Imagna Chronicles- New Prolouge

Earth, United States of America, Baltimore Maryland, Autumn 1999

The setting was a small little park, a weed and squirrel invested patch of green in the urban landscape.

A young boy, barely of elementary school age sat with his uncle on a moss and lichen covered park bench, kicking his light up sneaker clad feet back and forth. A harsh purplish bruise marked his face, standing in stark contrast against his skin.

His uncle, a moderately scraggly blond-haired man dressed in a worn trenchcoat, looked down at him.  He whistled for a moment, and then paused. He looked down at his nephew with concern. "So, kiddo. How'd you get that big ol' bruise."

The boy frowned, and stopped swinging his feet. He hugged his knees to his chest. A few moments passed before he actually spoke up. "A couple of mean kids at school called me weird, a-and one of them was being really stupid and decided to throw a basketball at me." He rubbed his face. "And it really hurt, too!"

Ambrose looked a little worried by this development. "That's not good. Why were those kids being so mean to you, exactly?"

Brendon frowned, looking away." They think I'm nuts. They keep saying there's no such thing as a place called Imagna and that my friends from where gran'ma and gran'pa live are made up too." He sulked, burying his face in his knees.

Ambrose's shoulders sank, and he paused with a sad look in his eyes. "That's no way to act." He placed a hand on Brendon's shoulder. "You know what I think, Brendon?"

Brendon turned to look at his uncle, tilting his head. "What?"

Ambrose paused. What should he even say in this situation? "Well, I uh...I think that those kids have no idea what they're talking about." Apparently procrastinating on any actual serious discussion on the subject of Ambrose and Brendon's mother's homeland would have to suffice for now.

Brendon looked hopeful. "You think so, uncle Ambrie?" He sat up straighter, uncurling his legs.

"Sure do, kiddo. Now hey, cheer up. I have a surprise for you." He gave a jovial grin. Ambrose pulled out a neon blue-and-green stuffed dragon from behind his back. The fluffy creature was obviously one of those chintzy claw-machine numbers and sure it had the most unnerving plastic eyes of all time but it was the thought that counts.

Brendon let out a happy gasp, eyes going wide as saucers. "Woah, neat!" He snatched up the dragon, trapping it in a tight squeeze.  "Thanks, Uncle Ambrose!"

"No problem, kid."

Brendon turned around, glancing over his shoulder when he heard footsteps approaching. "Hey mom! Look what Uncle Ambrose got me!" He stumbled up to her, waving around the stuffed dragon.

Brendon's mother, Linda, gave a small smile. She stooped down to ruffle Brendon's hair. "That's very nice, Brendon. How about you go back to the car and show your dad it?"

Brendon nodded, and dashed off to the car with reckless joy. It was as if the thought of school bullies had vanished from his mind, which probably wasn't far frm the truth.

Ambrose didn't have to look up at Linda to know that she was now glowering down at him with that same judging, displeased look from when they were kids.

" I think that those kids have no idea what they're talking about ? Really, Ambrose?  Was that really was all you could think of. "

"I was a little bit pressed for time, okay? I know what I said was stupid and kind of stall-y."

"You bet it was." She sighed, clutching her stomach area and sitting down on the bench next to him.

"How much longer now?" Ambrose asked, trying to procrastinate the serious conversation he would soon probably have to endure anyway. That, and he actually was concerned for his sister's well being.

"Four months."

Ambrose nodded slowly, biting down on his lip.

Linda took a deep breath. "Listen, Ambrose, I have something I want to talk about.

"And so do I."

"I guess I'll go first, then." She swallowed. "I don't think Brendon should be visiting our home...land anymore, or have anything to do with it, actually."

"Oh, really? I guess that makes sense, what with kids at school teasing him and a- Wait, what?!" Ambrose did a double take, staring at his sister in sheer disbelief. "Are you kidding me? I thought we all agreed that having Brendon know about his roots would be a good thing. And for chris'sakes, Linda, call it Imagna. It's not like the name is cursed or anything and its not like he can hear us!" Ambrose rose his voice a little, furrowing his brow.

"Listen, I want Brendon to have a good relationship with mom and dad and all, but allowing him to spend so much time in Imagna and around people like you isn't healthy for him! The kids at school are already bullying him; just look at that bruise he came home with today! If kids in deity of your choice- I mean god forsaken kindergarten are mocking him like this imagine what will happen when he reaches junior high, or even high school!" She retorted. "Listen, I know you still have very strong feelings about me moving to Earth, and I know that you care a lot about Brendon but having him live in both worlds like this just isn't safe."

