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 Posted: Tue Oct 06, 2009 10:33 pm
Drabble: A shop in... (Pre-negaverse)
Chinatown.
One of the more desolate parts of the city: the summer plague of tourists having left their merry way had reduced the strip of foreign shops into a sleepy hollow of its own. Fading red lanterns flickered tattered ribbons in the wind while doorchimes sat patiently like lazy cats on an eternal Saturday afternoon. Nothing moved: it was questionable even if the stores had shopowners to run it, or had just been abandoned altogether, inhabited by invisible Chinese ghosts.
Toby looked left and right, hesitantly, before slipping out from behind a large dumpster. He had to be careful to wade carefully, every inch of the alleyway was covered in unmentionable trash: the garbage man had probably forgotten this section of town even existed.
However, Tobias had not. For a pre-teenager who's hobbies consisted of shirking his homework and intermittently appearing at school (despite them threatening to kick him out three times, it seems the teachers were so preoccupied none of them had actually gotten past the threatening stage), this sleepy section of Chinatown was his playground.
He passed by one of the stores, windows dusted with ornaments that could probably each tell a story of their own, had they not been abstractly covered with a thick blanket of dust. Chinese dragons made of wood and jade stared at him from inside glass displays, lossy eyes wishing to tell stories of their glory days. Another store held solely Qi Paos made of delicate silk, designs so abstract and furious, Toby squinted into the murky corridors and wondered what possessed tailor had come up with such fervor.
One by one he passed the stores, a child lost in a dusty, sleepy, wonderland. His journey stopped at the last store on the block.
They must have been new to this town, he for sure did not remember such a store. A major indicator was that the windows had been polished clean, the doors vainly decorated with all sorts of 'welcome' ribbons (mostly in Chinese, though Toby wasn't sure exactly what it was they said); there even was a small 'fortune cat' statue sitting outside, one paw waving up and down at invisible customers. Curiousity got the better of him, and he pressed one hand against the window, leaning forward on the glass, trying to get a better look past the boxes and boxes of packaging. He could just make out some strange plastic toys, they looked familiar, and he squinted to try and get a better look...
"Like what you see kid?"
For someone who was supposed to be a master of sneakiness himself, Toby jumped a foot, yelping rather loudly and nearly loosing his sense of balance. Guiltily he took his hand off the glass, face reddening.
It was an old man, almost painfully stereotypically in the image of the 'Old Chinese Fogey'. He was wearing a watered down version of the traditional qi pao in grey: a set of glasses adorned his thin face, his mouth pulled into a perpetual frown from the shape of his lengthy white beard. However, the man's eyes wrinkled in a smile, and he grinned, showing his yellowed teeth. "I said, you like what you see? I'm still unpacking but there's a lot inside too."
And with that the man pushed open the door, and it jangled with all its paper decorations in protest before revealing its pathway to the murky darkness.
Toby stared. It took him a second to realize this strange man was inviting him into his shop, and he almost instinctively jumped into the rabbit hole from sheer curiousity, but for once, common sense held him back. "Um, wait a sec sir." His ears reddened. "I-its a nice shop, but I dont actually have any money."
"Money this, money that!! Why always talk about money?!"
Toby jumped again, boggling that the old man could have such a pair of lungs. "Excuse me sir?" He managed to ask, both confused and a little frightened by the other's attitude.
Yet, the twinkle in the shopkeeper's eyes betrayed his serious composure. He grinned again, both creepy and yet increasingly familiar. "Kids these days should not care about money. If you want to look, look. If you dont want to look, you look at something you like!" He pulled out a strangely colourful magazine from his pocket. "I have this. You want to look at instead?"
Toby stared down at the magazine, and if possible, turned even more red than he could. A scantily clad Asian lady stared at him, extremities conveniently covered by the old man's fingergrasp on the cover. He immediately looked up, trying to pretend he didn't see it in a true teenage virgin fashion. "U-umm no thanks sir!!!!" Wait, crap, what if he offended that old dude? "I-its nice, but I'm still thirteen and um um-"
The shopkeeper simply chuckled, putting the offending parchment back into whatever pandimensional recesses of space his pockets were made out of. He shook the door a bit, letting it jingle once more. "Then perhaps, you are looking for something else?"
