Chapter Text
Spamton wasn’t quite sure he had a soul.
Of course he never meant that wholeheartedly, every human had a soul, it’s what kept them alive.
Humans held a lot of different beliefs regarding their souls; different superstitions based on their appearance.
So for humans, the easiest way to find out about someone was to look them in the eyes.
Humans typically looked the same, they only came in so many shapes, sizes, and colours. Those colours essentially being different shades of browns and yellows, you could definitely find a human with red hair if you got lucky.
But the most distinct part of them was their eyes. Which reflected the very colour of their soul. Shades of colours that stretched across the entire colour spectrum.
The colour of your eyes always tells people a lot about you, the values that radiate from the deepest part of your being. The kind of person you are, the things you believe in.
To Spamton however, it was all nonsense.
His brothers had always basked in the attention they’d been given for their eyes.
His oldest brother Rose, had soft pink eyes. Delicate and sweet was what people assumed about him at a glance, the pretty colour had always given him attention from girls when they were teenagers.
But his brothers knew that he wasn’t all cute and innocent. Rose had quite the ego, and often used his good reputation to get away with playing tricks and pranks on random strangers in their town. Spamton could never say that he’d hated Rose, but part of him has always wished he stood true to the more delicate persona he held in public.
The brother right after Rose was Iris, Spamton's personal favourite of his siblings. Iris had dazzling blue eyes that shifted from a deep navy like the ocean, to a bright sky blue depending on the lighting. Iris was quite the softy, he wore his heart on his sleeve and always made sure everyone around him knew just how much he cared. Iris was always favoured by the older folks at church, who praised his manners and good behaviour. Spamton had always appreciated the never ending gifts blue had found for him and his brothers, whether it was a rock that ‘reminded me of you’ to a whole bouquet that he'd grown himself in his flower garden.
The middle brother was Chris, with bright and aggressive orange eyes. Despite how often he told people his full name was Christopher, his brothers all knew his full name was chrysanthemum. There was always that part of Spamton that disliked that about Chris, that he could decide that Chrysanthemum wasn’t what fit him and everyone had just.. been okay.
In fact it often irked Spamton that his brothers had such feminine and dainty names, and yet no one had ever doubted that they were exactly who they claimed to be.
Chris was quite the character, bold and impulsive. He insisted that everyone listen to his whims and never gave anyone else even a second to speak. People had often sworn that they could see a hint of red shine in his eyes whenever he was fired up. Which was funny considering he’d once popped a blood vessel in his eye staining the whites of it red for a couple weeks when they were super young.
He always had a knack for finding new ways to get himself hurt.
And right before Spamton was Sunny. Sunny has bright yellow eyes that always seemed to be turned upwards because well, there wasn't a time that Sunny wasn’t smiling. He was chipper, and cheerful, and the strongest out of the five of them. Ever since he was little he would run laps around the stone streets of the town and get his brothers to count how long it took. Each chore for Sunny was a challenge. He used his strength for a lot of good when he was older. Manual labour pays, so Sunny was the one who took all the shifts possible when their parents had passed.
And then there was Spamton.
Who in his eyes had no colour at all.
Staring at himself in the mirror each morning was always a sad reminder, as if he would randomly wake up one day with eyes that shone a crimson red or vibrant green. But Spamton's eyes were just a sad white void, looking close you could see he still had an Iris, but from afar it gave Spamton the appearance of simply having a pupil and nothing else.
Many people meeting Spamton for the first time would jump in shock before taking a few seconds to realize…Spamton soul was just white, plain, and some people didn’t believe he had one.
To him it felt like his existence from day one brought shame and fear to his family, the midwives who came to look after his mother after giving birth even wondered if Spamton's mother had an affair with some kind of monster. Which to him wouldn’t be that much of a surprise, spamton was never really normal ( at least he never felt like it)
Unlike his brothers Spamton never bothered to get along with the adults in his life, he never spoke to the women at church who seemed to adore his brothers, he never spent time chatting with the other children, and above all he hated going to the market with his family.
While Spamton loved his mother dearly, he often felt like he couldn’t be more than a project for his mother. She would always fuss about Spamton dressing right, impressing the people at church, he needed to be the perfect child and never let anyone get the impression that he was anything like the wild things people assumed about him.
He’d been absolutely destroyed when his mother had passed, but the grief was made easier when he was finally able to exist without the pressure. He felt no shame in cutting all of his hair and tucking all those ridiculous dresses into the back of his closet.
