He could care less. His face seem etched with a grin, his first actual smile that he could remember, and his arm was feeling better than it ever had even as that beloved warmth began to fade. As he felt the grip of sleep begin to take him, he was almost startled to realize that he was happy that the Loud Man had threatened to keep him here in the dark for days. Hopefully that would be enough time to feel that warmth again.
He awoke early. He knew the Loud Man would wake last, the question was if they would force him to cook or hope he would die. He honestly hope death was the choice, it would give him time to try and do the warmth again. He reached under the loose edge of his special floorboard, and pulled out the plastic bag he had hidden from the trash months ago. He store his punishment food in there, along with the three bottles of water he had carefully hidden over time. Now was the time to use these resources, so much could be gained if he could stay strong enough. That warmth was a need for him now.
As he bit into one of the scraps of crusts that Dudley always had cut off his sandwiches, he tried to feel the light again. His chest didn't feel chilled any more, and his arm had never felt this good before. He grinned again, as he held his arms out. One was obviously much longer now, and didn't have any odd bumps or slight twists any more. And if he could do it once, why not again?
He felt through his body, feeling for the worst of the pain. Apparently much of it was already healed. It had happened before, but he now suspected it was the threads, the green warmth. Well, if nothing was hurt, he could pretend. He had pretended to be fine, full, happy. Pretending to be in pain was easy by comparison. Closing his eyes, he tried to feel his left arm as if it had been as hurt, no, MORE hurt than last night.
It was sudden, and his eyes were startled open. Unlike last night, when it had been so hard to even keep that hair of light alive, his thread was already leaping down his left side. It felt like he had untwisted an arm, or straightened a leg that had fallen asleep. The thread felt so natural, yes warm, but normal! Compared to last night, he felt like someone trying to lift a car and finding out it was made of foam.
He grinned unconsciously as he watched his left arm... but he couldn't see the glow. He started to frown. Last night had been beautiful, why could he not see it now? Was it because it was too bright? He closed his eyes, and he could see a faint sheen, but not the glorious thread from last night. Why?
His pain. Last night, he had felt pain in his whole body, but now he did not. His headache was gone, even from the punch he got in his left eye. He moved the thread up his neck, feeling cricks and creaks and that heavenly warmth. It had to be that the green light had been healing his eyes. That must have been why he could see the thread. As the thread moved up his neck, he could feel it moving toward his brain.
White light shone everywhere, so bright he couldn't scream. The warmth was his body, no, this warmth was the WORLD!
He didn't feel his body collapse back on the mattress, and he wouldn't wake today when his torturers made loud noises as they lived their wretched lives.
Green. The world was green, and it was fog. He was surrounded by fog, and it felt warm and alive! How long had he been here? Years? Seconds? He looked down, and his body was nude. It didn't bother him, no one was here, nothing was here. Just him and the warmth. It pulsed, it was growing and twisting. However, he felt a need to do something. He stumbled, his toes suddenly touching grass as a world was exposed before him. Everything was still green, but it felt familiar.
This was like the yard he toiled in, but it wasn't. The grass was thick, and it went on in all directions. He looked up, green fog fading as a blue clear sky stretched out. No sun existed. Still, the air smelled sweet, like that flower he had found once before the Thin Woman got angry and destroyed it. Lily? Yes, it smelled like Lily blossoms, and the wind almost caressed his face.
Time passed. He felt a little guilty enjoying this, laying on the grass. As the clouds rolled by, he could see images in them, but he felt so far away. They seemed to be the past, times he had been hurt or sad. He frowned. This was his sky, clouds should go away. He felt so strong here, so powerful. No cloud should make this place feel dark or overcast. He reached his hands up and thought. What would work?
He once saw a snow-globe, when he was even younger. Dudley had thrown it away, and he got to play with it for almost a whole day before it was taken. Even with a crack and leak, it had been pretty. He called his thread.
From his hands, many threads came forth. He was shocked, these threads were like ropes! Still, they felt like that one green hair-light he had controlled, a part of him. Using them felt like grabbing a cup of water he had just sat down, slightly out of sight. Almost automatic. The cloud he grabbed was pulled closer, and he leaned forward, trying to see what exactly this was.
The images got larger, and the rumble of thunder became voices. This was a memory! One of his Christmases, no less. The one where he got caught looking at the tree from the crack in the cupboard. Well, it was not really that unpleasant but it should not be here, just floating around. He cupped the cloud in his light, green threads wrapping tightly, weaving into a half sphere. With a smile he reached up and grabbed the cloud, now compressed into a tiny snow globe with text on the bottom, marking the time and contents.
He looked around. Where to put this though? Snow globes were fun, but he didn't want to look at this all day. And what if someone came in here, and tried to hurt his stuff? They always did before. He tried to think. What could he do to keep this wonderful place, but still protect and hide things?
A secret place. Like what his tiny room had turn into, but this one would not be dark. He reached under his feet and felt the grass. It continued for miles, so this would probably be safe, right? He stood, held his arms wide, and pushed the ropes of green warmth into the soil. A large square of grass raised as if on a hinge, and a polished set of wood stairs led down into a gleaming white coridor. He smiled a little, crisp green eyes filled with humor. Hidden didn't have to mean buried among lots of complex toys like Dudley's room, hidden only meant that it could not be found. He walked into the white corridor, and pulsed his light, making it reach forever under the soil. He knew that even digging above would not find this white wood hall, you had to find the entrance first.. and that is how the rest will work too.