Well, it was a new shop, and Toby would have never in any other situation given up the chance to explore something different and strange. It looks like all hesitations finally cleared, he wasn't going to pass up this offer too.
A sliver of sunlight had crept through the doorway and into the vague box packaging inside, revealing strange and glimmering curiousities. Toby grinned.
"I'm always looking for something else!"
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Posted: Tue Oct 13, 2009 5:51 pm
Drabble: Lucid Dreams:
He straightened his tie. It flopped, crooked, to one side, threatening to come loose a the next touch. His whole blazer ensemble didn't make him feel any better, neither was the fact that his head felt so heavy due to the huge amounts of gel that finally was able to tame most of his wild hair.
"Mom," Toby grumbled, resisting the urge to scratch himself in inappropriate places. "Do I have to go?"
His mother was a nice lady, if you were on the recieving side of her graces. Hair artificially renewed to an almost unnaturally lustrous black, she looked more like a woman who had sauntered out of a femme fatale novel than one who would even consider raising a child. She sighed, and adjusted his floppy tie for him. "Look dear, this is important to me. I know you didn't have time to-" she rubbed one eye with her hand, was she about to cry? -" bond with your grandfather, but at least come with me to pay his respects."
Without another word, Toby nodded. He looked at the rows of people dressed in black, some staring blankly into space, others consoling each other. Most of them were from family members he didn't even recognize.
He watched his mom step onto the podium, next to the funeral casket. She was saying something, but he was a little bored, listening instead to the tap-tap of his feet on the chair.
-"It marks the end of a great man, and the beginning of a legacy." Having said her final words at the ceremony, Tobias's mother sat down, next to her son, one hand dabbing her eyes with her hankerchief, makeup staining the white fabric.
Toby looked around, still distracted. He frowned. He guessed dad couldn't make it after all.
*
A year ago
Toby giggled as his father tickled him with his whiskers. "Dad, let me go!" He pouted, he was ten years old and shouldn't have to be picked up! "I'm not a kid anymore!"
His dad looked genuinely surprised by this statement. He regarded his son with a strange, almost reproachful expression, deep green eyes muffling some other hidden emotion. "No, I supposed you're not." The black-haired man sighed, running one hand through his hair. "Man, time sure goes by fast."
"Which is what happens when you're always overseas." Toby's mother sauntered in from the kitchen, still in her pink smock. She briefly pecked her husband on the cheek, one hand balancing a frying pan. "Honey, you know what I think about you and your job, you really need to find some way of working here."
Toby nodded, trying to keep up with the conversation. "Yeah, I miss you dad. Noone will play with me afterschool anymore."
The ten-year-old looked out into the fraying basketball net outside in the parking driveway, missing the glaring look his mother gave at his dad.
His dad sighed. "Yeah, I know." He looked up, all seriousness, despite his loose shirt, floppy pants, and mismatched socks. "I promise I'll make this better. I'll be back soon."
*
Four years later
'This is officially the worst Christmas ever' Toby thought, listening to the cheesy blare of 'Jingle Bells' repeating itself in the mall. Shoppers passed by him, but he wasn't interested: instead fiddling around with his GameToy. Having already caught every single Pocket Critter, he shut his mini console, and lay on the mall bench, eyeing the clock. Five o'clock. His mom should be back to pick him up soon. Maybe he should just take a small nap...
He woke up to the announcement that the mall would be closing in ten minutes, thank you shoppers and enjoy your Christmas holidays. Blearily, he rubbed his eyes, looking around. Sure enough, the crowds were thinning out. There was still no sign of his mom.
With a little sigh, he stood up, making sure he didn't forget his GameToy and jacket, and put them on. One hand searched his pockets for money and revealed a crumbled five dollar bill from his allowance probably from this morning. At least he'd be able to get something decent to eat, unlike the last few days, when his mom just hadn't come home at all.
It wasn't a huge loss: there were some leftovers in the fridge at home too.
*
The present:
Toby shot up from his self-made covers, looking around furtively, heart still pounding. Just a dream, it's just a dream.
With a small sigh, he turned over, and fell back asleep.
