Tw Homelessness - Tumblr Posts

This is part 23 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

I have several questions.

1. Why am I here?

2. Where is "here?"

3. When did I wake up?

5. What time is it?

6. How did I get here?

7. Who are they?

There are several other questions, of course, but these are the ones that press most persistently at my mind. Some are easy enough to answer- Grim's my familiar, of course he's here- while others- maybe there aren't any crickets because of the time? They should be active if it's still night- aren't so obvious.

Ah, well. The lane in front of me is long, as is the portion behind me I've absentmindedly walked prior to realizing I'm not somewhere I already know. The atmosphere here doesn't feel aggressive, hostile, or even unwelcoming. It just feels... calm. Strangely, unfamiliarly calm, like I've been here all my life without realizing it. Like a freshwater fish moved to a cleaner, kinder lake.

On my left and right are smoke-lined "screens" with short videos playing, repeating from what I assume to be the start after a second or two of playing. Each "screen" is about my height, hovering slightly above the ground beside the path, but I soon realize I'm taller. The bottom of the screens aligns with my ankles, not my feet, but the tops are still about level with my scalp. About a meter and a half from the side of the walkway is a row of trees with a deep brownish-black I've never seen in nature, much less alongside the pale blue, almond-shaped leaves. In form, some of the trees resemble simple oak, while others split at the base like birch. The variety is undeniable regardless of trunks: some droop like weeping willows; some branch straight up; some don't bother with limbs and just grow their leaves directly off of their bark. The nonpath ground that doesn't have a tree on it is covered in what looks to be clover, flowerless and evidently lacking in the four-leafed variety, favoring five-leafedness as some noticeable portion of the apparent population.

The path itself is a shifting shade of grey, then purple, then blue, and then I hold my head still and stare. Above me is a strange, dark sky, the same shade as right before a thunderstorm, when dark clouds coat the sky and hide the sun. In spite of the color, not one cloud is visible- just a series of small, silvery streaks, some pale blue and most are a very light, shiny grey that appears white against the dark sky. The streaks are scattered like faraway stars; some even form a bizarre sort of image, a constellation of abstract made to resemble a hundred shapes at once. If I look straight up, they resemble a fox, but if I turn a little to my left and peer slightly lower than before, It's an upside-down stag.

What a weird, wonderful world.

In my arms, Grim starts to stir, yawning as he does when he's sleepy. I smile. How cute. His eyes slowly blink open, and he hops out of my arms to stretch like normal, padding over to sit beside me once he's done.

I wait. Logically, he's going to ask where we are soon- but that "soon" never comes. He just sits there, trident tail silently swishing behind him, until he speaks:

"Where're we gonna go?" He says it so casually; I'd think he knows this place if I didn't know any better.

...Do I?

Maybe he knows. Perhaps this is his signature spell. Perhaps it is not. How should I know? All I've been given are strange, vague clues, many of which would seem so out-of-place anywhere else I'd absolutely remember if I've seen them before.

Grim is in front of me now, his paws moving the loose, sandlike material of the path into a tiny trail, documenting his steps. His eyes are staring right at my face, curious and patient. Heh. Never thought I'd call him that, but here we are. Oh, I should ask him.

"Grim, do you know where we are?"

"Sorta," he starts. "I've been here before." He pauses and looks around for a moment before he continues, "Well, here-ish. The path and trees were a different color, and the screen things weren't floating or smokey. The videos were of other things, too, and there were way more sky streak things. Oh, and the sky was darker."

I look around and focus my attention on one of the videos floating on my right. It's of a young child, about eleven if I had to guess, celebrating something with a group of others who appear to be about his age. Just before the loop restarts, a presumably adult figure who's mostly out of sight starts handing out popsicles, starting with the boy in the center of the screen. The kid doesn't ring any bells, but I recognize him regardless- not because he's familiar, but because his familiar is familiar.

Atop the child's head is a very distinct oppossum. The boy must be Korrak. Is this a memory or a dream? I can't be sure.

