I come from a large family, I guess. There's me, I'm Jaimie...Jaimes...strange spelling, I know. I'm the second youngest: Jaimes Philo Weldon-Whitlock. All the stupid names went to my little brother, Dorcas. Unfortunately, my large family is falling apart at the seams. Let me explain.
Adam Drusus Weldon-Whitlock, eldest son of Marian and Emrys. He is the toughest, the meanest, and the grumpiest person I have ever met. He's sour because he's sick. He's sick because infections get caught in his throat. He always has a lung infection or a chest infection or a throat infection. Infections get caught there because there's too much mucus, and there's too much mucus because Adam has cystic fibrosis. He sits in an armchair at home, running the house, coughing and trying to ease the symptoms. Adam is head of the house. Dad long since left, and our step-dad Arnold was murdered...the investigation is ongoing...and mother? Mother has Cancer. She's been on her deathbed for a long time. She wants to die now, and I don't want to see her in this state.
Adam lives in the house with his wife, Esther, who is pregnant. The thing about Adam is the one thing he's always wanted was a family of his own, which doctors said because of the CF he could never have. He had been told the most likely case was that he would be infertile. Conception was still possible, though.
Nicholas Argider Weldon-Whitlock, second born. Nicky, who will effectively murder you if you call him Nick, is quiet but has a good sense of humour. His freckles are faded on his sun-kissed features, his grey eyes sparkle like lake water on a hot summer's day. He carefully styles his hair, wanting it to be absolutely perfect at all times. He is full of himself and obsessed with his looks, because he feels if he is ugly, he won't get anywhere in life. Nicky is sick as well, and only still lives with us because he was begged to return when the rest of the family were in crisis. He lives with his wife, Verity, and he spends a lot of time in hospital, because he is sick.
George Yuuki Weldon-Whitlock, middle son. Georgie is shy. He's scared. Georgie has problems with the world because at a young age he was sexually assaulted, and no, he's never had any help overcoming it. The boy who assaulted him was never prosecuted, and had in actual fact been forced to do it, so he wasn't in such a good state either. Georgie likes to stay on the sidelines, very quiet, very enclosed, and often needs to seek help from his dear brothers. He's been like this for a long time, and stupidly, we let him get worse. He has a girlfriend, Lodema. Lodema is very supportive.
Jaimes Philo Weldon-Whitlock...me. I'm the normal one. I'm cool, confident, I don't have any illness. I like girls, and myself, and girls. I guess I'm a bit of a school slut, but who cares? I have commitment issues, I can't help it, I think it's something I picked up off of Georgie. Plus I'm a virgin, so I'm not really a slut, more a womanizer. I like myself, and I don't mind my life, because although mum is sick, I have the support of my friends and family.
Dorcas Penrose Weldon-Whitlock. My twin. I'm the dominant one, FYI. Dory's younger, smarter, but we adore each other. We're identical, apart from the freckles and the fact Dorcas has to wear glasses. He had a girlfriend, Eveleen, who had a heart problem. Eve was a brave girl, if stupid. One day, she fell pregnant with Dorcas' baby and worried her heart medication would harm the baby. She could have gotten rid of it and kept her life, but instead she kept it for the forfeit of her own life. Dorcas loves his new son nonetheless, which is good because no-one else will. It's covered in drool, and smells, and makes noises. Dorcas used to be fun, and we used to play games and jokes, and be reckless, but now he's boring and weird, because of the baby.
And as time goes on, he gets weirder. He stops eating and he's always crying and he locks himself in his room for hours at a time. He's getting sicker and sicker and now? Now I am scared. When I hear crying, I can't tell who it is. It is either Dorcas, Georgie, Nicky or Bliss. Bliss is Dory's son. In the middle of the night, I hear someone howling in anguish and all I can do is cover my ears.
Nicky is in and out of hospital with many new injuries and attempts on his life. He can't take life any more, he says. He drank bleach once, tried to hang himself, choke himself, cut himself open! Whenever Nicky is home I watch him, scared of what he might do next. I'm watching him sit in Adam's arm chair with scars criss-crossed across his body, as Adam waits upstairs with mother, making sure she's comfortable. All of a sudden, we hear something we never thought we would hear. Adam, crying. He's begging mum to come back, and we all know at once. Mother is dead. The cancer has beaten her. Nicholas gets up and goes into the kitchen and I stay on the floor, feeling cold all over.
The next week strangers are in and out of the house. Whenever they step near Georgie's room, there is a smash and Georgie screams to be left alone. He doesn't want people to come near him, and he's stopped eating as well. There's no food in his room, and I look and think that my brothers must be starving. Adam is looking after Bliss. Nicky is having a fresh breakdown, because his baby girl has died of unknown causes in her crib in the middle of the night. He babbles about wanting to be with Piper, the deceased infant. Babbles about wanting to see her, wanting to hold his baby girl in his arms, and he does not leave his room. It is just me and Adam, and all the strangers here to arrange funerals for mother and Piper. Adam is coughing, each cough loud and wet and disgusting, and they seem to have no end. He's had his physiotherapy, I think...I hope...