His mom was driving. She looked back in the car at him, and smiled.
The moment he saw her, Toby knew he was dreaming again: his mom never smiled these days.
"What's wrong honey?" This strange not-mom thing said to him.
Toby frowned. "It's nothing. It doesn't matter anyway." Yeah, because he would wake up and it wouldn't be real.
"That's not true. I care a lot about you."
He bit back years of pent-up anger and frustration. It was so easy to forget himself, to let go of all those bottled up emotions in dreams. But really, what would it matter anyway? "Oh yeah? What if I told you you were just a dream, just like everything I ever wanted to actually be real?"
His not-mother laughed. "Sweetie, what are you talking about? A dream is just a dream" She looked prettier than she normally did, younger, hair still black and neatly tied in a bun. "But I'm real, and I always will be."
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Posted: Sat Oct 17, 2009 10:07 pm
Drabble: Disgust
There was a dead cat in the alleyway.
It was still technically 'fresh', having only been lightly picked at by crows. There were no signs of maggots or flies around it, though sticky remnants of blood trickled from a dirty wound on its neck: it must have gotten in a fight with another animal and lost.
Toby stared at it, morbidly fascinated. It was none of his business really, he was just getting home from a long day of productive looting of items. Something like a dead alleycat in the slums part of the city was not uncommon to see.
"Whatcha got there, another cat?"
Toby started at the voice, looking behind him. An old sweating cook, probably on his cigarette break, was standing outside one of the kitchen back doors that lead to this alleyway. He grunted, face wrinkling up in disgust. "Seriously, all sorts of things, not just cats but also people. Recently they come around, keel over, and noone even bothers t' pick up their bodies."
Wait, people as well? Toby frowned, that wasn't normal, not even for this part of town. "You mean, as in actual," and here his voice hushed slightly, "dead bodies here?"
"Jus' recently, as I was saying punk, and not just homeless people." The man blew out a puff of smoke with a satisfied sigh. "Anyway, its none of yer business, had the damn cops around for a while looking into the case of that young'un." Shrugging, and not looking the least bit bothered, the cook threw the butt of his cigarette onto the decaying alleyway and walked back inside.
Toby stared at the door for a little bit where the other had come in from. Why didn't that man care if people were dead: they could be next after all. Wasn't anyone in this city just a little scared at all the happenings?
He didn't read papers, ever, but his stomach lurched suddenly, and he felt the need to catch up on what was really happening. So the rumours about the Negaverse being on the move might be true after all. He thought of Charonite, of those eyes peering at the city from all directions, cold, calculating, ruthless. Those eyes that would probably not even blink at the sight of death.
Could he kill?
Toby felt a little sick. He was only fifteen! Teenage boys like him normally worried about girls, or their next homework assignment, not about the fact that very likely, in the near future, if he didn't obey any future orders, that next person the police might be scooping up might be him. He thought of his body lying in the alleyway: maybe that cook would find it the next time he headed out for a smoke and tsk-tsk a bit.
A crow had fluttered into the alleyway, hopping around, looking for its next morsel. Its beady eyes stared at the cat carcass, and it cawed, excited. Angrily, Toby took a stick, and threw it right at the bird.
Watching the indignant crow fly off, he stared back at the dead cat. Slowly, he pried the carcass off the dirty cement and wrapped it in a garbage bag. Just as slowly he took out a lighter: one of the things he had procured a week ago and left in his pocket absent-mindedly.
The carcass smelt oddly as it burnt with the plastic of the bag. Toby sat until nightfall, watching the pungent smoke trail to the sky.
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Posted: Wed Oct 28, 2009 1:38 pm
Drabble: The Body
He half-dragged it half-carried it across the sleek asphalt pavement. A truck roared past him on the small freeway, for a second illuminating his prone position, and he practically jumped out of his skin, heart pounding a million miles an hour as it passed him, unassuming.
It was raining outside, the type of horrendously cliched water that poured buckets over anyone foolish enough to be caught outside in the dark: the overcast midnight sky was an anemic black. There was no moon, no stars, no anything, even the streetlights seemed to be lacking ambition. He could barely see himself, barely see the body, but oh he dragged it, on and on, for what seemed like hours.
