Some writing about my OCs I found written somewhere. Just thought I'll post them cos ...well, I don't know. It might be interesting. They're short of kind of disjointed though. And in no particular order, though I numbered each short story a number, they're not really connected that way. So yeah. Heads up.
1 UNTITLED
They used to spend their afternoons sitting around, on sidewalks, in school, in the parks - anywhere where they won't get chased away - and just look at the world passing by. There is a sort of calmness to be. To be a spectator, to not have to be in control. Hew knew that the ceding of control was just an illusion, but it was one he'd gladly take anyday.
***
"Why?" Sion's tone was flat, the question coming out more like a statement, an accusation.
Hew closed his eyes and tried not to frown. When he opened his eyes, Sion was still staring at him, waiting for his answer. "Well," Hew began, voice coming out dry and unused in a while "why does it matter anyway?" He kept his gaze steady.
"Because we are frigging seventeen, not seven." Sion paused. "And while it was cute for twins to look similar then, I don't understand why you would go out to get the same haircut as me TWO days after I did." Sion gave a pointed look for what he felt was bloody obvious. His asymmetrical haircut was done on a whim, with a long fringe and sides but a short back, after he got sick of his shoulder length hair, which was also the same style Hew had his. Until two days ago, that is.
Hew broke the staring context first, deciding to untie his shoes instead. He removed them and got up, moving pass his brother to the kitchen.
"So that's how it's gonna be, huh?" Sion turned, but Hew's back was silent, unreadable as he started taking leftovers from the fridge to heat up for dinner. "Fucking routine and avoiding the qestion. Fine. Be that way." Sion mumbled as he left Hew to his routine.
Hew continued removing the clingwrap on the plates and only relaxed slightly when he heard the door shut with a light click.
2 DENNIS
When he opened the door and saw someone sitting in the dark in the living room, Dennis froze for a second. He froze because the only person who would be sitting around the house - and for whom sitting quietly in the dark can be considered normal - is her, but she always has a bottle nearby, and the figure was not in the radius of any beer bottles, opened or otherwise. At any rate, she has been gone for a few weeks, and if - no, when - she reappears, she'll return making a scene, demanding money, most likely. So this was unlikely to be her. Besides, he had a feeling he knows who that is sitting on the couch.
"Hey," the figure said.
Dennis flicked the light switch. Gabriel. Figures.
"Your door wasn't locked," Gabriel shrugged and continued, somewhat apolegetic, "and I wanted to see if you are fine."
"Fine?" Dennis wanted to scoff, but mostly he was just tired. Tired of what he needs to do, tired of never knowing when she'll return to further ruin his life, tired of weak goody-two-shoes like the one seated in front of him trying to help. Help, ha. All that has ever done is give him more trouble. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Could do without the split lip though." Dennis finally mutters, without contempt. Resignation, just resignation.
He stepped on the back of his work boots and slips out of them, looking up to see Gabriel swallow visibly. He didn't want to be dishing out advice at all - God knows he isn't a role model - but Dennis cut in before Gabriel could speak.
"I know you think you're trying to help, but it's better to leave me alone."
3 GABBY's STORY (as of 23 June 2013, because we know it keeps changing)
The first girl he took an interest in was Jaime. He'll never forget her name, if only because the first thing she said to him in kindergarten was, "Hello! My name is Jaime. It's the same as your middle name." with an infectious grin. Even now, Gabriel can't help but smile when remembering her. Good times, he though, when everything in this world was filled with possibilities and not divided into what was socially-acceptable and not. He remembers making a card for her, messin gup the cut-outs of stick figures with those plastic safety scissors because 5 year olds barely have control over precision cutting, let alone with a blunt safety scissors. Even his sister, the neat freak, can't use safety scissors to cut precisely, so Gabriel figured he was allowed some slack for his substandard cutting.
At least the card was honest, as honest as he had been when he was younger, and as honest as he sincerely tries to be nowadays. She gave him a kiss, light on the cheek, after school when he gave her the card after he made his mum stop her mum, because they were goin goff and he didn't know how else to stop them. To give her the card.
Those were the times. When his mum was a saviour, and he thought that with her by his side he can overcome anything.
Now, standing on the street he grew up in at 2.03am in the morning, feeling cold and trying to move his feet because they have taken him out of his bedroom and out the front door but have somehow frozen once he reached the road, Gabriel wasn't sure anymore. He's not sure he has the same sincere belief that his parents would always be there for him, nor is he sure that he wants to continue with what had seemed like a good plan when he was in the warmth of his bedroom. Running away is sounding more stupid by the minute, even in his head. He has no marketable skills - he would likely starve. That is, if he manage to somehow avoid the policemen who would look for him once a MISSING PERSON report is made. After standing for too long on the road, Gabriel isn't sure what he is trying to prove by remaining on the raod. Clearly, he has (subconsciously) already reached a decision. It was only pride and worrying about this stupid plan being discovered that kept him from returning to his room, hide under the covers, and pretend that he did not just spent 11 minutes standing in the cold at 2.14am.
In the end, he scrubbed his face and quietly made his way back up to his room.
***
The first time he came across the word gay, he was seven. He asked his mum what it meant, and he was too young to realise that his mum had a disapproving look before she saw the Enid Blyton book he was holding in his hands, and explained that it meant "happy".
***
Pushing the covers out of his eyes, Gabriel quickly switched off his alarm before it wakes up anyone else.
No comments:
Post a Comment