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 Posted: Tue Apr 20, 2010 2:09 am
D u s k
definition: partial darkness; shade; gloom: He was barely visible in the dusk of the room.
Dusk's journal is a simple book, picked out by himself. Despite Kyle promising he could choose something special, Dusk chose a plain brown-paper covered journal, which is special, to him. Why? Because he drew him and his father together on the inside cover. He doesn't need a special journal when he has that. At least, that's his view.
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Posted: Tue Apr 20, 2010 4:36 am
F a m i l y
definition: a social unit consisting of one or more adults together with the children they care for.
Name: Kyle
Age: 21
Occupation: Graphic Designer
Relation: Adoptive Father
Gender: Male (Post-Op FtM)
Personality: Unpredictable, but usually in a pleasant way.
First meeting:
Quote:
Fidget.
…
Fidget.
FIDGETFIDGETFIDGET.
Back and forth my fingers traced patters on my jeans, tanned skin stark against the white fabric. Why was I doing this? How was I doing this? Me…I thought I’d never do this. Never have the ability to do this. Never. I thought I’d be stuck in a rut for the rest of my life, tied down by false perception. But here I am.
I’ve signed paperwork. I’ve had background checks. They didn’t even take a second glance at my gender re-assignment certificate. I swear I even caught a smile flicker across the asessor’s face. “Perfect!” He had exclaimed. And now. Now here I am. Waiting for a blessing. Waiting for the child I thought I would never be able to have. But I’ve done it. I’ve overcome every challenge in my way that I had to face. And all for him. All for that child that will come walking through the doors in a few minutes, and change my life forever.
I clutch the item carefully in my hands. Pristine cream bandages. An odd gift? Not for me. Bandages mark so much of my life, my past, that they seem important. And they symbolise healing, protection, love. Everything I hope to offer to the sad-eyed boy who I have clutched a picture of for weeks. The door clicks open, and I hear a quiet voice. “Go on, he won’t hurt you.” And then he comes through the door. The most sad, heart-achingly beautiful boy. My son. My son. I offer a hand out, to shake it. He stares at me, and reaches out, tugging on my sleeve and pointing at my other hand.
I smile. “For you.” And hold out the roll of bandages. He takes them, and then I am shielding my eyes, because there is this painfully bright light. The toddler has crawled onto my lap, tugging my hands down, and I panic – I never shielded his! But I open my eyes, and he is fine, he even giggles, placing his hand on my face. I smile. This is it. This is the start of something new.
It takes me a few days to wonder what happened to the bandages.
WIP POST.
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