There, there it was. There was a small neglected park veering off the freeway, abandoned for the night. With renewed effort, Toby dragged the carcass, down, feeling his heart thumping in syncopation with the rain clattering on the midnight tree leaves. He paused for a second, one arm wiping his soaked face, looking around blindly through the park's only source of lighting: a solo flickering parking meter light. The bushes, they would have to do. With something that sounded halfway between a whimper and a grunt, he grabbed the lifeless corpse - oh god he was gonna hurl again - and shoved, with all the effort in his chilled bare arms, watching it tumble and crash down into a ditch unseeable through the bushes.
His hands shook, his body trembled, and he stood still, for what seemed like minutes. It was done.
It was their fault, their fault anyway they had tried to report him to the police, all he wanted to do was borrow their wallet for a bit. He kicked the bushes - ha! Good riddance to them, who said an extra star seed for his collection wasn't a bad thing? They deserved it, they <******** deserved to be put in their place.
Tired, exhausted, and giddy - was the rain making him feel lightheaded? - he resisted the urge to collapse on the nearby bench and shuffled up the pavement. How he made it home was a miracle to even himself.
***
"Hi there."
Toby jolted out of bed.
And there it was, the body, the body of the slightly aged, lanky man he had killed sitting on his impromptu bookshelf, looking at him. There was a hole in their chest.
"I just wanted to say," the body continued, getting up with a strange, fluid movement that, had it been alive, would not have ever been able to do, "That was awesome." It clapped. "Nine stars out of ten, absolutely faboo, I could not have asked for a better death."
Toby finally choked out a gasping breath, unable to fend off the absolute horror creeping into his limbs. "I...." It wasn't his fault!
The thing - the moving corpse - opened up its mouth, yellowed teeth bared into a strange grin. "I know it wasn't your fault honey."
And suddenly he was looking at his mother, with her tied up bun, her tight grin, and sly eyes. "It was mine."
*
This time, for real, he shot out of bed. His eyes immediately traveled to the bookshelf, then to the rest of his room. He was on his feet in an instant, shoveling through boxes, tossing apparel, wires, toys, emptied wallets, left and right, looking for anything star-seed shaped.
At last satisfied, Toby sat down on his bed, relieved one hand running through his hair.
And froze. His hair was still wet.
With growing trepidation, he put one trembling hand in his pocket, and pulled out a slightly dull, but glowing star seed. It shimmered a bit, as if saying 'I told you so'.
No. No no no! He wasn't that type of person! He wouldn't - couldn't have-
Of course he didn't. Toby could have laughed in self-relief. Did he really think he had just buried a stupid body? The teenage boy looked outside, at the curtains that were half-open, letting some of the rain trickle through the small window.
Of course he didn't. He had just found the star seed on its own.
Vaguely, absently, he walked over, and propped it next to his collection of emptied wallets.
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 4:56 pm
Drabble: Home is Where the Heart is
The doormat on the front step still looked the same. Granted, it was coated in a soft layer of dirt, and as knelt down to fumble under the mat for the key - yep it was still there! - the small brown particles stirred from their slumber, taking to the sky like millions of microscopic indignant birds.
Toby sneezed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He knocked hesitantly on the door, once, then again, in sharper raps. The nextdoor neighbour, yet another one, lounging on their porch gave him a strange passing look.
With a little sigh, he finally stuck the key in the rusting door and twisted, hearing the c***k of the mechanism unfasten and the slow creek of the door folding inwards. The only light illuminating the house came from his rather sudden intrusion, and as he absently closed the door behind him in reflex, even that was snapped up, leaving him to a grey sort of darkness.
Sneezing yet again, he fumbled with the switch closest to him, sighing a bit in relief as the lights slowly and hesitantly flickered on, illuminating everything in a damp yellow. Quickly, he scanned around the entrance and into the rest of the small, cluttered house, taking in the old milk bottles, half-shredded newspapers, and what seemed like a shriveled up potted plant on the shoe shelf next to him.
Yep, there was nothing quite like home, he thought, sniffling a bit from all the dust.
