#this ain't gonna get any sort of traction why did I do this to myself skhfhfjgjdjdjd

[flowerbloom-arts]

Well uh, thank you @boorishbint for leaving these lovely tags on my post, otherwise I wouldn't have spent, like, almost two hours striaght writing a 1134 word fic depicting an inner monologue by dear old Hodgkins himself and 12 minutes coloring one of my doodles from the original post. I deeply admire your work and I hope that this is atleast enjoyable to you in any sort of capacity.

Cw: death mention (please ask me to add more if needed)

And as I sat on the armchair, book in lap, I stare at it and wonder why this could've possibly happened. My own brother and the love of his life, deceased, with his son left to be in my care. I feel... I'm not quite sure how I feel. It's always been rather difficult for someone such as myself to simply understand my own thoughts, I don't exactly have the ability to articulate these things. I've turned to the tangible things in life when my own abstractions fail me, there seems to be a maze in the back of my throat that makes it difficult to speak more than a few words and I've been so used to my younger brother interpreting my intentions for me, it seemed remarkable how easy it came to him. Now he's gone, I'm left behind for good, with a mere 8 year old sleeping on the sofa next to me. It's almost baffling to me how fate could twist a situation like this and not make it obvious who or what it favours, all I know is, it's not in my favour. I had come to terms that I may never fall for anyone in my life unlike my brother who seemed to take chances with any woman he happened to fancy, it was almost a relief that he found his metaphorical princess after kissing so many frogs, like that one fairytale but backwards, but now it's been a decade since that muddler from across the sea came and had their hearts stolen by the other, and now they're simply... Gone, and I'm still wondering to myself on if there is going to be a funeral for them or not, my brother seemed to not have quite the roster of friendships and any relative of his wife is a complete and utter mystery to me, just like everything else about that Confounder. For someone who has an extremely chatty brother and attended his wedding you'd think I'd know more about that strange thing, but no, just like everything else it appears to be part of this grand yet cruel joke that had it's climax just a week ago and I discovered the punchline just about an hour ago.

What am I to do now? What am I to do with my nephew? I can't simply leave him to an orphanage, I hear they're rather cruel places, so I suppose the other option is taking care of him myself. It'd be too odd for someone unrelated to care for him when his uncle is literally right here, I've already been doing it for the past 5 days since I discovered him starving in an oversized american coffee tin for 2 days since spring cleaning was supposed to start, I might as well. There really isn't anything to lose if I do, is there? Only problem is that I don't exactly understand other people, children especially, and I've never been familiar with his species in the slightest. Muddlers are a very rare sight if they do in fact live anywhere near here and not just across the atlantic, I might need to do a bit of research before I understand anything about parenting or muddlers as a whole. I might also need to find a partner to help care for him, but that seems far too daunting for me, there are far too many factors to list...

I am in completely unfamiliar territory here, it's almost laughable how all these pieces culminated into a situation I could never even dream of being in, it's a nightmare scenario if I were to be honest. And thinking this, I realize now that I'm feeling... Uncertain. Scared. Hopeless perhaps- things I'm lead to believe comes with parenting, except the circumstances are simply much worse than what would've ever been described to me, so much worse. I have yet to think about what to tell this child when he wakes up for goodness' sake, what am I to tell him? I could keep my mouth shut but eventually he'll pester me with questions if my lack of response bothers him, I will admit he is his father's son from what I could tell of him. Telling him his parents died is far too harsh, does he even understand what death is? Am I going to have to explain what death is to an 8 year old child? He was crying over a button getting lost under a drawer, I can't imagine the devastation he'd feel for something like this! I myself am already devastated at this, I can't handle such a thing right now! And that only leaves lying to his face about it, a white lie, sure, but a lie nonetheless. I'm nowhere near creative enough for something like that, I'm so bad at acting it'd be a miracle if he were to believe me.

Think, Samuel, think! You're supposed to be the smart one, academically gifted, aspiring inventor, why in the bloody hell can't you think of anything good to say to a child? You were a child once, surely you should know how you'd feel if anything about this sort of situation was said to you! But you were a strange child in comparison to others- your nephew isn't a younger you, he's far more like his father, you should know something with that atleast! Or atleast- an approximation of what you should say! Why does this have to be so difficult!? Why did any of this have to transpire? This can't possibly be your fault in any way but why does it feel like it is? Why can't you be a normal creature and just know what to say? Why can't you be normal and feel things everyone else is able to feel? Why are you like this? Why is this happening? What is going to happen now? Part of me hopes I could just stay in this moment and avoid the inevitable confrontation with my nephew about the whereabouts of his parents but I know that simply isn't possible, it's going to happen, if not today then some other day...

Looking at him- the Muddler- my own nephew, sleeping peacefully and blissfully unaware of what is going on, it feels... Melancholic, for a lack of a better word that comes to mind. I look back down at my brother's book of poems, or anthology, 'the Ocean Orchestra', this was his one achievement outside of his personal ones such as marriage and having a child, and it's practically the only thing of his creation I bother to own... My mind still wanders back to what I should say to Muddler. And I whisper to myself, softly and sadly, salted with my own frustrations towards myself...

"What to tell him...?"