Speaking of his hair, when Spamton became a teenager, there was something that had started to change in its colour. Right at the roots Spamton had begun to grow thin streaks of white, seeing the white almost broke all confidence he had spent his whole life up till that point building. And it certainly hadn’t helped when his brothers began to mock him, joking about how he must’ve grown up too fast and had now become an old man.
He wanted desperately to shut down the teasing the second his brothers said anything about his new feature.
But how could Spamton ever when that was the first time he has ever been called something of the sort. An old man, sure it was meant as a joke but it was worlds better than everything he'd been called since he was a kid.
In fact, Spamton's identity has always been a confusing subject for his four brothers, after his mother had passed they had all assumed the short hair and the baggy clothes had just been a part of the grieving process. Spamton had every right to be sad and upset, it only made sense that some things would be different for a little while.
But none of them expected it to stick for so long, and the weirdest part was. The longer he went with his short hair and new clothes, the happier he began to look. He would laugh out loud, joke and run and do things like a normal teenager. All of these things were such a change for his brothers, who only knew their sister to be a delicate little flower who never spoke.
Once the jokes about being an old man started, each brother slowly began to refer to Spam more masculinity, calling him dude or brother on occasion. It started as lighthearted jokes like ‘the short hair makes me feel like I got a new brother in the house’. Until they had sat him down to have a deeper conversation.
They had all told Spamton that they’ve seen the way he's changed, and that Spam had clearly felt more joyful and happy when he was referred to as their brother instead of their sister. And if Spamton really felt happier, they were more than happy to keep calling him that if he wanted. Spamton lost it at that, never in a million years could he have believed that his brothers were so willing to drop everything that they’d known of him as kids, and that they had brought it up themselves. It was mind blowing that they had been able to accept him right there. While it took many long months for Spamton to fully swap his wardrobe, and find his new name for himself, every step felt so much easier when he had all his brothers behind him.
And Spamton was finally able to just be himself.
The day had started extremely normal, which also meant boring. Spamton had woken up to an empty house, knowing it was Wednesday his brothers were likely at church. Spamton had never gone on any day other than Sunday, and his brothers had never forced him to come. He was sure they heard all the things people said about him just as much as Spamton. So on Wednesdays and Fridays he would always have some alone time in the morning.
For the last year Spam had been working as a postman, delivering mail all across town. And seeing as he would always come home before supper, there wasn't often much mail to deliver.
So Spamton slowly went through the motions of his daily routine, he washed up, combed his hair, and cut himself a small piece of bread to eat for breakfast alongside some berries. And then came his favourite part of the morning.
Before Spamton headed out to work, he opened the window near the front door and spent some time listening to the birds. Spamton always had a soft spot for little animals, bugs and rodents. But his favourite animals were birds, he'd spent time learning what species would fly over the town during each season, and he even taught himself different bird calls. He loved whistling to them and hearing their reactions, but the best way to call to them was with his violin.
Spamton had been playing the violin since he was nine, so it’s been well over a decade. And Spamton loves using his skills to play for the birds, nothing could beat the feeling when they would chirp and sing his songs back to them. Unfortunately it was always too early to play with them every morning before work, Spamton still had neighbours and enough people seemed annoyed by Spamton's presence. ( there was no way he would risk getting more negative attention)
But that’s when Spamton had gotten an idea. His deliveries were never timed, as long as the mail was delivered by the end of the day it wouldn’t matter when they got it. Spamton could well take a few moments during the day to rest and play, around about an hour after noon the birds were always gathered in small groups right outside the walls of the town. Nothing was stopping him from taking some alone time (alone with some bird at least) and he could keep delivering mail once he was done.
It was decided, Spamton could take his instrument with him on his route and take some time to unwind with nature. It was such a good idea spamton had no idea why he hadn’t thought of it before, the jobs his brothers all had required at least fifteen minutes to breathe and have a break. Maybe Spamton intended on taking a bit more then fifteen minutes, but his job was a lot easier and low maintenance then the jobs his brothers chose. He had the time to relax for a bit.
Spamton went upstairs and grabbed his case, he connected a back strap to the case and fit it over his shoulder. With a makeshift backpack in place he rushed to put his shoes on and draped one of his bigger coats over himself to cover his violin case, and headed off to work. He picked up letters and small packages from the tiny little shack that was the post office, and gathered most of the mail into a large sack, while holding a larger bundle of letters in his hand.
