|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Oct 16, 2024 6:22 pm
October 16, 2024 Quote: The Face in the Moon (4) : The night seems darker than it should be, but it’s been a cloudy day so it’s not too surprising, unless you’re also factoring in the strange sensation that someone is watching you. You won’t see anyone if you look around, but the longer you’re outside, the more intense and unnerving things become. And then–if you look up–you see why. The moon that you know has been replaced with a devilish face, with wide, piercing eyes and a devilish grimace. No matter where you go, it’s watching you–and it even seems like it’s unusually large in the sky. Maybe others around you have noticed the same thing–or maybe it’s just you. Maybe it’s in your mind, but if you stare up at the face for too long, you begin to hear a low growling, or a shrill static. Its eyes are hypnotic and fearsome. Whether it disappears behind the clouds or the horizon, at some point it is gone. The strangeness fades with the moon, but there’s still no real explanation. It doesn’t photograph, and nothing about it can be recorded. You just have to hope it was a one time nightmare.
It was later, when it was starting to get dark, that Kinsey stopped off at a flower shop. The walk there had been long, and a bit chilly to be honest, but he’d sucked it up as he did with most things in his life. He’d long since grown accustomed to life in general not being fair - not to people like him. Not since his mother had left him. The bell overhead jingled as he stepped into the small shop, the same shop he wandered into every year on this day.
A small bob of his head and a soft spoken greeting to the man behind the counter, a well dressed man who looked no older than thirty by his own estimates. The man seemed nice enough, smiling, and kindly asking what he could help him with. The order was given, with Kinsey picking the flowers and colors, he tried to keep it within the same color pallet every year - colors his mother had loved.
When the flowers had been gathered, and bouquet made and tied with a ribbon, Kinsey paid and thanked the man. The change was slipped into his pocket, his father did not need to know how much he’d spent nor how much change Kinsey had, and he headed out. It would be a long walk to the graveyard where his mother waited for his yearly visit. He would make it, as he did every year, and she would wait as patiently for him - as if she had a choice.
Every so often he paused, taking a moment to look around, it felt like someone was there…watching him. He wouldn’t have put it past Maxamillion to turn up and harass him or maybe even Isabella but neither did turn up. So why he felt like he was being watched he didn’t know. Certainly his father wouldn’t be watching him, the man didn’t care much what his only son did, and Amelia certainly didn’t care about him. He was certain she’d like little more than for him to join his mother in eternal slumber, so long as she got the inheritance from his mother somehow.
By the time he arrived at the cemetery his feet hurt, he’d had a long school day plus the time he’d spent working on his side project, but it was worth it as he finally sunk down onto the ground in front of the headstone. There was a marble stone there marking his mothers resting place, a marble vase was a part of the headstone, and the flowers were set into it. The ribbon tied about the vase while the papers from the bouquet were put into his school bag. From his bag he took a bottle of water so he could fill the vase up, to keep the flowers alive as long as possible, and added the powder packets as well.
“I think you’d have liked these…they’re your favorite colors.” He whispered, bowing his head, he knew it was wrong but he wished it was his father here and not his mother. At least had it been his father the man wouldn’t have been treated so poorly, ignored, and cheated on by his mother - she was too good. She had been too good for his father…only she hadn’t known it, she hadn’t known the man was cheating. Kinsey was glad she’d had no clue he had been cheating on her while she was sick, no one deserved such treatment, his mother would have only suffered more because of it.
Choking on a breath Kinsey reached up to wipe at his eyes, before turning to look around, something was here - he was sure of it. Glancing around he finally took a moment to look up, as if something might be in the trees that dotted the cemetery. Not a single tree but the moon hung there bright in the sky. It was bright and large and not at all normal; it looked like a face.
