Gerard's House

Everything a person says and does not brings back memories. Flooding back into his mind memory would work, locking away never seemed to happen with Ink. They seemed so important at the time, but even though the memories, shameful though they were, would never impede his way in the world. Even when he suspected bad things to be brewing underneath someone else's shell of happiness, his kept inside his own. Curiosity was reserved for nothing but stories, in his case. He wasn't even happy looking, looking around with a less than curious glance from time to time to the world around him, and never giving much else but opinion and logic to his lessons at Gerard's house. His two friends had had a quarrel, and while he wanted to say something his emotion was kept inside, while he thought what might of happened. Manipulating the silverware he managed to shadow himself through the whole dinner, the next day one of his two friends committed suicide. Wide eyed looks were given out to his surroundings, and seemingly, the pile of books saw this as a signal to fall down and put a copy of 1812, Napoleon's Fatal March On Moscow at his feet. He bent down and picked it up, His hand moving over the name of Napoleon. His inspiration, the eighteenth century giant, shared only one actual trait with Ink and that would be the sudden temper tantrums he would throw for no reason really. He had speculated that some of the greatest geniuses in the world seemed to be like Bobby Fischer and have Asperger Syndrome. Seemed or just didn't like things. He put the books back on the shelf. Gerard's Mansion, house, as affectionately called by the actual occupants. The library was Ink's favorite place to be in the Mansion. At twelve years old he had already started reading in-depth things such as philosophy and mathematical theories. He looked out at the sky, at the people taking down decorations, then it hit him with sudden reality. Christmas had just passed and Manchester would be celebrating something else soon, New Years, and he had not gotten anything for Flambeau and Alice. He was wondering what to give them, putting his hand to his chin as he sat down when out of the corner of Ink's eye caught someone peering through the door he had left ajar. He moved swiftly, but although swift the door opened too fast for him to put his foot out, and it slammed hard into his body, mainly his face. On the ground he groaned and rolled over and stood up, staggered to the door and ran out the door. He looked from side to side and found nothing until he looked forward. Any other of the people from Gerard's house may of clutched at their hearts or backed away, but Ink just stood there and took it all in. His eyes never sharpening as walked away, his back to his destination, to report the dead body.