Chrysalis: Prologue (Patreon)

He shouldn’t have let go.

If he hadn’t, if he had managed to hold on to the monkey bars, then he wouldn’t have fallen down. If he hadn’t fallen down, Marcus wouldn’t have looked back before he could turn away. He wouldn’t have seen him crying, or yelled for the boy’s mother, or…

Lloyd Morgan is eight and a half years old. The world around him is alight with color, crackling red-orange leaves and strangers in bright jackets, children running back and forth playing games he knows he can’t join in. He shivers miserably inside his over-large coat, sniffling and looking down at the bright red marks across his palms. The monkey bars are all the way on the other end of the playground, but the smell they gave off when he grabbed them hasn't dissipated.   Frost and icicles and winter storms.

His mother fishes a tube of ointment out of her purse, squeezing the paste out onto his mutely-offered hands with a squeak. It’s strong, the medicinal smell covering up the cold, even if he knows it hasn’t gone completely.   She dabs it on his burns without looking, her eyes hard behind her glasses. He can tell that she’s angry. The boy’s heart sinks, and he looks away with another sniff.

“You know you have to use your gloves.” She says, breaking the silence.

His head jerks up.  He pulls his arms against himself self-consciously, tucking his hands into his coat.   

“They’re s-slippery! I can’t hang on with them!”   Across the playground he's interrupted by the sound of a boy cheering. He looks to see Marcus having made it all the way across the monkey bars.   The disappointment in not being able to join him hurts worse than his hands.   “M-marcus wanted to - “

His mother’s hand takes him by the shoulder, her expression suddenly severe.
“Marcus isn’t - “

She stops and closes her eyes. When she speaks again, it’s quieter.  “Marcus isn’t allergic to iron like you are, Lloyd. You need to be careful."

"Can't you... find something else to do?  You could maybe... play on the swings! You love the swings.”

“I guess.” Lloyd says softly, taking his hands out of his coat. The burns look even brighter than they had before. He turns them over, hiding the red stripes from view, staring at his jet-black fingernails. Lloyd’s seen people polish them that color. He wonders if he should ask his mother to use polish to hide them. “...can we just go home?”

“Home?  But we only just got here. Is... is it your back?” His mother hovers around him, gently touching the back of his jacket. “You didn’t fall on it, did you?”

“No.” Lloyd hunches down, feeling the coat tighten with the motion. He starts to itch underneath it.  “I’m okay.”

His mother looks at him a long moment, then breathes out a sigh.  “Okay.”

She helps him up, the last of the tension easing out of her voice.
“We can go. It’s all right.”

She puts her hand on his shoulder, leading him back to the sidewalk. Lloyd trails along, trying to shut out the happy noises coming from the playground. As if she can read his mind, his mother pats him softly on the arm.

“I’m sorry I was cross, Lloyd. And I’m sorry you couldn’t play with the other boys.”

“Safety first.” He mumbles, stopping at the crossing. His mother smiles sadly down at the boy, but makes an approving sound.

“That’s... that's right. Safety first.  Come on. We’ll get you home and cozy with a nice cocoa.”

Lloyd nods, leading the way across the street.   His mother watches his little orangey red jacket bob ahead of her.   And then something catches her eye.

"Lloyd?"
Lloyd stops.   He can hear the immediate anxiety in his mothers voice.   Looking over his shoulder, he follows his mother’s gaze to see what's startled her.   

Something crackles under his jacket, a strip of cellophane-thin iridescent material sticking out from beneath his shirt.     

Reaching back, he tugs it loose.  Releasing it, he watches it blow away in the breeze.   When he looks back up at his mother, his face dark and serious.

“Mum, I..."
"I think they’re growing again.”

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