enough, Emmett We do not need to listen to this nonsensical chatter, we have had it."

"If you could just listen to me with some patience, Dad. Let me explain it to you both, let's talk this out instead of making petty assumptions about how I might not be whom you had supposedly thought I should be."

"There is nothing to discuss here, you've made your choice and we are helpless. We expected so much from you and yet, it was all in vain."

"We are not helpless, Claire. We can get someone to help him, rid him of this shrouded impersonation, I am certain."

"What is wrong with you lot? I cannot believe this."

"That's it, get out."

He slowly blinked, aghast with what he could so comprehensively perceive. This had to be a nightmare, for once, he wished it to be so. With trembling limbs and stuttering speech, he knew it was a futile endeavour but he hoped for it to be untrue. Wishes, forged in fancy fantasia and tuned with forked realism, ebbed into the mainstream of mixed emotions, could only attempt so much as to beseech tentatively, hoping for it to accomplish anything but the ferocious truth.