It wasn't very long before Thomas arrived home. The grey clouds, having fully doused the earth with all their moisture, had faded away. The sun had returned to the sky, its bright rays setting the earth aglow, as Thomas reached the gate of his home.
The front gate, a small rusted iron barrier, opened with a low creak, and Thomas dragged his feet inside. It was a small bungalow, its yellow exterior paint faded and peeling, its front yard overcome by weeds and completely unsightly. Also, there was no car in the garage. They had to sell the vehicle in order to stay afloat. He strolled in, and clambered up the three steps that led to the white front door.
His mother and brother were still at their jobs. Thomas was given the house key so he could let himself in when he got back from school. He fumbled with his pockets for a while before he found the key, and was thankful that he didn't lose it in his confrontation with the bullies.
The interior was small and stuffy. There were three bedrooms; one for Thomas, one for his brother and the last for the parents. The walls of the living room were adorned with old and faded family photos. The living room led into a dining room, which led into the kitchen. Another corner of the living room also opened into a corridor which was bordered on both sides by doors leading to bedrooms.
Abandoning his muddy shoes at the WELCOME mat, Thomas pushed inside the living room, and threw his bag to the sofa. With a slice of pizza from the refrigerator hanging in his mouth, he reclined in front of the television. Every click of the remote only seemed to bring him to a channel more boring than the previous. It wasn't long before he deemed his search hopeless and put off the TV. The house was silent, save the dull whirring of the ceiling fan.
Thomas, now faced with utter boredom, drifted to his thoughts. He began to ponder the gift that he had received from the enigmatic Mr. Daniel Lambros. He took out the gloves, and eyed the pair curiously. They were made of leather, and felt very smooth between his fingers. He noticed that a small symbol, which resembled a white flame, was neatly embroidered on each glove. The gloves looked to be of some quality, though he never considered himself the type to wear such. Perhaps he could sell them. He remembered that the white-eyed stranger told him they were special. What could be special about gloves?
Slowly, and with more anticipation that he expected from himself, Thomas slid his fingers into each. They felt nice and warm, but little could be said beyond that. Thomas sighed, mentally beating himself up for actually expecting something to happen. Of course there's nothing special about-
But suddenly, Thomas gasped in shock, for before his very eyes, the white embroidered flames were flickering merrily on the leather material of each glove. He pulled both hands closer to his face in order to better examine this odd phenomenon. Ok, so each glove had a flame on it that actually moves. That was nice. Weird, but nice. It meant he could get more for it if he decide to sell.
His gaze lingered on the crackling white flame for a few seconds longer, before he grew bored with it. Holding the leather material of the right glove between his left fingers, he tried to pull it off. Strangely, it wouldn't even move. He applied more pressure, and pulled with more strength, yet the glove remained unyielding, its white flame dancing mockingly at him.
A few more seconds of straining and tugging, and Thomas gave up. With a bitter sigh, he made for a pair of scissors. To think he'd have to ruin such a fine gift, just to take the damn thing off.
Thomas, now with the scissors and seated on the living room sofa, snipped at the material, but still, there was no effect. He continued, a deep scowl on his face, but nothing happened. “GET OFF!” he screamed at his hand in annoyance. To his utmost shock, the right glove, of its own volition, slid off his fingers and fell to the carpet.
“The fu-” but his cursing was interrupted when he heard the swing of the front door. He looked up and saw as his mother bustled into the living room, shaking off the cold. Thomas stood up immediately in surprise.
She looked rail and thin, her clothes and her auburn hair were soaking wet, and she was shivering a little. Her skin was pale, her nose sharp and pointed, her eyes dull and ocean blue. Her clothing was simple; a leaf green blouse and a long yellow skirt, complete with flat green shoes.
She caught his eye and gave a small smile. “You're back, Tom. How was-” Her smile disappeared when she got a good look at him, and the little color in her face drained away. “What happened to you?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes wide and sunken.
Thomas for a second was confused by her reaction, but then remembered that his clothes were torn and he was sporting a few bruises. “I'm fine, Mum. Just some kids at school.” he explained, forcing an smile onto his face.
“Fine? FINE?!” she hollered, scurrying over to Thomas. “You're not fine! What did they do to my boy?!” her face looked dreadful, and she seemed on the brink of tears.
Thomas sighed. He had meant to change out of his ruined clothes before she returned. “Yeah, fine. Its nothing to worry about really.”
She had his face in her hands, and her eyes were shifting frantically from one swollen bruise to another. “Why won't those boys leave you alone?!” Tears were now sliding down her cheeks. “I'll go to the school tomorrow. I'll-”
“You don't have to.” said Thomas in a soothing voice, cutting her off. “Tomorrow's Saturday. School doesn't open.” he added with a sweet smile.