He hands Bliss to me and sits on the top step, hardly able to breathe, and in a panic, I drop down beside him. "Adam, please!" I yell, not wanting to lose my last brother, shaking him. "Adam, what's wrong? Adam, breathe! Adam, don't die, please don't die!"
Esther and Verity hear me, and then they are there, and Bliss is crying. Verity is phoning an ambulance while Esther tries to help her husband breathe. I am crying, because my big brother has to be okay.
Georgie does not attend mother's funeral, but Dorcas does. He doesn't talk to anyone, and by the looks of him has starved himself to size zero now. He doesn't touch any food or water, he just sits, crying, dressed for sorrow, not even looking at another soul, just at mother. I try and talk to him, because we have always been so very close, but he gives no indication he even notices I am there. He is my twin brother, my identical twin brother, but at the same time he is someone completely different...and I want my brother back. I would do anything to have my brother back. Anything to have my twin go back to being my twin! I don't care what I have to sacrifice, suddenly I look at him and all I want is to have him back. People stare at his skinny frame. People stare at Nicky as well, as the marks around his neck, fresh and mottled, make it clear he has tried to take his life again. Dad tries to talk to us, but Nicky ushers us away. He has serious issues with father, possibly because once father struck him with a belt. Nicky has had a scar on his forehead ever since, and he worries it makes him look ugly.
When we get home, Georgie is not in his room and an ambulance is outside. He has had a heart attack during one of his panic attacks. His heart cannot cope. Lodema has left, as she could not cope either. I am surprised Verity can cope with Nicky, but she seems to love him. It is nice.
Nicky has gone back into hospital again. I'm at home with Verity and Bliss. Dorcas is upstairs. I'm talking to Ella, one of my girls, on the phone. I have taken to going to my room to cry. My twin and I share a room, but we have always shared a lot of other things, and I don't mind him seeing me cry. He is usually crying himself when I get there, and he does not acknowledge me. Not for a long time. After the third day in which I come home from the school Dorcas is too ill to attend and throw myself onto the bed ready to bawl, he sits beside me to hold me while I cry. He tries to soothe me and I hug him back, thinking just for one moment his old self might be returning. I feel the bones beneath his shirt and I can't hold back a shudder. His breathing is shallow and I am scared, and I hold him tighter like I will never ever let go, and then...then we both fall asleep, hugging. We used to sleep huddled together when we were little, and if one of us had a nightmare, the other would always be there to make things better. It is just like that. When I wake up, Dorcas is gone and Bliss is in my arms instead. He swears at me and pulls my hair, and I feel the tears well up again.
At the end of the week, the week after mother died, Adam goes into cardiac arrest. He had been talking to his unborn 'miracle baby', and then suddenly he was still and all the alarms were going off. Esther returns from the hospital as though nothing has happened, and we all look up, me and Verity and Dorcas, who is swimming in the swimming pool with us because I begged him too. We are eager for the news about our big brother, and when Esther sees our eager faces, she bursts into tears. Verity leaves the pool with Bliss and goes after her without changing, and I give a worried look to Dorcas. My twin is not wearing his glasses, and he is legally blind when he does have them, and he is not 100% sure what is happening, but he gets it before I do.
"Adam's dead." He says flatly, and I realise I am crying.
Verity has to tell Nicky, and Nicky had felt just as close to Adam as I had to Dorcas. Nicky's response is to trash the recreation room in the hospital he is in and cry. He punches glass and ends up in a physical injury hospital. There is no news of Georgie, and I am scared to go visit him. I feel trapped.
My name is Jaimie. I come from a shrinking family. One by one, we bite the dust. I carry the weight of my family's problems on my shoulders, and I have to be strong, because maybe, just maybe, if I can keep it together, I can sew the remains of the family and our sanity back together.
Monday, 24 March 2014
Thursday, 20 March 2014
The Survivors: For Taz
Taz shifted softly, feeling nothing but empty sheets beside her. She remembered the previous night clearly, sitting with Hauter, trying to comfort him over the loss of his best friend. He was pretty cut up about it. It had been a long time since Carmichael Hauter had last been reluctant to sleep with anyone, but though he made the advance, his heart wasn't in it. Even so, he was pretty good, in her opinion. They had been at her house, and Carmichael was already gone.
Carmichael was at a gaol. "Raven Pure?" He asked a passing staff member, who took him to the head office. He bit his lip and knocked on the door, and a woman bid him enter. He ignored the urge to chat her up and sighed quietly. "I'm here to inform you about your employee, Benedict Electrolytic..."