He spent the first few hours of his shift going house to house weaving letters through the mail slots, and leaving smaller wrapped items on windowsills. He’d successfully delivered all the letters wrapped together in his arms but still had a few items to deliver in his sack. Once the church bells had rung twice, Spamton decided that now was the best time to take a stroll.
Coming to the edge of the stone wall that surrounded the town, Spamton left through an old wooden gate that opened up to the forest. While there were large paved paths that lead to the other towns and villages in the general area, Spamton preferred to walk down a small foot path that led into the woods. He knew of a lake that existed in this general direction, but Spamton wasn't the most familiar with every path he took, still he journeyed through the forest turning on different corners until the paths he walked through became a little less clear.
When Spamton was sure he was alone and secluded, he found the remnants of a fallen tree, and took a seat.
His brain was so ready to pull out his instrument and play with the birds but he hadn’t exactly considered how tired he was after the long walk. He only noticed how heavy he was breathing once he took a second to sit down. So instead of rushing, Spamton chose to sit and listen to the sounds of nature for a moment and collect himself.
But after sitting for a minute, Spamton could hear something in the distance.
~♪~
It sounded like.
~♫~
Music.
For a moment Spamton had sworn he was just hearing it in his mind, but after a moment it became much clearer. Someone was playing a very delicate melody.
Something about it was just so… enchanting. Without even thinking Spamton had already risen to his feet, the melody itself carried through the forest and danced through the trees like wind. Spamton was sure the music came from father away, but it somehow sounded like whoever was playing stood right next to him.
It felt like his legs were moving on their own as he walked through thin openings in the trees, over stones and branches until he wove his way through them to an empty passage right before the lake.
Sat on a large piece of stone right before the water was a tall man, covered in a deep red cloak that obscured his whole body. Spamton wasn’t able to make out anything about this man’s appearance, or what he was playing. So instead of potentially scaring the man, Spamton chose to speak up and make his presence known.
“Excuse me sir”
The stranger had paused his song and all of a sudden it had felt like a veil was lifted over Spamton's eyes.
“I um… just wanted to tell you your song was very beautiful. May I ask what you are playing?”
The resonance of the tall stranger's voice was very startling to Spamton, who straightened his posture the moment the man began to speak.
“It is a lyre… are you familiar with the harp?”
“Oh! Um… I have heard of them, yes. But I can’t say I’ve ever seen one before.” There was no way that his small town would ever sell something of that high quality, it’s not like he was from a very wealthy part of the country.
“A lyre is much like a harp, though it is much smaller. The lyre was built to fit in your hands. It would be very strange for someone to carry a harp out into the woods, no?” The tall man’s voice seemed to shake near the end, a very strange attempt at a joke.
“ ahaha… I ah- couldn’t imagine someone going through all the trouble. If I may ask, would it be alright if I played with you?”
The stranger hadn’t given a response to that, Spamton elaborated in the hopes he was just confused.
“You see, I’ve brought my violin with me. I had intended to play it on my own… I wasn’t expecting there to be anyone else in these woods.”
The large man had taken a deep breath in… and then out. Despite it being such a standard gesture, Spamton couldn’t help but hold his own breath while he waited for the man’s response.
“You are very welcome to play with me,” Spamton let out his breath “if I may request you stay about where you are now.”
Weird thing to ask. “You do not want me to be close to you?”
“I do not wish to be seen at the moment, I hope this is not too bold of a request.”
“No it’s certainly not! But I just don’t understand why you would not want to be seen”
“You’d be surprised at the reaction people have upon looking at me…”
Spamton had a quick chuckle at that, If only this stranger had known exactly how people seemed to jump out of their skin looking him in the eyes.
“I wouldn’t be surprised at all…” Spamton quickly realized how wrong that sounded “not that I believe there’s something wrong about the way you look! I’m sure it’s perfectly fine! it’s… um, I know how that feels. My appearance has startled quite a few people before.
If you wish for me to stay here, I will respect that.”
“Thank you young man. Now, are you familiar with neverending night?”
“Yes! Yes I am” Spamton had slowly taken the violin case he had over his shoulder and sat on the grass to open it.
Spamton slowly got comfortable, sitting cross legged and placing the chin rest against his chin and rising his bow in anticipation.