Ambrose furrowed his brow, about to snap back with a few sharp words of his own. "People like you?", what did that even mean!?

Linda stood up, steadying herself by grabbing ahold of the bench arm. "Listen, Ambrose. My mind is made up. You may be Brendon's uncle, but I'm his mother. It's up to Robert and I to decide what's best for our kid, soon to be kids, and  I just don't think it's in his best interest, okay?"

Ambrose nodded in concession, but his face remained twisted in anger. Her stewed while Linda walked off, eventually getting the gall to shout back at her. "I hope you know that I am going to make Thanksgiving veeeeeeryy awakward from now on!"



Ambrose sighed. He had been hoping for Brendon to at least have some tangible connection to his extraterrestrial heritage growing up, but that wasn't going to be the case. Deep, deep down  was honestly a little surprised Brendon made it until age five until stuff like today's bullying encounter began to happen.
Ambrose pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, a sleek, alien looking, silver and foldable one that clearly was a bit anachronistic with Earth's level of technology He punched in a number, hitting a button with a moon on it at the end of a number. He was connected, and then began a few minutes of ironc 1980's glamrock. Ambrose rolled his eyes, beginning to tap his foot as he was forced to listen to the scratchy sounds of Poison.

A chipper, rather Cockney male voice answered. "Hello, Luci Drawyen speaking. Demon-for-hire. I don't do birthdays, but I do funerals!" He greeted with morbid cheer.

Ambrose rolled his eyes. "Ha ha, Luci. Listen, I have some bad news. We need to discuss your little position as my nephew's baby sitter."

Before Ambrose could hang up, a teenage boy with silvery ash colored hair and pale skin appeared. The most noticeable things about him were his pointed ears and tail. He gave a cocky smile at the sight of Ambrose flinching in shock.

"Dammit! You know I hate it when you do that, Luci."

"Eh, whatever. Anywho, you said you needed to talk about the little kid? What happened to 'im? Get run over by a truck or somethin'?"


Ambrose sighed and shook his head.  "No not at all.It's just that…Linda doesn't want you to babysit him anymore. We've been trying our best to give him a taste of an Imagnian upbringing but it's just not really possible. Sorry 'bout this."

Luci sighed. "Yeah I figured this would happen someday. Should I wipe his memory or block anything out?"

Ambrose shook his head.  "No, I figured it'll all blur together eventually." He reassured, even though he wasn't completely confident himself.

"Anything else to report? Need me to rough someone up for ya'?"

Ambrose shook his head. "Not tonight, Luci. And please, never use the phrase "Rough someone up". We aren't the mafia."

Luci nodded and disappeared as fast as he had arrived.

Ambrose began to forlornly walk around the park, eyes out for anything familiar, anything to remind him of his original home. He wasn't usually bothered by his lifestyle, splitting time between his home and Earth, but sometimes the disconnect between he and his sister kind of bore down on him.  It was obvious she was rather disappointed in how her kid brother had turned out, and even if he had a sort of devil-may-care attitude on the outside itt just weighed down his heart. Ambrose laid down on his back across a planter. Some old , familiar words stirred in his mind. These words soon found their way past Ambrose's lips in the form of an old, nostalgic little ditty. Geez, what a sap he was.

---

Back at Robert and Linda Rhodes' duplex, the growing family had finally made their way home and was beginning to make their way inside.

As they were walking up the front step, Linda stopped suddenly. She felt a familair tune race through her head, as well as a jumble of old rhymes. She was about to start humming to herself when she realized she had just stopped dead in the middle of a staircase.

Robert turned to his wife with concern. "Linda, everything alright?"

She nodded. "Oh, yeah, everything's fine. Just thought I heard something." She quickly unlocked the door, brushing away that momentary trance. Within under half an hour of getting inside, she was already tucking Brendon and his new dragon Mr. Sharp into bed. She patted his head, smiling.

"Are you gonna be okay, little guy?" She asked, tilting her head to the side.

Brendon nodded, yawning loudly. "Yeah, I'm fine mommy." He curled up with his new stuffed creature, shutting his eyes.

Linda gave a matronly smile, and oddly enough she found herself singing that old lullaby that had found its way into her mind moments ago.

----


Sing the song of the past my children, sing the song of long forgotten words


Raise your voices high and proud, do not hide from cold judging eyes


Stand high among those who hurt us
  

Do not fear their flame and steel


For you are among brothers, sisters, and sires

Ones who  have survived the pain you know
  

So raise your wings to the air my children


Do not hide your gifts and curses

Sing the song of the past my children

And dream of, better days