Raven raised her head. "Inform me of what?"
"Of his...demise...we were travelling together at the time, you see, and..." He stopped, beginning to choke up. Raven gave a slight nod and waved him away. Him and Texas had gotten Electrolytic's body to a funeral parlour. He made a slow walk back to Taz' house, having left some stuff behind. When he got there, he clambered in through a window. He wanted to avoid her. It didn't exactly work out as planned, however, as he went through a door and almost collided with her straight on.
"I was wondering where you'd gone." She commented, smiling. Hauter bit his lip and almost automatically placed his hands on Taz' hips, drawing her close. "How'd you like last night?"
She hesitated a moment. She suffered from short-term memory loss, and her friend Nemone was always worried about her and what could possibly be causing the memory problems. "Yeah, it was amazing."
Carmichael had to agree. The girl was good, and now they would never so much as kiss again. "Just came to get my stuff, Taz." He told her matter-of-factly, going into the bedroom to gather up the last of his belongings. "Then I have to get some cats seen to. Benedict's cats won't live long now he's gone..."
Taz nodded. She was under the impression she would see Carmichael again, but the next day he had left the country, taken the first plane he could out of Australia. He didn't care where it brought him, just as long as it wasn't Australia.
Hiro Phantasmagoria had not been home for a long time. While he was a protector, he had a family that he made sure to visit at the very least once a week. It was almost a month past since his wife had seen him last, and she was worried sick. Hiro was not going to come home though. Not after the Necromancer girl had killed him in cold blood. Esurine Xoloitzicuintli stood by the bedroom window, watching the streets for a sign of her psychopathic husband. The long, purple trenchcoat, the dark hair and cream skin. Her love. But he would never return.
In Scotland, a girl with an amethyst in her pocket was slowly realising something. This gem was damaging her mind. She knew what it was doing. It was making her paranoid, making her see things, hear things that weren't really there. She had to get rid of it, and she knew just the way. Working with a new group of people looked like it might give her a new path. Arachne, the leader was called. All she had to do was pick an easily susceptible victim, and then she had her trap, all she needed was bait, which would be easy once the victim was chosen.
Elsewhere, Nemone and Martina survived, travelling place to place, adventure to adventure, using their wits and skills to survive and having a good joke around in the process. They were sat atop a roof of a building seemingly abandoned, but Martina knew it. Now the Protectors had disbanded, seeing as only two remained, they went back to their respective places. Martina returned home for a while before a teleporter and a group of blondes got her involved with something. Bayside had returned to a little medical base he ran with experimental treatments. That was the building they sat on top of. Sky Darkthunder was inside, against his will. Bayside had been angry for a while, and he had been taking it out on old friends.
Finally. Diamond sighed, sat in front of the television. He was watching old black and white things thst hr fifn'y erbem likr yhst mucfh. Before him, on the coffee table, sat stacks and stacks of research he was doing for several contacts. That was the life Diamond lived. He was an informant for others, and he saw plenty of bloodshed. As long as he stayed unharmed in the process, he was fine.
Carmichael was at a gaol. "Raven Pure?" He asked a passing staff member, who took him to the head office. He bit his lip and knocked on the door, and a woman bid him enter. He ignored the urge to chat her up and sighed quietly. "I'm here to inform you about your employee, Benedict Electrolytic..."
Raven raised her head. "Inform me of what?"
"Of his...demise...we were travelling together at the time, you see, and..." He stopped, beginning to choke up. Raven gave a slight nod and waved him away. Him and Texas had gotten Electrolytic's body to a funeral parlour. He made a slow walk back to Taz' house, having left some stuff behind. When he got there, he clambered in through a window. He wanted to avoid her. It didn't exactly work out as planned, however, as he went through a door and almost collided with her straight on.
"I was wondering where you'd gone." She commented, smiling. Hauter bit his lip and almost automatically placed his hands on Taz' hips, drawing her close. "How'd you like last night?"
She hesitated a moment. She suffered from short-term memory loss, and her friend Nemone was always worried about her and what could possibly be causing the memory problems. "Yeah, it was amazing."
Carmichael had to agree. The girl was good, and now they would never so much as kiss again. "Just came to get my stuff, Taz." He told her matter-of-factly, going into the bedroom to gather up the last of his belongings. "Then I have to get some cats seen to. Benedict's cats won't live long now he's gone..."
Taz nodded. She was under the impression she would see Carmichael again, but the next day he had left the country, taken the first plane he could out of Australia. He didn't care where it brought him, just as long as it wasn't Australia.