The face was staring down at him, or at least it seemed to be, and for a moment he considered glaring back at it…but that was a terrible idea. Because whatever was going on wasn’t normal and he felt not only creeped out but uncomfortable. Rather than glare, and incur some sort of wrath from that demonic looking moon, he moved closer to his mothers headstone. Even now, with her long gone and buried, there was some comfort to be found in her. A hand clenched at his side, against the ground, as a growling sound rumbled through the air.
“s**t.” He knew this city was nuts, all sorts of things were talked about, gossiped about, and he heard it in the hallways even. The spiders that were weaving words into their webs, and all manner of other things. But this? Looking down at his clenched hand, something cool touching his hand, he found something golden laying there innocently enough. It hadn’t been there before though. “A letter opener?” He questioned, looking to his mothers headstone, as if somehow the dead could do things like this. Uncurling his hands his fingers reached for the letter opener and curled around it as he held it tight. Bringing it to his chest he held it close, at first not noticing what happened but then…then he saw the change in his clothes.
What the hell had happened? He was dressed in strange clothes, old fashioned clothes, of bright red and black…and a white frufru shirt. Wrinkling his nose he took a moment to glance at the headstone once more. If this was something his mother had done, somehow, as impossible as it should be…he was not finding this amusing. These clothes…they were terrible.
But the moon, as he glanced up at it, seemed to have reverted and the growling was still there but he felt better about things. His grip on the letter opener tighter as he stood slowly. “If somehow you did this…thank you.” A whisper, broken and choked up as it was, he dusted himself off as he looked at the object in his hand. He wasn’t sure what he was thanking her for, what she’d done if anything, and these clothes were terrible…but he had something new - something more. He felt it.
But he needed to not look like this…he needed his normal clothing, so he could go home, and it was that need and want he supposed which caused his clothing to change. Watching as clothing shifted and changed, was warmer, he hurried off as the growling died out and he made his way home. It would be a long trek home, one he didn’t like, he’d need a hot shower when he got in but he was feeling good about whatever this was.
Word count: 1,218
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Oct 24, 2024 7:12 pm
October 24th (Back dating to the 18th.), 2024 When most people said someone hated them they didn’t mean it, because hate was a rather strong word to use, but when Kinsey said it he meant it. He knew his father and step mother hated him as did the rest of his family, he was certain of it. Why else would he be sitting at the kitchen table trying to fix the unfixable microwave that someone had dropped, somehow no one knew who had dropped it either. Perhaps what was worse was that his step mother, for seemingly no reason other than her utter dislike of him, had blamed him for the microwaves plummet to the ground. It didn’t matter that he’d been up in his bedroom, working on a paper for his English final, he was always guilty.
He had learned long ago not to argue, not to try and talk reason, and just silently accept whatever was dumped at his feet. Be it the blame for a broken microwave, a broken vase or mud being tracked into the house - it was all his fault and all his job to fix somehow; because how do you fix a broken vase?
He was fairly certain the microwave was due to his younger step sister, she’d been in the kitchen not long before the crash. She’d also walked by his room and he’d only just caught the whispers of her talking about being hungry, it had been nearly a whisper since he kept his bedroom door shut and locked, but that was only minutes before the crash from the kitchen. He knew no one would believe him if he said anything, Amelia would also take offense to him blaming her perfect little girl. The only one in this family who could do wrong, and apparently managed to do wrong all the time, was himself. He wasn’t sure how that worked since he was at present trying to fix the microwave, which he had most certainly not broken, but he knew the logic in this all didn’t matter.
A slow, steading, breath was taken as he looked from the microwave to the manual and just shook his head. There was no way he could fix this…and did they even sell the glass turn table plates separately? Because that had cracked, thankfully it hadn’t shattered, but he was avoiding opening the microwave unless he had to. He did not want to grab that thing and risk cutting himself on the heavy duty glass plate.
