Post by Sparky Cobalt on Jul 5, 2007 16:03:53 GMT -5
The sun was setting on Firefox University.
It was a bit late, of course, because it was summer, and the sun seemed to want to stay up more on summer days. This meant longer days, shorter nights, less undisturbed sleep.
Then again, it wasn't like it got dark around Firefox anymore, anyways, what with that anti-shadow spell that had been put up. It was pretty, yes, but it made trying to sleep a bitch without putting up some thick curtains. Besides, Sparky had enjoyed staring up at the sky from various places on the castle roofs and on the grounds, and now.. it was much too bright to see much of anything up there anymore.
While the sun was setting, Sparky wasn't going to wimp out and retire to his room just yet.
He was sitting in the stands of the Quidditch Stadium, leaning back and staring up at the sky. Surrounding him were various little crumpled up pieces of paper, smudges of ink showing here and there. The sunset reminded Sparky of his home, his neighborhood, his neighbors.. He had sat up on his one story home's roof often, watching the sun go down, the moon rise, and then watch as the entire cycle drifted past him. He didn't need much sleep anyways. One memorable night, he was bombarded by a barrage of eggs.
Rotten eggs.
Apparantly some neighborhood kids had planned to toilet paper AND egg his house at the same time that night, and when they had seen him, let loose. Sparky, quiet wimp that he was, had simply sat there and let the eggs hit him, closing his eyes now and then as an egg came too close to his face. After the kids had run out of ammunition, they had retreated back to their own part of the neighborhood, and after a few hours Sparky had climbed down and hosed himself off. Back then, very little had actually phased him anymore..
Perhaps it'd be better if he built up an immunity to the little things again..?
In this fashion, Sparky was remembering things of varying importance about his 'life' back at his old house. From the time that little girl had drowned while he watched, to the time he had met Mariah for the first time, to the time he was caught stealing a small frozen chicken for his mother to cook.. All kinds of memories were drifting through his mind. Perhaps it was the time of year?
After all, it had been his birthday a few days before.
It had gone by unnoticed and uncelebrated as usual, except for a congratulatory bacon sammich he had devoured for breakfast. Congratulations for, of course, getting through another lap around the sun. He hadn't done much else important since the year from his last birthday, except perhaps robbing Teagan of a kiss in the dungeons. His thoughts dully flickered over that often thought of day, the utterly embarassment, the failure, the puerile way he couldn't even control himself enough to keep from violating Teagan's mouth with his own.
No, there was not much to celebrate about that day.
She certainly hadn't enjoyed it, after all, and after it, he had fled.
Utterly disgusted with himself, his thoughts went back to his childhood.
Once upon a time, he had been a happy little four-year-old, building shabby sand castles and running around hitting things with a stick. Once upon a time, he had had a happy childhood. Not the worst, and certainly not the best, childhood, but a happy childhood in an innocent, naive sort of way. An ideal day would be tottering around, eating breakfast twice, and watching his favorite TV show. ['Ahh! After ten thousand years I'm free! It's time to conquer Earth!' 'Alpha! Rita's escaped! Recruit a team of teenagers with attitudes!'] Then, when he'd gone to school, his happy view on life had shattered. No longer was he able to simply escape into his TV, away from the mean kids outside.. He had to... God forbid... deal with it.
And that was how it went on for years, slowly getting worse..
Sparky let out a sigh.
There was no point in thinking about all that stuff anymore, anyways.
He picked up a notepad that had been sitting to his side, a few sentences already written at the top. He had simply taken a break from writing, and now he was starting again. He bit his lip and started writing. Words poured out of his pen, not making sense all the time, but coming out all the same. After about two pages into his writing, though, he sighed, tore the pages out and crumpled them before tossing the resulting ball to his side, by the other crumpled papers. Apparantly he was an abysmal crumpler, though, as there were still words visible, and the 'Dear Teagan' at the start of the unsent letter was apparant.
He sighed again, setting the pad down and resting his head in his hands, his elbows propped up on his lap. He'd been trying to write the same letter in various ways for the last three hours. He knew it didn't even matter in the end, because he would never get up the courage to actually send her the damn letter.
He wanted to.. explain himself, he supposed, to Teagan. He wanted to tell Her things that he'd never be able to stutter past his lips in person. He wanted to tell Her what kind of effect She had on him; how She made him feel.. alive, more confident, like he was worth something because She had glanced at him[imagined or not]. He wanted to explain that simply having Her be happy would make him happy, how he was willing to sacrifice what little he had so She would simply smile at him...
He wanted her to know that, whether She liked it or not, he was Hers.
He wanted to tell Her things that She could most likely care less about... but he just.. wanted her to know. Of course, even if he sent the letter.. he doubted She would open it.
If he wanted to write another one anytime soon, the same thing would happen again. He tear it out, crumple it, toss it. The cycle would repeat itself over and over throughout the night.. and he knew this well. He'd done it plenty of times before.
God knew he wouldn't run out of light to write with anytime soon...
It was a bit late, of course, because it was summer, and the sun seemed to want to stay up more on summer days. This meant longer days, shorter nights, less undisturbed sleep.
