A Child Alone

The following is based on fiction, it takes place in the point of view of an original character named Ambrose and is copyright to me in all ways, shapes, && forms.

The clock across the room from me seemed to only make a ticking sound, lacking the tock altogether. I had thought about it before, but not directly like this. After all, across from me stood the first man to dare get this far into my household, and in my eyes he was on a time limit.

He was a large, intimidating man. At least he would be if I feared anything human. I could outrun him, I am sure, since his height was not the only thing oversized about him. He was bald and later I would wonder if he did it to cover up balding or if it was a style choice. The important thing now, however, is that except for our gender, we were polar opposites.

For one, I was ten.

He was trying to get me to invest in his company, a worthwhile opportunity to expanse my already unbelievable sum of money. I did not believe in him, however, because who asks a ten year old for money unless it is to con them?

This meant the rumors about me being the hand at my parents death was declining, that it was losing potency. They would be coming in hordes, unaware that my answer would always be the same.

"No, I do not think so. After all, I do not need to invest. My money can care for me until I die." I do not bother to add that I suspect that will not be long from now in the grand scheme of things.

I had expected his next spiel, about how someday I would have a wife to pay a dowry for, children to put through school, servants wages are simply going up. I do not bother to say I had no interest in wives or children, because I had not yet hit puberty yet and obviously until then the belief that I would grow out of it would stay firmly in place to adult minds.

I hate adults.

I tap my fingers cruelly and he leaves. He shows himself down the corridor, down the stairs, and out the door and I have not the slightest care if he steals something. I have no material attachment, in fact, I have no attachments at all, and as soon as he leaves my mansion on the hill I will be alone again. My solace echos throughout my own richly decorated, dusty halls.

It is me, my fire, and my loneliness all by ourselves. In fact, it is only me. I am the only person in this mansion. I am also the only person in the world, as far as I am concerned.

Being alone is not fun, but it is freedom.