I reach out to touch it, and all of a sudden I'm in that park, Grim by my side, as a small Korrak kicks a black-and-white soccer ball into a goal made from what I think is PVC piping. The kids cheer, but the other team, a pair of acne-faced young teens, tries to rush the lady keeping score, claiming "offsides." The lady laughs them off, presumably having seen the goal and the fact that the ball didn't touch any of the sides, and tells them to act their age instead of whining.

A chittering Mandible runs to join the cheering children as they toss Korrak into the air- I didn't know they could do that, but I guess little kids are stronger in groups of fifteen- and an adult hands out the "trophies," one for each winner. Korrak clearly isn't the only one with a familiar, as the instant another grown-up reaches to pass Mandible an ice cube with some grapes frozen inside, a small, many-legged clump of colorful fur bolts to her, barking and cooing and chittering and meowing that doesn't seem to be speech so much as just shouting. As the treats are handed out, I see a border collie, a raccon, a cat, and a pigeon quiet down and rest beside their respective winners to rest and eat. The border collie, still not fully grown, jumps onto the lap of a boy with brown hair that reminds me of tree bark, while the raccon runs to a young girl I don't clock as "not a boy" until she undoes her ponytail. The cat, a mostly white shorthair with black paws, an equally dark head, and a tail to match sits on the back of a very pale boy with hair that makes his skin look worse as he lies on his stomach to eat, and the pigeon flies directly into a nearby oak tree, where a small, dark-skinned boy with dreadlocks and wide eyes climbs to meet it.

Eventually, small Korrak finishes his reward, and, tongue stained purple, announces that his mom told him to be back before dark, and leaves, Mandible on his shoulder. The sunset has dyed the sky a bright, beautiful orangey-red, and then I am back in on the path, Grim beside me all the same. The portion of the memory is still looping like is was before on the smoke-lined screen, as though nothing changed. Nothing did. How odd.

Wait, I said something. There was a phrase- "memoir lake," was that it? No, it couldn't be. I don't see a lake.

"Weird," begins Grim. "I've never tried to go through one of those before. Did you see how the grass kinda doubled and split when we touched it? Like, some of it was unaffected, but some was kinda see-through and didn't just phase through my paws."

"I wasn't paying attention to the grass..."

Grim shrugs with his little kitty shoulders. "Fair enough. I barely did." He pauses, paws shifting nervously on the sandlike path. "I used to just...be somewhere a lot like this sometimes. I'd start at the end of the path, and there'd be a light of some kind, and I'd touch it like you did with that memory thing, and..."

I remember. I never went anywhere particular to find Grim, he'd kind of just... show up. I would fall asleep in the woods, as one does when they aren't attending a prestigious magic college, and wake with my familiar in my arms or curled against my stomach. I never questioned it; he'd been appearing like that for years. It'd been part of my "normal" since I was a little kid, and I thought nothing of it, the way rich kids think nothing of their money until they learn their classmates live without it.

I smile. My magic was always there, I suppose, I just couldn't use it until I was there, too.

My magic. My magic. My magic. Is that really what this is?

Grim finally asks me what I've been asking myself: "Is this your signature spell?"

It's mine or his, right? Grim's been seeing this kind of magic for years, and it connected to me then, so it has to be one of ours, right?

I stop and look left. Another memory, with an even younger Korrak. He looks to be hiding behind a small pile of black plastic trash bags, presumably playing hide-and-seek. An adult, a presumably a police officer, steps into the frame, head and chest still out-of-sight. He steps loudly around, leaving a young Korrak to breathe again with relief. The memory loops. I watch, still and silent, as a Korrak who can't be any older than six dashes into an alleyway, digs 'neath the garbage bags, and stashes himself away, holding his breath.

I break away when the cop leaves again. What the hell? That didn't look like a game.

Before I can stop it, my hand reaches out and presses against the screen. For a moment, it feels as though the world has stopped, and then I'm standing on sidewalk as a slight breeze ruffles my hair. Small Korrak bolts through my legs like they aren't there and forces his body against its momentum to make a sharp left into an alleyway. The cop runs up, noticeably slower than the five-or-so-year-old, and stops affront the escape route. He walks forward, slowly, boots thumping on the concrete, and I follow.

The police's face is blurry and obscured. This is a memory, and Korrak didn't get a good look at him, so that's not too surprising, but when I fall onto the trash bags I realize Grim was right- each bag duplicates into two, one of which phases through me, and the other of which doesn't.

The cop leaves, Korrak exhales, and I watch as he cries. Cries little child tears, curling into a ball of scared with Mandible clutched in his arms. The trash bags must be some kind of safe haven to him. Is that why his headphones were where they were when we found them?

A small, quiet whine tries and fails to echo in the dark outdoor halls. Mandible chitters. I don't know what he's saying.

The memory ends. I'm back on the path. What is there to do now but learn more?

I step twelve paces forward. All of the screens' loops would suggest Korrak has never had a house. Further back, more of the same. Farther and farther into his past I glance, and there is not a single instance of Korrak being raised by humans. I don't see a single plane.

The "pilot parents" lie has been very disproven. He grew up homeless? That explains so much! The fighting must have been a necessity out there, and the aforementioned lie was a practiced cover for why everything he owns fits in a single bag. He was probably raised by opossums, too, and learning a human language was probably a challenge.

Poor Korrak. He must have had a difficult life.

I venture into the nearer past. Teen and preteen Korrak does not appear to have been taken in. He has, however, learned to read, which seems to have lead to an interest in science. He doesn't get to indulge that.

Finally, I see the black carriage approach. He's going to Night Raven. Screens further ahead show the entrance ceremony, our dorm room, the Backstage Room, us. Rook taking him to Vil's room. The leaders of Pomefiore taking him and Mandible under their wings as they did Grim and I.

Vil brushing Korrak's hair while Rook smooths Mandible's fur with a brush. Getting a phone for the first time in sixteen years, from our housewarden himself. Clutching Mandible in his arms while trying to curl in on himself, just like he did all those years ago, but now Rook is there, too, hugging him- wait, that's the clearing we saw him in!

Much of this is giving me dejá vù. Rook and Vil treat Korrak and Mandible the way they treat me and Grim: like birds encouraging their fledgling chicks to spread their wings and fly. How come I didn't know of this sooner? As glances of the past would suggest, mom and dad- what the hell, they aren't my legal parents or guardians, I'm getting ahead of all this- went out of their ways to give us privacy. How nice.

I jog to where I started. A "fire" burns there, emitting smoke but no flame. I could walk through if I wanted.

"Myeeh, we need to leave! I don't wanna be late," shouts Grim, trident tail straight up. He's right, we need to go! But how do I...

Two words come to mind: a name. My signature spell's name.

"Memory Lane," I say, and I'm back in my bed.

; I truly despise the phrase " people who have nothing will be grateful for anything 🥰 " because actually fucking no, the person who just lost their house to a fire doesn't want your ripped, stained and barely wearable hoodie. I mean honestly it's dehumanizing and offensive. Just because someone got evicted and is now homeless and poor, or they were kicked out of their home by their family or whatever, does not mean you get to treat them like less or give them crappy out of date food because " they'll be grateful anyways 😘 "

; whether they accept it or not doesn't make it any better, you're still being disrespectful.

; 1. homeless people deserve edible food and good quality clothes

; 2. people failed by social services / adoption services deserve edible food and good quality clothes

; 3. people who lost their homes in fires, floods or robberies, whatever, deserve edible food and good quality clothes

; 4. those who have been kicked out of their homes by unsupportive ( homophobic, racist, ableist, fatphobic, against certain religion or career, etc ) families deserve edible food and good quality clothes

; 5. beggars deserve edible food and good quality clothes

; 6. people coming from poor / unlivable countries deserve edible food and good quality clothes

; everyone deserves edible food and good quality clothes, it's a basic human right to that sort of shit. You denying people that, or ignoring them or giving them bad quality stuff just because they'll most likely accept it or " it's better than nothing !! " is disgusting. Do better. ( even if you somehow meant well, it's not okay !! It's just. Eugh. )