Anyway, there was no need to lounge along longer than he needed to. Floorboards creaking under him, he sauntered to the end of the small hallway, to the only door that remained closed. An old, yellowing piece of paper still hung there, with the words "Do Not Tresspass" in angry red crayon. He pushed the handleless door - they had never installed a knob on it after the first one broke - open and looked inside. Memories of a time that seemed like a dream in a time threatened to burst from all the familiarity of the, once his, room, but even that seemed like someone else's story. Absently, Toby searched around in the drawers feeling a little invasive in his own house. A slightly less-used notebook and a case of pencils later and he was set, closing the door behind him in the same fashion.
Considering that his mom was god-knows-where now, he spent most of his time not at THIS home, not to mention helping out at the hostel also paid for his meals. There was nothing left here but old notes on the fridge and food that was probably accumulating its own black sub-matter. It was nostalgic, almost, and had anyone else told him that they were living such a life, Toby might have stared at them in disbelief.
Yet sometimes things didn't just happen out of some amazing fantasy fairy tale. They were the result of a small act of selfishness, and eventually became, without a single thought of why. Something that seemed so unusual to anyone else was simply just his way of living.
Enough time in the husk of a house. With a last lingering look towards the abandoned living room behind him, he reached to open the main entrance door. And stopped.
There was something written on the back of the door, something that wasn't there when he had visited the house last week. It was a fine, tight cursive that clearly wrote "Hi Toby, I put your monthly allowance in the drawer. It's there if you need it."
He swallowed, a hard lump forming in his throat. Even now she still kept up with the pretense that she somehow, cared. Not sparing his room even one last glance behind him, he swung open the door with a sort of finality, listening to the lock click behind him as he skidded down the porch stairs.
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Posted: Wed Nov 11, 2009 11:55 am
Drabble: Aftermath.
To be honest, it hadn't taken him that long to finish up the work. And it was rather halfhearted: several rusty shovel-fulls of dirt later, and most of the body was out of sight, sans some of the cello casing, some disjointed fingers, nothing too out of place.
The hard part was getting home. For some reason, whether plagued by guilt, denial, anger, whatever it was that was bubbling within him, Toby was unable to even think about resting at home. At first it was just that sensation of not belonging, and then it built up to an itch. It felt like an invisible rash had plagued his skin, arms, legs, neck, everywhere, and he at first tried scratching until he realised other than growing red welts down his forearms, the itch was not going away.
When he was younger, his mother, being the factual, independent woman she always was, would tell him scientific facts to demystify his stories. In one particular incident while reading about an elephant who had an itch in his nose, she informed her son that "Itches are actually psychological, they come from one's imagination only."
At this point, in the present, Toby did not think that even stripping nude and running down the cooler beach waters in his birthday suit would have solved the rampant tingling (though it did seem like a good idea). He sighed and tried to think of other thoughts.
Everything seemed disjointed.
A couple of girls passed by him, giving the bedraggled teen strange looks before returning to their gossip. He watched them pass by for a second, and something ugly spoke within him. Those girls had no clue who HE was: he could snap up their star seeds faster than-
He startled, shaking his head a bit. Maybe he was just more tired than usual, maybe he should start heading home after all. Guiltily, one last time, Toby turned to look behind him, as if expecting something to be staring from behind. The construction site had long passed since, and even the somewhat soothing presence of Linarite was gone. A lone stray cat walked down the street: Toby watched it guiltily, as if expecting it to say something.
As the scruffy feline disappeared down the next intersection, he felt a strange, numbing coldness finally spread over him. The itching, prickling sensation was gone, replaced by... nothing. Without any further thought, he kicked his feet into gear, towards the direction known as home.
Things were going to be ok.
*
"Hi there."
Toby's first reaction was to complain on how tired he was when he realised, he wasn't.
The figure smiled. This time it was that scruffy black cat he had seen earlier. It stretched its mouth out in a grin that warped its entire face. "How's the job going?"
"What job?" Toby bristled defensively. All he did today was go to school and-
Oh.
"You're getting a lot better at this, I just love it." The voice cackled, kitty tail swishing. "Keep up the good work ok?"