She smiled too, feeling a little silly. “That's true.” She abruptly pulled him into a hug. “I'm so sorry Tom.”
“It's okay Mum. It's not your fault.” He embraced her as well.
She pulled away first. “Look at what they've done to you!” her hands were now examining the shreds of what used to be his favorite shirt. “I remember when your Dad bought you this-”
Thomas held her wrists and tugged them away from his clothes. “Promise me you won't worry, ok?” She was now looking into his eyes, and Thomas could see the anxiety in them.
He suddenly jerked away from her, and nearly tripped. Thomas blinked a few times in surprise, for a fraction of a second, he saw it: His mother's eyes had turned completely white.
“What's wrong Tom?” she asked, evidently having seen his horrorstruck expression.
“I-I'm fine.” stuttered Thomas, his gaze still fixed on her eyes. Both were now back to usual shade of blue. He felt a slight tingle in his left hand, the one which was still wearing a glove.
“Ok, Tom,” she said with a warm smile, “I won't worry. I'm sure everything will be alright.” she pulled him into another hug. Tom, still recovering from the shock of what he had seen, slowly returned her embrace. She gave a small peck on his cheek and hurried into the kitchen. “I'll get started on dinner now. What do you want, Tom?”
“Er - anything.” he replied weakly. He was now looking at the glove on his right hand, which was still tingling subtly, the flame on the portion covering the back of his hand crackling quietly. “Get off.” he whispered softly, and the left glove slid of his hand instantly. He stuffed both gloves into his pockets and tried not to look so utterly flabbergasted.
The evening drifted into a moonlit night without incident. His elder brother Adam returned from work a few hours after his mother did. Adam wasn't particularly worried about Tom injuries. “Just hang in there, bro.” he drawled, before retreating to his bedroom. Thomas decided not to mention Mr. Daniel and the gloves.
They had a quiet dinner, watched Two and Half Men for a while, before all went to bed. Thomas remained awake in his room, pondering the day's events. A Google search on 'white flames gloves' revealed nothing useful so he simply put off the computer and laid on his bed. The gloves were on his nightstand, and their flames still swayed merrily, slightly glowing in the dark.
The radiance of the moon poured in through his small window, as did a cool night breeze. Thomas stared at the ceiling, still pensive. Why did Daniel Lambros give him gloves? Why did the gloves have moving flames? Why were the man's eyes white? These thoughts eventually lulled him to sleep and he had the strangest dream.
To Be Continued.
The front gate, a small rusted iron barrier, opened with a low creak, and Thomas dragged his feet inside. It was a small bungalow, its yellow exterior paint faded and peeling, its front yard overcome by weeds and completely unsightly. Also, there was no car in the garage. They had to sell the vehicle in order to stay afloat. He strolled in, and clambered up the three steps that led to the white front door.
His mother and brother were still at their jobs. Thomas was given the house key so he could let himself in when he got back from school. He fumbled with his pockets for a while before he found the key, and was thankful that he didn't lose it in his confrontation with the bullies.
The interior was small and stuffy. There were three bedrooms; one for Thomas, one for his brother and the last for the parents. The walls of the living room were adorned with old and faded family photos. The living room led into a dining room, which led into the kitchen. Another corner of the living room also opened into a corridor which was bordered on both sides by doors leading to bedrooms.
Abandoning his muddy shoes at the WELCOME mat, Thomas pushed inside the living room, and threw his bag to the sofa. With a slice of pizza from the refrigerator hanging in his mouth, he reclined in front of the television. Every click of the remote only seemed to bring him to a channel more boring than the previous. It wasn't long before he deemed his search hopeless and put off the TV. The house was silent, save the dull whirring of the ceiling fan.
Thomas, now faced with utter boredom, drifted to his thoughts. He began to ponder the gift that he had received from the enigmatic Mr. Daniel Lambros. He took out the gloves, and eyed the pair curiously. They were made of leather, and felt very smooth between his fingers. He noticed that a small symbol, which resembled a white flame, was neatly embroidered on each glove. The gloves looked to be of some quality, though he never considered himself the type to wear such. Perhaps he could sell them. He remembered that the white-eyed stranger told him they were special. What could be special about gloves?
Slowly, and with more anticipation that he expected from himself, Thomas slid his fingers into each. They felt nice and warm, but little could be said beyond that. Thomas sighed, mentally beating himself up for actually expecting something to happen. Of course there's nothing special about-
But suddenly, Thomas gasped in shock, for before his very eyes, the white embroidered flames were flickering merrily on the leather material of each glove. He pulled both hands closer to his face in order to better examine this odd phenomenon. Ok, so each glove had a flame on it that actually moves. That was nice. Weird, but nice. It meant he could get more for it if he decide to sell.
