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rainbowfic2012-03-02 12:08 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2012-03-02 12:08 pm
Black #3 and Burnt Umber #25
Name: kay_brooke
Story: Unusual Florida
Colors: Black #3 (black eye), Burnt Umber #25 (Serra Geral)
Style/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 771
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; minor violence and mentions of bullying.
Summary: James doesn't mean to hear the things he does.
Notes: I feel like I have to explain the Burnt Umber prompts, since some of them are a stretch. The Serra Geral, if you look at a map, are kind of separated from everything else by water on all four sides. So James wishes he was an island. Or something. Takes place in 1990.
A fist came sailing through the air and suddenly James was on the ground, his whole face throbbing, his lips sticky with tears and the blood dripping out of his nose. Before he even had time to catch his breath, the owner of the first bent down and stared, his long nose nearly touching James's bloodied one, until James met his eyes.
"Stay away from us, freak," the boy hissed, shoving James's head back down toward the pavement before standing up and taking off with his friends, the three of them laughing hard all the way down the block and around the corner.
James stayed where he was for several long moments, watching the blood from his nose drip into patterns on the pavement. He told himself fiercely to stop crying, because crying only made things worse, and he was too old for it besides.
When the bleeding refused to stop, he pulled himself into a kneeling position and pinched his nose shut, wishing he had a Kleenex or something. His sister had put tissues into his bag just that morning, because he'd woken up that day with a minor case of sniffles. Minor enough that his aunt wouldn't let him stay home from school, but Amy had given him the travel packet of tissues all the same. He hadn't used them, of course, because he was good at getting bullied and beat up even without looking like a sissy wimp in front of everyone, but he really wished he had them now.
His bag was gone, though, stolen by his assailants and flung into one of the dumpsters outside the school. He would have to get it back before he went home.
He liked that word, assailant. Not that he would tell anyone. Fifth graders weren't supposed to know that word. It would just be another point against him, something else he could be beat up over.
The blood flow was finally coming to a stop, but his face still hurt all over. He was pretty sure he had been punched in the eye, too, but he wouldn't know that until he got home. He wondered if he could sneak inside without his aunt realizing he'd been fighting again. She was always yelling at him for that, fighting, as if he had any choice in the matter. He had never thrown a punch. Usually the attacks came so quickly and so brutally that he didn't even have time to react before he was flat on his back, or on his stomach, or doubled over in pain while some part of his body bled.
He slumped against the chain link fence that separated the school grounds from the fields on the west side of town. He never saw the attacks coming. He didn't look in people's heads when he was at school, because it was too painful with so many people around and because he had to be careful. Even then he couldn't help it sometimes; people's thoughts just got so loud. And sometimes he couldn't stop himself from saying something about it.
Like today. Billy had been the one to beat him up, Billy who the younger kids were afraid of and who ruled Millinocket Elementary School with his best friends Jason and Roy. James hated Billy, because he was the one who went after James the most.
But today James had seen--he really, really hadn't meant to--that Billy's dad was in the hospital because of a hunting accident. And Billy was terrified that his dad would never get out of the hospital. His sad, fearful thoughts were so loud and so strong that James, even though he hated Billy and even though he thought hunting was a stupid sport that no one should be doing anyway, told the other boy that he hoped his dad got better.
Now James had a black eye and a bloody nose.
He needed to be more careful. He needed to stop talking about things with people if they hadn't, in words, brought it up themselves. Amy kept telling him that. He needed to remember it. He needed to keep himself separate from others, to avoid hearing things he wasn't supposed to, and to avoid making mistakes like the one he had made that day. That was probably why his aunt kept yelling at him about fighting, because it was his fault, wasn't it? Even though he was pretty sure his aunt didn't know about him seeing into other people's heads.
James stood up, bracing himself against the fence, and went to find his bag.
kay_brookeStory: Unusual Florida
Colors: Black #3 (black eye), Burnt Umber #25 (Serra Geral)
Style/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 771
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; minor violence and mentions of bullying.
Summary: James doesn't mean to hear the things he does.
Notes: I feel like I have to explain the Burnt Umber prompts, since some of them are a stretch. The Serra Geral, if you look at a map, are kind of separated from everything else by water on all four sides. So James wishes he was an island. Or something. Takes place in 1990.
A fist came sailing through the air and suddenly James was on the ground, his whole face throbbing, his lips sticky with tears and the blood dripping out of his nose. Before he even had time to catch his breath, the owner of the first bent down and stared, his long nose nearly touching James's bloodied one, until James met his eyes.
"Stay away from us, freak," the boy hissed, shoving James's head back down toward the pavement before standing up and taking off with his friends, the three of them laughing hard all the way down the block and around the corner.
James stayed where he was for several long moments, watching the blood from his nose drip into patterns on the pavement. He told himself fiercely to stop crying, because crying only made things worse, and he was too old for it besides.
When the bleeding refused to stop, he pulled himself into a kneeling position and pinched his nose shut, wishing he had a Kleenex or something. His sister had put tissues into his bag just that morning, because he'd woken up that day with a minor case of sniffles. Minor enough that his aunt wouldn't let him stay home from school, but Amy had given him the travel packet of tissues all the same. He hadn't used them, of course, because he was good at getting bullied and beat up even without looking like a sissy wimp in front of everyone, but he really wished he had them now.
His bag was gone, though, stolen by his assailants and flung into one of the dumpsters outside the school. He would have to get it back before he went home.
He liked that word, assailant. Not that he would tell anyone. Fifth graders weren't supposed to know that word. It would just be another point against him, something else he could be beat up over.
The blood flow was finally coming to a stop, but his face still hurt all over. He was pretty sure he had been punched in the eye, too, but he wouldn't know that until he got home. He wondered if he could sneak inside without his aunt realizing he'd been fighting again. She was always yelling at him for that, fighting, as if he had any choice in the matter. He had never thrown a punch. Usually the attacks came so quickly and so brutally that he didn't even have time to react before he was flat on his back, or on his stomach, or doubled over in pain while some part of his body bled.
He slumped against the chain link fence that separated the school grounds from the fields on the west side of town. He never saw the attacks coming. He didn't look in people's heads when he was at school, because it was too painful with so many people around and because he had to be careful. Even then he couldn't help it sometimes; people's thoughts just got so loud. And sometimes he couldn't stop himself from saying something about it.
Like today. Billy had been the one to beat him up, Billy who the younger kids were afraid of and who ruled Millinocket Elementary School with his best friends Jason and Roy. James hated Billy, because he was the one who went after James the most.
But today James had seen--he really, really hadn't meant to--that Billy's dad was in the hospital because of a hunting accident. And Billy was terrified that his dad would never get out of the hospital. His sad, fearful thoughts were so loud and so strong that James, even though he hated Billy and even though he thought hunting was a stupid sport that no one should be doing anyway, told the other boy that he hoped his dad got better.
Now James had a black eye and a bloody nose.
He needed to be more careful. He needed to stop talking about things with people if they hadn't, in words, brought it up themselves. Amy kept telling him that. He needed to remember it. He needed to keep himself separate from others, to avoid hearing things he wasn't supposed to, and to avoid making mistakes like the one he had made that day. That was probably why his aunt kept yelling at him about fighting, because it was his fault, wasn't it? Even though he was pretty sure his aunt didn't know about him seeing into other people's heads.
James stood up, bracing himself against the fence, and went to find his bag.
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Great job.
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Thank you for reading!
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Thank you for reading!
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Thank you for reading!