Hiro Phantasmagoria had not been home for a long time. While he was a protector, he had a family that he made sure to visit at the very least once a week. It was almost a month past since his wife had seen him last, and she was worried sick. Hiro was not going to come home though. Not after the Necromancer girl had killed him in cold blood. Esurine Xoloitzicuintli stood by the bedroom window, watching the streets for a sign of her psychopathic husband. The long, purple trenchcoat, the dark hair and cream skin. Her love. But he would never return.
In Scotland, a girl with an amethyst in her pocket was slowly realising something. This gem was damaging her mind. She knew what it was doing. It was making her paranoid, making her see things, hear things that weren't really there. She had to get rid of it, and she knew just the way. Working with a new group of people looked like it might give her a new path. Arachne, the leader was called. All she had to do was pick an easily susceptible victim, and then she had her trap, all she needed was bait, which would be easy once the victim was chosen.
Elsewhere, Nemone and Martina survived, travelling place to place, adventure to adventure, using their wits and skills to survive and having a good joke around in the process. They were sat atop a roof of a building seemingly abandoned, but Martina knew it. Now the Protectors had disbanded, seeing as only two remained, they went back to their respective places. Martina returned home for a while before a teleporter and a group of blondes got her involved with something. Bayside had returned to a little medical base he ran with experimental treatments. That was the building they sat on top of. Sky Darkthunder was inside, against his will. Bayside had been angry for a while, and he had been taking it out on old friends.
Finally. Diamond sighed, sat in front of the television. He was watching old black and white things thst hr fifn'y erbem likr yhst mucfh. Before him, on the coffee table, sat stacks and stacks of research he was doing for several contacts. That was the life Diamond lived. He was an informant for others, and he saw plenty of bloodshed. As long as he stayed unharmed in the process, he was fine.
Monday, 17 March 2014
What If?: Brakes!
A story can go any which way. Fate drags you in one direction of many. There are a million decisions and branches, a million different worlds that can be created. Life can be given and taken. Ruined and repaired. One slight hesitation or lack thereof can change entire days, weeks, months, years! That is what I live for. I am the Reality Bender.
A slight hesitation and a split decision. That is what this story is about. A few years ago, two Teen Titans used their fast-travel powers to get them from the sky to a bridge. A man, let's call him Clyde, was driving a moving lorry along the bridge. He was at the head of the traffic approaching the fast travel blast. The lorry stopped in time to cause no harm.
Imagine. Imagine Clyde did not brake in time. Imagine the lorry swinging around, just the back, the cabin stopping to the best of its ability.
Now: The story.
Brakes.
The two brothers stood, eager for play, waiting for the smoke around them to clear before speaking. They didn't want the smoke in their throats, you see, so they held their breath. They didn't know what they had kicked up. It was the older brother, older by a few minutes at the most, who saw the truck first. He saw the large, metal body hurdling towards the two of them, and he acted on instinct. The next thing the younger brother knew, his feet were off the ground. He flew through the air and collided with the side of the bridge, almost falling over the edge, getting winded and just standing there slumped over the railing, trying to get his breath back.
The older brother, however, and we shall call him Thunder, had not had time to move after getting his brother out of the way. He was hit hard by the lorry and sent flying into the back of another car. Ouch. Had to hurt. He lay there as Clyde exited his lorry and looked on in shock. The blue-skinned super was on the floor, propped up by the back of the car, limp and with his eyes closed. Clyde took a few steps forward before rushing back to the lorry to get his mobile. Lightning pealed himself away from the railing and turned around, ready to shout, but when he looked around, his brother was not stood where he expected. His eyes searched a moment before his legs were working instead. He ran to his brother's side and shook him.
"Brother, wake up! Get up! Get up now! Wake up!" Someone dragged him back and he struggled. "No, he has to wake up! He has to be okay!"
"It's okay." Assured a voice. "We're going to help him." The ambulance hadn't gotten there yet, not that fast, surely. No, it was some fast-moving group of other teenagers who had seen blasts from the brothers and had teleported themselves to the scene to make sure everyone was okay. A tired-looking girl in blue cloak was bent over Thunder, checking him over. There was the distant sound of sirens and Lightning stayed crouched on the road, looking straight ahead. There was a voice chattering in his ear, asking questions, but he could not hear the words. A grey-gloved hand was on his arm. He didn't feel it. The ambulance arrived and he leapt to his feet, pushing the other boy away and watched his brother taken away, but instead of hanging around to talk or going with him, he turned and ran, vaulting over the rail of the bridge and flying off into the depths of this city.
The Teen Titans waited behind, helping sort out the mess at the bridge, but the teenage powerhouse landed gracefully in the middle of Cumming's street, west Jump City, looking around curiously with a frown. There were lights, and people, and vehicles filling the delicate air with smog and disgusting smells. There were many conflicting sounds, happy, angry, sad, and conflicting smells of pollutants and foods. He took a few steps, having not been to a place this...active for a while. The constant travelling often brought them to less populated places, and that was what they preferred. This was a little overwhelming, and it was made no better by the stares he received. Yes, he looked unusual, but the staring, the chatter, the noises, the lights, people pointing and laughing and whispering to one another, what had just happened to his brother...
With a sound of outrage, he sent a spiral of electricity towards the nearest group of irritating onlookers, sending them scattering with screams. This city had taken his brother from him. Those vehicles. Blast it all to hell. Heck, he could do that for real, he decided, balling up some energy in his hands, flying up and sending it down into the traffic, watching the blast. One parked car even exploded like a bomb. The fire was a beautiful mess of red, orange, yellow...No-one got hurt. Not as far as he could see, and it made him angrier. This city had taken his brother, so it should pay him back in kind. Take out lights and windows, fire at the running people, destruction and pain. That was what happened in his wake, west to east.
He was only stopped when a blast of energy struck his side, pressing him into a wall. He pushed off and stumbled, feeling a little dizzy, and turned to see the Teen Titans. Cyborg had one arm angled towards the furious elemental. Robin frowned and stepped forward. "What is your problem?"
Lightning threw his arms out. "Stay away from me!" He warned in a shriek.
The Titans were ready for a battle. "Power down." Lightning did not respond and Robin approached him. After all, they had helped his brother on the bridge, so maybe this guy would be level. "We don't want to hurt you, and I'm sure you don't want to hurt us. Just stop doing this and let us help you, like we helped the other guy back on the bridge-"
That turned out to be the wrong thing to say, they realised as Robin had to dive to the side to avoid being blasted. He got up, but before he could speak another blast hit him square in the chest. The other Titans sprung into action at once, and Lightning turned to meet them. If he were any more furious, he may well have been foaming at the mouth. Cyborg reached the electric teen first and grabbed his arm, twisting so the teen fell, grappling him to the ground and pinning him, keeping his hands away from those of the electric child. Not like that did much good. After all, the boy could charge his entire body with power, which could well blow a circuit. Luckily, it didn't, but it certainly put Cyborg out of commission. Lightning found it took a fair amount of effort to shift the metal man off him. Before he managed it, he found himself in a bubble of shadow. He used himself as a torch, but there was no break in the wall. He didn't notice the girl in there with him until her foot was swinging for his face.
One reflex of this young elemental's was to bring up an arm to protect his face, but the girl kept swinging for him. He brought up his arms to defend himself just as fast. Sparks flew from his already charged arms as he waited for a break in her strikes, and before opportunity presented itself he found himself backed against a wall of shadow, back pressed against the cold barrier. She swiped at him again and he ducked under. Raven jarred her leg against her shield and Lightning blasted her from below. With a yell, she collided with her own dome of darkness. It dissipated and he seemed lost. Disorientated by the sudden influx of light and sound, he spun, squinting. He hated artificial light like this, and the fires and his own charge were not helping, and neither was that bright green light that he could have sworn was getting brighter and
Oh...
He grunted as he scraped across the hard tarmac, feeling skin peel and his shirt rip. The alien princess towered over him, keeping her aim on him. His breathing was fast and uneasy, and his eyes caught the small movement of the Titans already taken down getting back up again.
Beast Boy was not there. Across the city, in Jump City hospital, he was asking to see the super who had been in the accident on the bridge earlier that evening. He was being told the boy's condition and being led to see him, where he was barely conscious. The changeling bit his lip. "Why is he wrecking everything? We're only trying to help...like I get it, you two are, like, close or whatever...but he seems more concerned with wrecking stuff than your wellbeing or whatever...Starfire could have gotten hurt by that prank I played earlier..."
"He finds it...amusing...the damage...his powers cause..." Huffed a wheezy, deep voice. He looked over and saw the large, lilac-skinned boy was awake and looking rather confused.
"But it's not funny, it's wrong, all the damage he's causing, innocent people he's hurting-" He stopped. He was getting through to this guy, but it was the wrong guy.
"...Wrong?"
"Well what's right about hurting people for fun?"
"Pain does not amuse us."
"Could have fooled me the way he's going on."
Thunder mulled it over in his mind for a moment, looking down at his battered body. "My brother...he'll be upset...we are very close...tell him I am okay..."
Lightning knew when to admit he was outnumbered. Right now he was away from those other kids, but if they came near he was ready to strike. He was powerful, but could he really take four supers at once? Their power was probably equal, but he could not fight four fronts at once. Two, maybe, but he was used to fighting in tandem with his brother. He needed just a moment to get his breath back, especially since he was not the healthiest of people. However, his ears were good. He could pick out the skitter of rats and the heavy footfalls behind him of a large man, trying to be discreet. Suddenly, the elemental swung round, throwing his arm out to catch this man's jaw, but the man had good reactions and caught his arm.