His gaze lingered on the crackling white flame for a few seconds longer, before he grew bored with it. Holding the leather material of the right glove between his left fingers, he tried to pull it off. Strangely, it wouldn't even move. He applied more pressure, and pulled with more strength, yet the glove remained unyielding, its white flame dancing mockingly at him.
A few more seconds of straining and tugging, and Thomas gave up. With a bitter sigh, he made for a pair of scissors. To think he'd have to ruin such a fine gift, just to take the damn thing off.
Thomas, now with the scissors and seated on the living room sofa, snipped at the material, but still, there was no effect. He continued, a deep scowl on his face, but nothing happened. “GET OFF!” he screamed at his hand in annoyance. To his utmost shock, the right glove, of its own volition, slid off his fingers and fell to the carpet.
“The fu-” but his cursing was interrupted when he heard the swing of the front door. He looked up and saw as his mother bustled into the living room, shaking off the cold. Thomas stood up immediately in surprise.
She looked rail and thin, her clothes and her auburn hair were soaking wet, and she was shivering a little. Her skin was pale, her nose sharp and pointed, her eyes dull and ocean blue. Her clothing was simple; a leaf green blouse and a long yellow skirt, complete with flat green shoes.
She caught his eye and gave a small smile. “You're back, Tom. How was-” Her smile disappeared when she got a good look at him, and the little color in her face drained away. “What happened to you?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes wide and sunken.
Thomas for a second was confused by her reaction, but then remembered that his clothes were torn and he was sporting a few bruises. “I'm fine, Mum. Just some kids at school.” he explained, forcing an smile onto his face.
“Fine? FINE?!” she hollered, scurrying over to Thomas. “You're not fine! What did they do to my boy?!” her face looked dreadful, and she seemed on the brink of tears.
Thomas sighed. He had meant to change out of his ruined clothes before she returned. “Yeah, fine. Its nothing to worry about really.”
She had his face in her hands, and her eyes were shifting frantically from one swollen bruise to another. “Why won't those boys leave you alone?!” Tears were now sliding down her cheeks. “I'll go to the school tomorrow. I'll-”
“You don't have to.” said Thomas in a soothing voice, cutting her off. “Tomorrow's Saturday. School doesn't open.” he added with a sweet smile.
She smiled too, feeling a little silly. “That's true.” She abruptly pulled him into a hug. “I'm so sorry Tom.”
“It's okay Mum. It's not your fault.” He embraced her as well.
She pulled away first. “Look at what they've done to you!” her hands were now examining the shreds of what used to be his favorite shirt. “I remember when your Dad bought you this-”
Thomas held her wrists and tugged them away from his clothes. “Promise me you won't worry, ok?” She was now looking into his eyes, and Thomas could see the anxiety in them.
He suddenly jerked away from her, and nearly tripped. Thomas blinked a few times in surprise, for a fraction of a second, he saw it: His mother's eyes had turned completely white.
“What's wrong Tom?” she asked, evidently having seen his horrorstruck expression.
“I-I'm fine.” stuttered Thomas, his gaze still fixed on her eyes. Both were now back to usual shade of blue. He felt a slight tingle in his left hand, the one which was still wearing a glove.
“Ok, Tom,” she said with a warm smile, “I won't worry. I'm sure everything will be alright.” she pulled him into another hug. Tom, still recovering from the shock of what he had seen, slowly returned her embrace. She gave a small peck on his cheek and hurried into the kitchen. “I'll get started on dinner now. What do you want, Tom?”
“Er - anything.” he replied weakly. He was now looking at the glove on his right hand, which was still tingling subtly, the flame on the portion covering the back of his hand crackling quietly. “Get off.” he whispered softly, and the left glove slid of his hand instantly. He stuffed both gloves into his pockets and tried not to look so utterly flabbergasted.
The evening drifted into a moonlit night without incident. His elder brother Adam returned from work a few hours after his mother did. Adam wasn't particularly worried about Tom injuries. “Just hang in there, bro.” he drawled, before retreating to his bedroom. Thomas decided not to mention Mr. Daniel and the gloves.
They had a quiet dinner, watched Two and Half Men for a while, before all went to bed. Thomas remained awake in his room, pondering the day's events. A Google search on 'white flames gloves' revealed nothing useful so he simply put off the computer and laid on his bed. The gloves were on his nightstand, and their flames still swayed merrily, slightly glowing in the dark.
The radiance of the moon poured in through his small window, as did a cool night breeze. Thomas stared at the ceiling, still pensive. Why did Daniel Lambros give him gloves? Why did the gloves have moving flames? Why were the man's eyes white? These thoughts eventually lulled him to sleep and he had the strangest dream.
To Be Continued.
You must be registered for see links
Last edited:
