Thaine Hunter started to have coherent thoughts and memories from before he was three months old. The first memory he had was seeing the most beautiful silver lines ever known to mankind. They shimmered and danced in his mind's eye, a tapestry of laws—the fundamental rules of the universe—and he could understand them.
As he approached his second birthday, a fervent curiosity consumed him. He felt an urgent need to share his discoveries with anyone who would listen. With wide eyes and an animated spirit, he would tug at the sleeves of his mother and father, insisting they pay attention. “Look! Can’t you see them?” he would exclaim, his voice a mix of excitement and desperation, his tiny hands gesturing wildly as if trying to grasp the invisible threads that only he could perceive.
But they looked at him as if he were mad, their expressions a mix of confusion and pity. His father would chuckle softly, ruffling Thaine’s hair as if to say it was just a child’s fancy. His mother would smile, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of worry, a fear that he was not quite like the other children. They didn’t understand; they couldn’t see the beauty he saw.
As he grew older, Thaine’s fervent storytelling continued unabated. At five, he became more insistent, his proclamations louder and more detailed. “The lines are everywhere! They’re the rules that make everything work!” he declared one day during circle time in kindergarten.
The other children had settled on the brightly coloured carpet, eagerly awaiting storytime. Thaine's heart raced with excitement as he began to share his revelations. “They twist and turn around us, like a web that holds everything together,” he explained, his hands moving animatedly as if he were weaving the very fabric he described.
But as his words spilt forth, Miss Thompson, the teacher, paused, her smile faltering as she assessed Thaine’s intense gaze and animated gestures. Some children giggled at him, their eyes wide with a mix of fascination and fear. A few whispered to one another, their voices hushed but cutting.
“He’s so weird,” one girl snickered, her face scrunching up in disdain. “Why does he always talk about silly lines?”
“Yeah, it’s like he’s from outer space or something,” another boy added, poking fun at Thaine's intensity.
Miss Thompson cleared her throat, attempting to regain control of the room. “Thaine, sweetie, why don’t you draw what you see instead?” she suggested her tone gentle but tinged with an underlying concern. The implicit message was clear: expressing himself through art rather than words would be safer.
Thaine felt his face flush with embarrassment. “But the lines are real! They’re beautiful!” he insisted, his heart racing as he sensed the rising tide of laughter in the room. “You have to believe me!”
A ripple of laughter spread through the children, and Thaine shrank back, feeling the walls close in around him. “See? He really is crazy!” one of the boys shouted, pointing and laughing as Thaine’s enthusiasm transformed into confusion and hurt.
Thaine’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the wide grins and stifled giggles. He felt the sting of rejection pierce his heart, a feeling that resonated deep within him. At that moment, the silver lines, once a source of wonder, felt like a burden he could no longer bear to share.
Feeling small and powerless, he retreated to the corner of the room, where he sat with his crayons, trying to capture the beauty of the lines in the only way he knew how. As he scribbled, the lines on the page seemed to blur, merging into a cacophony of colour that mirrored his swirling thoughts.
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Miss Thompson approached him, kneeling down to his level. “Thaine, why don’t you show me what you’ve drawn?” she asked, her voice softening as she observed his frustration.
He hesitated but eventually turned the paper toward her, revealing an intricate design that twisted and spiralled in ways that only made sense to him. Her eyes widened with surprise, but Thaine could see the confusion lurking behind them.
“That’s... very creative,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Thaine could feel the disconnect between their worlds, an invisible chasm that seemed to grow wider with each passing moment.
As the day wore on, the laughter faded into background noise, but the weight of their disbelief settled heavily on his shoulders. He resolved that he would make them see. He would show the world the beauty of the laws he had come to know, no matter the cost.
When Thaine was two years old, he began to tell people all about these lines, but instead of wonder, they met him with incredulity. The adults looked at him as if he were crazy, their faces masks of concern that only deepened with each passing day. When he continued to speak of the silver lines in more detail as he grew, their disbelief escalated, culminating in a visit to the doctor.
During his examination, the doctor asked Thaine to read the letters on the chart. Thaine squinted, struggling to make sense of the blurry shapes. “I can’t see them clearly,” he mumbled, a sense of frustration washing over him. He felt like he was failing a test he hadn’t studied for, one that involved the very essence of who he was.
The doctor noticed the confusion and quickly referred him to an optometrist, his brow furrowing in concern. After a series of tests, they discovered Thaine needed glasses with a heavy prescription: an O.D. of +6.0 and an O.S. of -5.75. The revelation offered a reason for his trouble reading the letters, but it didn’t explain the silver lines that filled his mind. His parents were relieved that his eyesight had a solution, but as Thaine continued to insist on the beauty of the silver lines, concern began to creep back in.
His eyesight hadn’t seemed poor in daily life, nor had it impeded his playful nature. He was, by all accounts, 100% medically healthy. Yet, the more he insisted on sharing his visions, the more concern grew around him. At just three years old, he began therapy.
His mother first suggested it one evening after a particularly trying day. Thaine had come home from kindergarten bursting with excitement about his latest insights. “Mum, the lines are moving! They’re changing everything!” he proclaimed, hoping to share his joy. But she looked at him, a mixture of love and concern etched on her face.
“Thaine, we need to talk to someone who can help you understand these thoughts better,” she said softly, her voice trembling as if she feared the implications of his words. It was clear she believed he needed guidance, though Thaine could only feel the weight of her worry pressing down on him.
The following week, they found themselves in a small, brightly coloured office filled with plush toys and soothing posters. The therapist, a kind-looking woman with round glasses perched on her nose, greeted them warmly. Thaine sat quietly, clutching his mother’s hand as she explained his unusual thoughts and perceptions.
“He sees things that others don’t,” she said, her voice tinged with concern. “We just want to understand what’s going on in his mind.” Thaine could feel the tension in the air, a palpable unease that settled like a heavy blanket over the room.
“Thaine, can you tell me about these lines?” the therapist asked gently, trying to coax him into sharing.
He hesitated, sensing the weight of her question. “They’re the rules,” he whispered, almost afraid to say it aloud. “They’re what makes everything happen. If you understand them, you can understand why the world is the way it is.”
The therapist nodded, encouraging him to continue, but Thaine could see the concern in her eyes as she glanced at his mother. It was a look he had grown accustomed to—a blend of curiosity and disbelief that made him feel even more isolated.
“What happens if no one else can see them?” the therapist probed, her tone gentle but firm.
Thaine’s heart sank at the implication. “Then they don’t know. They’ll never know.”
From that moment, the silver lines felt less like a gift and more like a curse—an insight into a universe that others dismissed as mere fantasy. As he left the office that day, he looked up at the sky, the silver lines weaving through the clouds in his imagination.
He resolved that he would make them see. He would show the world the beauty of the laws he had come to know, no matter the cost.