It was after more tinkering, mostly half assed tinkering, that Kinsey finally looked up at Amelia and spoke softly. “It’s not going to be fixed, I can’t manage it. I think you need a new part - and a new plate…” He knew she wouldn’t be pleased, she never was when he couldn’t do something for her, so he wasn’t surprised when she turned on him and started yelling. He knew this song and dance very well by now, how useless he was and how this was why she would never be his mother, he was ungrateful and nothing but trouble. It was hard not to roll his eyes, because he really did want to, but he refrained because he knew if he rolled his eyes it would bring more problems for him. He’d learned that the hard way when he was younger…when he actually spoke back.
Turning back to what he was working on, ignoring her shouting, he wasn’t all that surprised when the cook book she’d been flipping through connected with the back of his head. His head, hit with the thick book, went forward and his forehead hit the microwave with a loud crack of bone and face against metal. He knew he was bleeding in seconds, could feel the liquid against his skin and dripping, as he lifted his head slowly in order to touch his fingertips to the gash in his skin. Biting down on his bottom lip he stood slowly, making sure she didn’t see he was hurting as he turned around, he headed past her and out of the kitchen in order to clean himself up. His head hurt, a throbbing thudding pain, he was wiping at the blood coming down his forehead and trickling like a small stream between the bridge of his nose and his right eye.
He wasn’t good with medicine, didn’t know a bit about it really, but he could patch himself up and hope for the best. If it was deep enough for stitches he knew it wouldn’t be happening - he’d need to make do and deal with whatever marks were left. It’s how things had been for a while now. He just grit his teeth and bore it all while slapping a bandaid on whatever hurt.
Thankfully his father's home, because how could this place pass as his home as well, had a bathroom for each person in the family…including himself. It meant he could clean up when he needed to without worry of someone intruding upon him and adding to his injuries, because he could lock the door, it also meant no one would steal things from his bathroom because he kept it locked at all times. He would pick the lock when he needed to get in, knowing his step siblings and half sister didn’t know how to pick locks, it was sad though that he had to lock his bathroom door in order to keep his things from being taken or tampered with. He was lucky he even had the basic essentials but his father and even Amelia couldn’t deny him those sorts of things. It would look bad, and reflect poorly on them, if his school called about him smelling or looking unkempt.
It wasn’t just his bathroom door which he kept locked though - it was his bedroom door as well. He didn’t trust anyone in this house to not attack him while he was sleeping, especially Amelia and her son, he knew if they could find him guilty of something they’d barge into his room shouting and throwing things if they could. So he simply didn’t allow it by keeping his door locked at all times, it was for his safety.
He could remember when his mother told him when he was little ‘Never shut your bedroom door’ in case there was ever an emergency and someone needed to hear his calls for help. Or if they ever had to shout for him and he couldn’t hear them due to a closed door. His mother had thought of those sorts of things, and his father had even agreed with it then, but now his father didn’t care. He doubted the man would care if the house was on fire and Kinsey didn’t hear them shouting for him to get out. Hell, they might not even tell the fire department he was in the house to start with!
Pulling the slender metal objects from his pocket he made quick work of his bedroom door, hearing the lock give under his gentle ministrations, he pushed the door open and closed and locked it behind himself. As he shuffled across his room, pressing a hand to his forehead to keep the blood from landing on his carpet, he hurried his way into the bathroom once he’d unlocked the door.
Closing, and locking, the door behind himself he set in to work on cleaning himself up and stemming the bleeding before he would leave the bathroom. He didn’t need blood getting onto the carpet…if she somehow saw..Amelia would throw a fit. He could only hope none had dripped while on his way to his room, he’d done his best to keep it from happening but really head wounds bleed a lot. Working with shaking hands, his head hurt so damn bad, Kinsey gave a slow blink or two as he tried to focus on what he was working on. Looking over himself in the bathroom mirror, finger tips gently prodding at the skin around the gash, he hissed in pain. No doubt he was bruised as well…that hit had hurt, his vision had darkened for a moment and he’d been seeing stars from the impact.