All right, who did they think they were? He grabbed the talking voice-creature by its tail. "No, YOU listen," he hissed, angrily, angrier than he ever got normally. "I am not taking YOUR ********, hypocritical words seriously, and you have NO RIGHT TO-"
*
He woke up. It was strange, his eyes felt a little crusted and dry. Toby rubbed them absently with one hand, and stared outside the window, at the skyline just breaking into a bare, meek light.
Turning over a bit to face the other way, he went back to sleep without another thought. Technically, it was still dark outside.
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Posted: Thu Nov 12, 2009 12:38 am
Drabble: Justification
At first it was just a bad habit. Like scratching oneself in inappropriate places, biting fingernails, not changing socks for a week: it was just something he did because noone ever told him not to.
Quietly, Toby slipped the item into his pocket. During these busy holiday hours, sales attendants were too harried with shoppers to even pay attention to a solo little boy.
It wasn't an expensive or large item either: just a small toy, a trinket: he didn't even really want it but took it more to prove that he can. Still staring at the sales clerk, who was now busy telling another customer that "Those things are marked final price," he looked at her, as if daring her to develop x-ray vision and see right into his pocket.
Nothing happened, she continued paying no attention, and he was still on the recipient side of being ignored. With a little shrug that could only be interpreted by him as "Well I did try", he slipped out the busy merchandise store.
Stealing rules part one:
- All items have tags on them. This makes them somewhat harder to steal, and usually removing the packaging solves the problem (or getting stuff on sale, which normally was not tagged)
- Do not make eye contact, that makes you even more suspicious. Never linger too long for no good reason
- It is not stealing if you return it.
Yes, at first, he only took small, unwanted things. An old used-up lighter, a discarded glasses frame. His personal dignity had always prevented him from taking the bigger things, things that BELONGED to people.
But why not? Why was it wrong to take other things that he REALLY wanted?
Because people are human, because humans have morals. Because humans have boundaries and decisions and morals on top of boundaries.
To an eleven-year-old Toby, this made no sense: he barely understood the concept of right or wrong. He wasn't really taking the items, just borrowing them after all, maybe he'd return them one day, maybe, just like how his mom borrowed library books without intention of returning.
Next Boxing Day saw a twelve-year-old Toby taking advantage of the chaos to procure his own private collection of goods admist the chaos. Noone cared, noone said anything, and the security guards were too busy checking on mothers to make sure they had not lost any of their kids. He was the proverbial kid in the candy shop, and by the end of the day, his pockets were bursting at the seams with everything he had wanted.
He really could do this, and noone cared. He really could take all he wanted, and he was good at it.
After all, if one was good at something, then what excuse was there to stop?
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Posted: Fri Nov 13, 2009 10:03 pm
Drabble: And so, it goes on.
"The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav’n of hell, a hell of heav’n."
- Milton, "Paradise Lost"
What is evil?
Is it the knowledge knowing one has stepped the moralistic line, or is it the act of defying the norm? How long did it take someone to do something before they realized they were wrong, or does the act of doing such wrong become right in their mind?
Unlike stories, there is no alpha or omega. There is no beginning or end. There is only actions.
And consequences.
*********
Toby cracked his knuckles as he finished that last part of the sentence. Phew, copying that line from the textbook reading was sure harder than he had thought! That was enough homework for him for probably the next month: it was a miracle he had written ANYTHING, considering his track record for high school attendance.
Now that a day, or even, evening's work was done, he abruptly shoved the small mound of paper to one side - he would collect it come tomorrow morning - and considered his other options.
For once, he just wanted to do... nothing. No star-seed stealing voyeurisms, no gallivanting in his plots for "item pandering", none of that sort. All he wanted to do was lie down in the quiet stillness of his solo room and stare out into the starlight sky. Once in a while, most humans went through a similar phase like this: where the world seemed to overwhelm them, and where everything so small and tiny and vast at the same time just seemed so wonderful.
Turning off the light, he sat next to his bed, letting his eyes adjust for a few moments before he stared up into the night scape. Through the skyline of old clothing hangers and rusty pipe railings, he could make out the edges of everything he did not appreciate every night.
It was peaceful, it was perfect.
His hand twitched.