"Easy," he said through a black and bronze mask. He had something to hide. "I'm not here to hurt you. I saw the damage you did to the city, to the Titans. You have a lot of power."
Lightning narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?" He was about this man's size. Less muscular, quite thinner, and maybe an inch or two shorter, but roughly similar sizes.
Though he could not see it, Lightning felt he could sense the man smirk. "I can help you hone your powers. You're powerful now, but you have so much more potential."
"I am not interested." He pulled away and Slade grabbed him again.
"Then what does interest you?"
"I just want my brother! Let me go!"
"Stay a little longer, I think we have some things to discuss. I can help the aggrieved."
When Beast Boy saw the destruction that one teen had caused, he was shocked. Not even the HIVE kids had wreaked that much havoc on the fair city. No, this looked like something out of a nightmare. He located Raven first, who was attempting to put out a blaze. "Raven! What happened?"
"Take a wild guess."
"Where's everyone else?"
"Either stopping either fires, saving lives or looking for the guy who did all this. Where were you?"
"Talking to his brother. The one who was hit by the truck."
"He's very distressed, and that must be why.
"His brother's okay though! Maybe if he knows that, he'll stop!"
"Then stop hanging around here and find him before he does any more damage!"
It didn't take long. He just had to follow the path of destruction. He was at an art gallery, destroying the outdoor décor, a man stood nearby and watching. The boy laughed as he destabilised a large sphere, which then rolled into a set of stone pillars.
"Hey!" Beast Boy yelled, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. Lightning and Slade turned to him. "You don't have to do this. It's not this city's fault your brother got hurt-"
"Shut up! Be quiet, be silent, or else!" He interjected in a shriek, charging his hands.
"But your brother's okay! I was just talking to him and he's worried about you! He doesn't want you to get yourself into trouble like this!"
There was a long silence before Slade spoke. "Prove it."
"Wait, what?"
"He is aggrieved. He believes his brother to be seriously injured, or worse. It would be a cruel thing to use as leverage for this town's safety, would it not?"
There was silence again. Lightning sighed. "I want to see him. I want to see him here and now."
And let me tell you, that took some arranging. The doctors were insistent that the large boy was not well enough to move, but Thunder insisted in turn that he was fine and, contrary to popular belief, knew a bit about health and medicine. He had not been that badly hurt by the truck, not so badly he could not get up for a walk about. It would not put him in danger, but the doctors wanted to be careful. Oh well. At least sneaking away was not out of the question.
When Beast Boy found Lightning again, he was stood over Starfire's fallen form, ready to strike. "Brother, no!" Thunder called out, and it did the trick. Lightning stopped and looked over. Behind him was a wall of fire. He looked around at the damage he had done. Thunder walked forward, a frown on his face. "What have you done?"
The younger elemental just seemed to burst into tears. "You're okay...I just wanted you to be okay, because you were not okay, and you got hurt by this place and-"
Thunder placed his hand on his little brother's shoulder. "It is not the blame of this place. You must not make them responsible for our actions. We landed in a foolish place. It was our fault and..."
Lightning nodded sorrowfully. "I..." He cut off and hugged his brother tight. "I'm sorry!"
Thunder nodded, holding him close. "It is okay. But we need to right this wrong..."
"But our gifts can only destroy..."
"True, but together we have another gift."
"No," Slade began, confused, "your revenge-"
"Was undeserved." Lightning finished for him. "I have done wrong."
In a bright flash of light the brothers vanished into the sky. Thunder cracked across the rolling clouds, and lightning split the sky, and then it rained. Gallons of fresh rain pouring over the entire city, helping to put out fires and lower the heat, and then...the boys did not come back. Embarrassed over this whole ordeal, they wished to stay far away from the damage they had caused, but were willing to help assist repair that which they had broken.
A slight hesitation and a split decision. That is what this story is about. A few years ago, two Teen Titans used their fast-travel powers to get them from the sky to a bridge. A man, let's call him Clyde, was driving a moving lorry along the bridge. He was at the head of the traffic approaching the fast travel blast. The lorry stopped in time to cause no harm.
Imagine. Imagine Clyde did not brake in time. Imagine the lorry swinging around, just the back, the cabin stopping to the best of its ability.
Now: The story.
Brakes.
The two brothers stood, eager for play, waiting for the smoke around them to clear before speaking. They didn't want the smoke in their throats, you see, so they held their breath. They didn't know what they had kicked up. It was the older brother, older by a few minutes at the most, who saw the truck first. He saw the large, metal body hurdling towards the two of them, and he acted on instinct. The next thing the younger brother knew, his feet were off the ground. He flew through the air and collided with the side of the bridge, almost falling over the edge, getting winded and just standing there slumped over the railing, trying to get his breath back.
