Geena (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
geena) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2012-02-26 03:09 pm
geena) wrote in rainbowfic2012-02-26 03:09 pm
Entry tags:
Arsenic 14
Author: geena
Color: Arsenic 14. morphine
Styles and Supplies: Paint-by-numbers ([Killing the pain.]), feathers (Your character comes home to an empty house), fabric
Word Count: 634
Rating: G
Story: _____; the title of this story is Lonesome.
Summary: It's an average day in his life-- which might be the most depressing thing of all.
Notes: This takes place before Jason, when they're both about thirteen or fourteen.
***
To be honest, he’s not quite sure what happened to his mother. She left, which is the important part, and his father refuses to talk about it. If you ask him, it’s probably a good thing that she’s not around anymore-- who wants a mother that doesn’t even care enough to stay?
But that does mean that it’s just him and his father now, in that dusty old house with the broken door and the peeling paint. Just him and his father creeping around one another like this thing between them will shatter if they step with too sure a foot.
It’s lonely.
***
Every morning he wakes up before his alarm goes off. He scrambles to find clean clothes, to shower and brush his teeth with a minimal amount of noise. His father is usually gone by this time, working at this site or that one, but the echoes of his morning routine are deafening in that house, so he slinks from one room to the next.
He goes about his morning ablutions in a daze, his mind drifting from one dream to the next. His every gesture is tinged with longing.
They meet six blocks from his house, on the corner of Elmhurst and Brighton. She is always there before him and if he lets himself think about it-- which he never does-- he suspects that she’s usually out of her house by sunrise. Neither of them say a word during the walk to school.
Sometimes, he’ll slip a hand into hers and it is in those moments that he truly feels at peace.
***
School is.
It isn’t tough, but it isn’t a breeze. He has perfected the art of blending into the background, so he’s usually left alone-- by teachers and other students alike. He ambles through the motions of tests, lectures, and homework, never fully committing himself to the tasks at hand.
School just is.
They sit in the corner of the cafeteria and he splits his lunch with her. Watching her tear into half of a bologna sandwich, head tipped down so that her hair creates a cover she can hide behind, sends a shock of ice through his chest. He wants to rescue her, a thought that rises like bile in his throat.
They part ways with the ring of the bell and for the next three hours he coasts.
***
“Ready?” There are circles under her eyes that he doesn’t want to ask about.
“Yeah.” They turn left on Hazel. “My dad’s gone for a few more hours. You should come over.”
Briefly, her expression lights up. There’s nothing satisfying in it. “Thanks.”
“I finished the Calc homework in study hall. You can copy it if you want.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she says, and if it’s less casual than she meant it, neither of them will admit it.
She seeks out his touch and they don’t speak for the next half-hour.
***
After she leaves, he cobbles together a solitary dinner. When his father pulls into the drive, the pickup grumbling in protest every inch of the way, he hurries to his room and closes the door behind him with a finality he doesn’t feel.
“Son?” The knock reverberates through his every nerve. “Did you eat?”
It takes him two tries to find his voice. “Yeah. There’s some leftovers in the fridge.”
There is no response, but that’s fine with him.
Just fine.
***
His mother left long ago-- he barely remembers her. His father can’t bear to look him in the eyes when he is home-- and that’s the best case scenario. His teachers don’t see him and his classmates avoid him-- he prides himself on this level of invisibility.
But he has her, and that makes it all the less lonely.
Mostly.
***
geenaColor: Arsenic 14. morphine
Styles and Supplies: Paint-by-numbers ([Killing the pain.]), feathers (Your character comes home to an empty house), fabric
Word Count: 634
Rating: G
Story: _____; the title of this story is Lonesome.
Summary: It's an average day in his life-- which might be the most depressing thing of all.
Notes: This takes place before Jason, when they're both about thirteen or fourteen.
***
To be honest, he’s not quite sure what happened to his mother. She left, which is the important part, and his father refuses to talk about it. If you ask him, it’s probably a good thing that she’s not around anymore-- who wants a mother that doesn’t even care enough to stay?
But that does mean that it’s just him and his father now, in that dusty old house with the broken door and the peeling paint. Just him and his father creeping around one another like this thing between them will shatter if they step with too sure a foot.
It’s lonely.
***
Every morning he wakes up before his alarm goes off. He scrambles to find clean clothes, to shower and brush his teeth with a minimal amount of noise. His father is usually gone by this time, working at this site or that one, but the echoes of his morning routine are deafening in that house, so he slinks from one room to the next.
He goes about his morning ablutions in a daze, his mind drifting from one dream to the next. His every gesture is tinged with longing.
They meet six blocks from his house, on the corner of Elmhurst and Brighton. She is always there before him and if he lets himself think about it-- which he never does-- he suspects that she’s usually out of her house by sunrise. Neither of them say a word during the walk to school.
Sometimes, he’ll slip a hand into hers and it is in those moments that he truly feels at peace.
***
School is.
It isn’t tough, but it isn’t a breeze. He has perfected the art of blending into the background, so he’s usually left alone-- by teachers and other students alike. He ambles through the motions of tests, lectures, and homework, never fully committing himself to the tasks at hand.
School just is.
They sit in the corner of the cafeteria and he splits his lunch with her. Watching her tear into half of a bologna sandwich, head tipped down so that her hair creates a cover she can hide behind, sends a shock of ice through his chest. He wants to rescue her, a thought that rises like bile in his throat.
They part ways with the ring of the bell and for the next three hours he coasts.
***
“Ready?” There are circles under her eyes that he doesn’t want to ask about.
“Yeah.” They turn left on Hazel. “My dad’s gone for a few more hours. You should come over.”
Briefly, her expression lights up. There’s nothing satisfying in it. “Thanks.”
“I finished the Calc homework in study hall. You can copy it if you want.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she says, and if it’s less casual than she meant it, neither of them will admit it.
She seeks out his touch and they don’t speak for the next half-hour.
***
After she leaves, he cobbles together a solitary dinner. When his father pulls into the drive, the pickup grumbling in protest every inch of the way, he hurries to his room and closes the door behind him with a finality he doesn’t feel.
“Son?” The knock reverberates through his every nerve. “Did you eat?”
It takes him two tries to find his voice. “Yeah. There’s some leftovers in the fridge.”
There is no response, but that’s fine with him.
Just fine.
***
His mother left long ago-- he barely remembers her. His father can’t bear to look him in the eyes when he is home-- and that’s the best case scenario. His teachers don’t see him and his classmates avoid him-- he prides himself on this level of invisibility.
But he has her, and that makes it all the less lonely.
Mostly.
***