As he prodded, and inspected, leaning as close to the mirror as he could Kinsey was certain he should have stitched - it looked deep from what he could see. But he also knew a hospital trip meant a parent coming with him, due to his age, and he couldn’t do that. He also couldn’t go alone, there would be questions, and he couldn’t tell them why he didn’t want Amelia or his father called. Already he figured this meant a scar for him…there was no way it wouldn’t scar. All he could do was lessen it with some of those creams for scars…he’d just need to get the money for them somehow - maybe his clothing fund?
His father gave him a small amount of money for clothing, something he saved up so he could get slightly more expensive but higher quality clothing, he could tap into that so he could get a cream for his face…or maybe the fund for other products he needed. He’d have to look over what he had and decide where the money would come from and then he’d need to make a trip to the local pharmacy.
Word count: 1,553
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Oct 25, 2024 7:00 pm
December 30th, 2024 (Back dating to the 17th) The tech rooms in his school were places where he could relax and enjoy himself, let his imagination run wild, it was why he’d started working at the end of last school year on a large castle made out of various materials. It had stayed here, undisturbed, over the summer thanks to his favorite teacher keeping it till the school year started and he would have the time to finish it. He’d explained, while glossing over details, how he simply couldn’t bring it home. Not only did he not have the space for it, the house did actually have the space for it, but he had no way of safely getting it home or back in September. With the convincing argument made Professor Crowley had let him keep the large build in the back room.
Now that the new school year was here Kinsey could happily toil away after classes, and during lunch, on this project of love for him. Today he was working on small details like stained glass windows he planned to install in some areas of the castle - bedrooms. He thought the towers, where he envisioned the dorm rooms to be, could use stained glass windows. If someone could see into a window, somehow, it would be very invasive so at least with stained glass windows it would be harder. The work was small, delicate, but well worth it even as he worked with resin, water colors, and molds that he’d made. Each window was to be different, because he wanted as much detail and personality in this as he could manage, it meant everything took more time but he had time to give to this project.
This project was not something he could, or even would, rush because he cared about his work and the quality of said work. He was only 15 and didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, didn’t know what he wanted to go to university for, but he was certain that showing such diligence and care to such things would look favorable for him when applying to places. He could show his work, or write about it, and it would help him in some way.
He wasn’t good at sports, like Maxamillion was, so couldn’t get some sports scholarship to get into a university as he’d done. Isabella looked like she’d do the same thing, being very good at soccer as she was, he was certain she was being scouted. His father certainly thought so as well, he kept bragging about it over dinner where Kinsey heard it from his bedroom as he ate his own dinner, so he had to find other ways to look good when he applied to universities in a few years. This was how he’d do it. He would build things, lots of things, and show off not only his artistic skills but his ability to build, programe, and wire things. It was a whole set of skills which he was certain would attract a university to him, it had to work because he didn’t have any other plans really.
While he worked on this, on building a portfolio of sorts, Kinsey would take the time these next few years offered to figure out just what he wanted to do. He was good with technology and building, that went without say, but did he want to make it a job? Or would he rather keep it a hobby, something to enjoy when he wasn’t working, would it ruin the joy for him if he started working in a tech field as well? Because it would be too much time spent doing the same, and similar, things? He did worry about that, because of course he did, but he honestly wasn’t sure if that would be the issue for him. Maybe he’d work in a tech field and since he’d have his freedom by then, gifted to him by his deceased mother and equally deceased grandparents, he could pick up some new hobbies. He’d have the freedom, and money, in order to devote to trying out new things and finding new hobbies for himself.
Maybe he’d put himself out of his comfort zone and try something outside of the house, something out in nature perhaps? There were a lot of options and he could try so many things once he came of age. He just needed to keep his grades up, which wasn’t too hard to do, and keep building and creating. He’d think on what hobbies to try once he secured his future, and figured out what career path he wanted to take. Kinsey would use the time here in high school to figure himself out and build himself up so someone would want him.
Word count: 792
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