The older brother, however, and we shall call him Thunder, had not had time to move after getting his brother out of the way. He was hit hard by the lorry and sent flying into the back of another car. Ouch. Had to hurt. He lay there as Clyde exited his lorry and looked on in shock. The blue-skinned super was on the floor, propped up by the back of the car, limp and with his eyes closed. Clyde took a few steps forward before rushing back to the lorry to get his mobile. Lightning pealed himself away from the railing and turned around, ready to shout, but when he looked around, his brother was not stood where he expected. His eyes searched a moment before his legs were working instead. He ran to his brother's side and shook him.
"Brother, wake up! Get up! Get up now! Wake up!" Someone dragged him back and he struggled. "No, he has to wake up! He has to be okay!"
"It's okay." Assured a voice. "We're going to help him." The ambulance hadn't gotten there yet, not that fast, surely. No, it was some fast-moving group of other teenagers who had seen blasts from the brothers and had teleported themselves to the scene to make sure everyone was okay. A tired-looking girl in blue cloak was bent over Thunder, checking him over. There was the distant sound of sirens and Lightning stayed crouched on the road, looking straight ahead. There was a voice chattering in his ear, asking questions, but he could not hear the words. A grey-gloved hand was on his arm. He didn't feel it. The ambulance arrived and he leapt to his feet, pushing the other boy away and watched his brother taken away, but instead of hanging around to talk or going with him, he turned and ran, vaulting over the rail of the bridge and flying off into the depths of this city.
The Teen Titans waited behind, helping sort out the mess at the bridge, but the teenage powerhouse landed gracefully in the middle of Cumming's street, west Jump City, looking around curiously with a frown. There were lights, and people, and vehicles filling the delicate air with smog and disgusting smells. There were many conflicting sounds, happy, angry, sad, and conflicting smells of pollutants and foods. He took a few steps, having not been to a place this...active for a while. The constant travelling often brought them to less populated places, and that was what they preferred. This was a little overwhelming, and it was made no better by the stares he received. Yes, he looked unusual, but the staring, the chatter, the noises, the lights, people pointing and laughing and whispering to one another, what had just happened to his brother...
With a sound of outrage, he sent a spiral of electricity towards the nearest group of irritating onlookers, sending them scattering with screams. This city had taken his brother from him. Those vehicles. Blast it all to hell. Heck, he could do that for real, he decided, balling up some energy in his hands, flying up and sending it down into the traffic, watching the blast. One parked car even exploded like a bomb. The fire was a beautiful mess of red, orange, yellow...No-one got hurt. Not as far as he could see, and it made him angrier. This city had taken his brother, so it should pay him back in kind. Take out lights and windows, fire at the running people, destruction and pain. That was what happened in his wake, west to east.
He was only stopped when a blast of energy struck his side, pressing him into a wall. He pushed off and stumbled, feeling a little dizzy, and turned to see the Teen Titans. Cyborg had one arm angled towards the furious elemental. Robin frowned and stepped forward. "What is your problem?"
Lightning threw his arms out. "Stay away from me!" He warned in a shriek.
The Titans were ready for a battle. "Power down." Lightning did not respond and Robin approached him. After all, they had helped his brother on the bridge, so maybe this guy would be level. "We don't want to hurt you, and I'm sure you don't want to hurt us. Just stop doing this and let us help you, like we helped the other guy back on the bridge-"
That turned out to be the wrong thing to say, they realised as Robin had to dive to the side to avoid being blasted. He got up, but before he could speak another blast hit him square in the chest. The other Titans sprung into action at once, and Lightning turned to meet them. If he were any more furious, he may well have been foaming at the mouth. Cyborg reached the electric teen first and grabbed his arm, twisting so the teen fell, grappling him to the ground and pinning him, keeping his hands away from those of the electric child. Not like that did much good. After all, the boy could charge his entire body with power, which could well blow a circuit. Luckily, it didn't, but it certainly put Cyborg out of commission. Lightning found it took a fair amount of effort to shift the metal man off him. Before he managed it, he found himself in a bubble of shadow. He used himself as a torch, but there was no break in the wall. He didn't notice the girl in there with him until her foot was swinging for his face.
One reflex of this young elemental's was to bring up an arm to protect his face, but the girl kept swinging for him. He brought up his arms to defend himself just as fast. Sparks flew from his already charged arms as he waited for a break in her strikes, and before opportunity presented itself he found himself backed against a wall of shadow, back pressed against the cold barrier. She swiped at him again and he ducked under. Raven jarred her leg against her shield and Lightning blasted her from below. With a yell, she collided with her own dome of darkness. It dissipated and he seemed lost. Disorientated by the sudden influx of light and sound, he spun, squinting. He hated artificial light like this, and the fires and his own charge were not helping, and neither was that bright green light that he could have sworn was getting brighter and
Oh...