“I’ll begin, and feel free to follow my lead” offered the stranger as he quickly gave a few test plucks to his instrument.
The man began to play, and again came that overwhelming presence that seemed to flow right into Spamton's brain and through his body. It was so strong it nearly distracted Spamton from following along. But he took a second to brace himself and began to play alongside the stranger.
~♬~
The feeling was indescribable. Like the music they played carried throughout the whole forest embedding itself inside every single nerve in Spamtons body.
To Spamton, the music itself has become its own creature, it danced and sung in his mind and he swore he could see that he and the stranger were glowing in tandem with the music.
When the music ended, it felt like a giant stone was placed on Spamton's body. Playing with the man had felt like flying for the first time, and now that he was back on the ground, he felt dull.
“Thank you…” words felt like tree sap in his mouth, thick and heavy. His brain was screaming at him to say more but he just couldn’t.
The only sound left was the whistling of the wind, and the stranger finally spoke again.
“You play very well young man, I hope you intend on coming here again?”
Nearly every sentence out of the man felt like it ended with a question, keeping the conversation going was troubling for Spamton. He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke with another human that wasn't one of his brothers, at times he often forgot that conversations required both parties to actively participate. “That would be very nice sir um… before I leave, may I have your name?”
Very strangely, the man giggled. “No, you may not have my name. I’d very much like to keep it. But if you wish to know my name, please call me Anthony.”
“Oh! haha, that’s funny. But, um… I best be going back now. Thank you again for letting me play with you Anthony… sir.”
The man huffed very loudly “Well pardon me? I've told you my name, are you not going to reciprocate the gesture?” Fuck right, conversations
“My apologies! ahem my name is Spamton.”
“Thank you mister Spamton, please do come back another time. I very much enjoyed playing with you. Enjoy your evening.” As Spamton moved to put his instrument away and grab his bag, it seemed the stranger hadn’t moved at all. Does he plan on staying here for the rest of the day? Surely someone with his elegant vocabulary and strange instrument must be fortunate enough to spend all his time in the wilderness playing music.
And still as Spamton moved back to the space in the trees he maneuvered out of, he gave once last glance behind to see the man still hadn’t moved. Certainly strange, but it felt weird to demand that he moved just to ease Spamton's curious mind, so Spamton let it go. Spamton found his way back to the path and walked back home.
He wasn’t exactly sure what time it was when he returned to town, but seeing as the sun was still out, it was safe to assume he hadn’t been out for too long. Finishing his route, Spamton ended the day by returning his empty sack back to the little post shop, and returning home.
Rose and Christoper were already inside when Spamton opened the door. They seemed to be making dinner together, giggling about some girl that Chris had spoken to at the market. “Evening! I’m back.” Spamton announced as he shut the door and pink jumped (for joy) at the sight of him. “Spam, good timing, we’re just having some soup and bread for dinner. Orange bought some meat that we put in the broth from yesterday.” The brothers had a strange habit of referring to each other with their respective eye colours, Spamton never liked being included in their strange antics. Being called while always reminded him that he felt wrong, but there was never a problem calling his brothers by their weird names.
“That sounds nice Pink, I’ll be a minute, just want to freshen up.” Spamton made his way upstairs and placed his violin case in his closet, he switched out his coat for a more standard house shirt, and finally gave his hair a quick comb before returning downstairs to help set up dinner. Spamton set the plates and bowls for soup on the table and with the help of his two brothers, dinner was perfectly arranged with equal portions for everyone (except Sunny who always ate more)
They gave a few minutes for the other two to arrive.
Eventually Iris and Sunny came home and they all ate together around the table. Sharing stories of their day and laughing at the ridiculous things that people had said to Iris at the fabric store. Eventually dinner was done and Iris took charge in washing most of the dishes with the help of Sunny and Spamton.
That night all that Spamton could think about was the stranger he had met. The man had spoken with such a strong and deep voice, but when he giggled it was so bright and cheerful. To Spamton, how he spoke during their conversation sounded almost like an act. As if Anthony was playing a character. But his music carried so much honesty, Spamton had never felt like the music he played ever had feelings like it did today.
The music from today almost felt like it spoke to Spamton, told him things his brain couldn’t understand, as if it spoke a language he didn’t know.
As Spamton drifted off to sleep, his mind filled with the memories of music.
And he fell asleep to the thought of a gentle voice singing to him,
guiding him towards his dreams,
calling to him as he drifted off to sleep.