Then again, it wasn't like it got dark around Firefox anymore, anyways, what with that anti-shadow spell that had been put up. It was pretty, yes, but it made trying to sleep a bitch without putting up some thick curtains. Besides, Sparky had enjoyed staring up at the sky from various places on the castle roofs and on the grounds, and now.. it was much too bright to see much of anything up there anymore.
While the sun was setting, Sparky wasn't going to wimp out and retire to his room just yet.
He was sitting in the stands of the Quidditch Stadium, leaning back and staring up at the sky. Surrounding him were various little crumpled up pieces of paper, smudges of ink showing here and there. The sunset reminded Sparky of his home, his neighborhood, his neighbors.. He had sat up on his one story home's roof often, watching the sun go down, the moon rise, and then watch as the entire cycle drifted past him. He didn't need much sleep anyways. One memorable night, he was bombarded by a barrage of eggs.
Rotten eggs.
Apparantly some neighborhood kids had planned to toilet paper AND egg his house at the same time that night, and when they had seen him, let loose. Sparky, quiet wimp that he was, had simply sat there and let the eggs hit him, closing his eyes now and then as an egg came too close to his face. After the kids had run out of ammunition, they had retreated back to their own part of the neighborhood, and after a few hours Sparky had climbed down and hosed himself off. Back then, very little had actually phased him anymore..
Perhaps it'd be better if he built up an immunity to the little things again..?
In this fashion, Sparky was remembering things of varying importance about his 'life' back at his old house. From the time that little girl had drowned while he watched, to the time he had met Mariah for the first time, to the time he was caught stealing a small frozen chicken for his mother to cook.. All kinds of memories were drifting through his mind. Perhaps it was the time of year?
After all, it had been his birthday a few days before.
It had gone by unnoticed and uncelebrated as usual, except for a congratulatory bacon sammich he had devoured for breakfast. Congratulations for, of course, getting through another lap around the sun. He hadn't done much else important since the year from his last birthday, except perhaps robbing Teagan of a kiss in the dungeons. His thoughts dully flickered over that often thought of day, the utterly embarassment, the failure, the puerile way he couldn't even control himself enough to keep from violating Teagan's mouth with his own.
No, there was not much to celebrate about that day.
She certainly hadn't enjoyed it, after all, and after it, he had fled.
Utterly disgusted with himself, his thoughts went back to his childhood.
Once upon a time, he had been a happy little four-year-old, building shabby sand castles and running around hitting things with a stick. Once upon a time, he had had a happy childhood. Not the worst, and certainly not the best, childhood, but a happy childhood in an innocent, naive sort of way. An ideal day would be tottering around, eating breakfast twice, and watching his favorite TV show. ['Ahh! After ten thousand years I'm free! It's time to conquer Earth!' 'Alpha! Rita's escaped! Recruit a team of teenagers with attitudes!'] Then, when he'd gone to school, his happy view on life had shattered. No longer was he able to simply escape into his TV, away from the mean kids outside.. He had to... God forbid... deal with it.
And that was how it went on for years, slowly getting worse..
Sparky let out a sigh.
There was no point in thinking about all that stuff anymore, anyways.
He picked up a notepad that had been sitting to his side, a few sentences already written at the top. He had simply taken a break from writing, and now he was starting again. He bit his lip and started writing. Words poured out of his pen, not making sense all the time, but coming out all the same. After about two pages into his writing, though, he sighed, tore the pages out and crumpled them before tossing the resulting ball to his side, by the other crumpled papers. Apparantly he was an abysmal crumpler, though, as there were still words visible, and the 'Dear Teagan' at the start of the unsent letter was apparant.
He sighed again, setting the pad down and resting his head in his hands, his elbows propped up on his lap. He'd been trying to write the same letter in various ways for the last three hours. He knew it didn't even matter in the end, because he would never get up the courage to actually send her the damn letter.
He wanted to.. explain himself, he supposed, to Teagan. He wanted to tell Her things that he'd never be able to stutter past his lips in person. He wanted to tell Her what kind of effect She had on him; how She made him feel.. alive, more confident, like he was worth something because She had glanced at him[imagined or not]. He wanted to explain that simply having Her be happy would make him happy, how he was willing to sacrifice what little he had so She would simply smile at him...
He wanted her to know that, whether She liked it or not, he was Hers.
This is the truth,
The only time you'll hear it;
I'll write it down because it seems so hard to say it...
The only time you'll hear it;
I'll write it down because it seems so hard to say it...
He wanted to tell Her things that She could most likely care less about... but he just.. wanted her to know. Of course, even if he sent the letter.. he doubted She would open it.
If he wanted to write another one anytime soon, the same thing would happen again. He tear it out, crumple it, toss it. The cycle would repeat itself over and over throughout the night.. and he knew this well. He'd done it plenty of times before.
God knew he wouldn't run out of light to write with anytime soon...
These are my thoughts written down on paper,
It's my only savior
From not saying what I want to say.
There are my thoughts that are on my mind;
Moments that haven't yet been defined,
And I don't know if you could ever understand...
These are the things I can't say when we're alone.
It's my only savior
From not saying what I want to say.
There are my thoughts that are on my mind;
Moments that haven't yet been defined,
And I don't know if you could ever understand...
These are the things I can't say when we're alone.