It wasn't even a horrendous seizure-inducing flail, it was just a light twitch, as if something was awry. Toby ignored it, shifting weight on hands for just a second, but it was already too late. Like poison, the echo of the movement had spread into his stomach, his gut gave an excited lurch over something - what could it be? - as if anticipating an event to come.
And yet, he stood his ground, choosing to move over ever-so-slightly, ignoring the spread of longing. The back of his mind seemed to be visibly ticking as well now, asking him how long?
No, confirmed Toby to himself, as assertively as one can be to themselves, I am doing NOTHING today. I deserve to do absolutely nothing, to sit around, to bum and-
- by the time he had returned to that thought, he was already on the next intersection, and crossing, dressed in sleek blacks that had become more routine than actual protocol. Ok sure, he'd just go for a little patrol, no biggie.
- there was a lone elderly man crossing the street. His legs took small, baby steps as he crossed, cane quavering, looking so strangely out of place. Torbernite considered walking him across, offering to be kind, and then taking something in return. It would be quick, painless, they COULD have died of a heart attack.
And he could get away with it. It was the perfect opportunity. He took in a deep breath. All right, all right, here it goes, noone's watching, he was going to do this! For the sake of, oh, darkness and whatever stuff.
He managed to take one step before stopping himself. Why bother? That's right, all he wanted to do was just sit down, have the evening to himself and-
*
"I didn't think I'd see you so soon,"remarked the voice, smug.
It was just dark overall. Toby couldn't even see beyond his bed. Maybe it was the lack of light that contributed to his confusion, or just the general sense of disorientation that made him feel really out of place and contest.
Though there was no leering face or strange cat eyes, the voice seemed to move, location to location. "Congratulations. That makes three now."
They didn't even have to explain themselves, as three gleaming objects, the only things in the darkness that sparkled, seemed to have unveiled themselves from their secure position wrapped in one of his tin cans.
He moved to say something - ANYTHING defiant to the voice, and was surprised to feel a strange flip-flop in his gut. This is what you have been waiting for, it said.
Well, they were shiny. And they were, for now, his.
Who didn't like shiny things after all?
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Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2010 10:36 am
Drabble: The day after Christmas.
Winter did not seem particularly cold this year, but that was what tended to happen when one was shipped halfway across the country.
Even he wasn't sure in the end what had happened, between the sudden and almost convenient appearance of his estranged father days before his sixteenth birthday to the mention of 'youth detention school', 'loss of custody rights', and then a lot of parental crying.
It wasn't as if he was twelve and didn't know what those things meant: he just, in the end, could not bring himself to care. Perhaps in another lifetime, another planet, perhaps even pre-corruption he would have brought himself to give a damn to all the rules. Rules of upholding yourself around post-divorced parents who never quite got over each other, rules of proving oneself a young and responsible adult.
He sat numbly on the edge of the bed. The blanket itself was already fraying, probably from the low budget rationing of the motel, or the consistent amount of customers who seemed to use the beds for... other purposes. Less than twenty-four hours later, the magic of Christmas had already faded alway: the cheap flickering lights outside had lost their novelty, the bloated Santa figuring outside the window a strange shadow that seemed to speak with its paint-chipped grin. There was an infernal ticking sound coming from one side of the room, ambiguous as to whether it was the old grandfather clock or the spluttering of the heating vent's final throes before death.
Tick, tick, tick, went the sound.
Clack, clack, clack, went his feet against the cheap wooden bedframe.
And out of sync with everything else, his chest seemed to beat slower than usual, hollow thumps that faded in and out of his intermittent thoughts.
It wasn't until he accidentally glanced at the digital clock perched on top of the cheap motel TV that it occurred to him that Christmas was officially over. For a single, absent-minded second, he glanced at the doorway. The door stared back at him, just as blank.
With a resigned sigh, he finally collapsed back down, staring up at the chipping ceiling paint. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was finally, the flight home, the end of the long Battle Apocalyptica, or just a herald of another war to come post hoc?
Tomorrow he would finally be heading back home to Destiny City, after what could only be described as the vacation that Hell rejected.
But until tomorrow, he would just wait, as per usual, wait and pretend he cared about what was going on. A funny thought suddenly occurred to him mid-wait, transgressing his troubles for just a second. He smiled, absently. Happy 16th birthday, myself.
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