He grunted as he scraped across the hard tarmac, feeling skin peel and his shirt rip. The alien princess towered over him, keeping her aim on him. His breathing was fast and uneasy, and his eyes caught the small movement of the Titans already taken down getting back up again.
Beast Boy was not there. Across the city, in Jump City hospital, he was asking to see the super who had been in the accident on the bridge earlier that evening. He was being told the boy's condition and being led to see him, where he was barely conscious. The changeling bit his lip. "Why is he wrecking everything? We're only trying to help...like I get it, you two are, like, close or whatever...but he seems more concerned with wrecking stuff than your wellbeing or whatever...Starfire could have gotten hurt by that prank I played earlier..."
"He finds it...amusing...the damage...his powers cause..." Huffed a wheezy, deep voice. He looked over and saw the large, lilac-skinned boy was awake and looking rather confused.
"But it's not funny, it's wrong, all the damage he's causing, innocent people he's hurting-" He stopped. He was getting through to this guy, but it was the wrong guy.
"...Wrong?"
"Well what's right about hurting people for fun?"
"Pain does not amuse us."
"Could have fooled me the way he's going on."
Thunder mulled it over in his mind for a moment, looking down at his battered body. "My brother...he'll be upset...we are very close...tell him I am okay..."
Lightning knew when to admit he was outnumbered. Right now he was away from those other kids, but if they came near he was ready to strike. He was powerful, but could he really take four supers at once? Their power was probably equal, but he could not fight four fronts at once. Two, maybe, but he was used to fighting in tandem with his brother. He needed just a moment to get his breath back, especially since he was not the healthiest of people. However, his ears were good. He could pick out the skitter of rats and the heavy footfalls behind him of a large man, trying to be discreet. Suddenly, the elemental swung round, throwing his arm out to catch this man's jaw, but the man had good reactions and caught his arm.
"Easy," he said through a black and bronze mask. He had something to hide. "I'm not here to hurt you. I saw the damage you did to the city, to the Titans. You have a lot of power."
Lightning narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?" He was about this man's size. Less muscular, quite thinner, and maybe an inch or two shorter, but roughly similar sizes.
Though he could not see it, Lightning felt he could sense the man smirk. "I can help you hone your powers. You're powerful now, but you have so much more potential."
"I am not interested." He pulled away and Slade grabbed him again.
"Then what does interest you?"
"I just want my brother! Let me go!"
"Stay a little longer, I think we have some things to discuss. I can help the aggrieved."
When Beast Boy saw the destruction that one teen had caused, he was shocked. Not even the HIVE kids had wreaked that much havoc on the fair city. No, this looked like something out of a nightmare. He located Raven first, who was attempting to put out a blaze. "Raven! What happened?"
"Take a wild guess."
"Where's everyone else?"
"Either stopping either fires, saving lives or looking for the guy who did all this. Where were you?"
"Talking to his brother. The one who was hit by the truck."
"He's very distressed, and that must be why.
"His brother's okay though! Maybe if he knows that, he'll stop!"
"Then stop hanging around here and find him before he does any more damage!"
It didn't take long. He just had to follow the path of destruction. He was at an art gallery, destroying the outdoor décor, a man stood nearby and watching. The boy laughed as he destabilised a large sphere, which then rolled into a set of stone pillars.
"Hey!" Beast Boy yelled, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. Lightning and Slade turned to him. "You don't have to do this. It's not this city's fault your brother got hurt-"
"Shut up! Be quiet, be silent, or else!" He interjected in a shriek, charging his hands.
"But your brother's okay! I was just talking to him and he's worried about you! He doesn't want you to get yourself into trouble like this!"
There was a long silence before Slade spoke. "Prove it."
"Wait, what?"
"He is aggrieved. He believes his brother to be seriously injured, or worse. It would be a cruel thing to use as leverage for this town's safety, would it not?"
There was silence again. Lightning sighed. "I want to see him. I want to see him here and now."
And let me tell you, that took some arranging. The doctors were insistent that the large boy was not well enough to move, but Thunder insisted in turn that he was fine and, contrary to popular belief, knew a bit about health and medicine. He had not been that badly hurt by the truck, not so badly he could not get up for a walk about. It would not put him in danger, but the doctors wanted to be careful. Oh well. At least sneaking away was not out of the question.
When Beast Boy found Lightning again, he was stood over Starfire's fallen form, ready to strike. "Brother, no!" Thunder called out, and it did the trick. Lightning stopped and looked over. Behind him was a wall of fire. He looked around at the damage he had done. Thunder walked forward, a frown on his face. "What have you done?"
The younger elemental just seemed to burst into tears. "You're okay...I just wanted you to be okay, because you were not okay, and you got hurt by this place and-"
Thunder placed his hand on his little brother's shoulder. "It is not the blame of this place. You must not make them responsible for our actions. We landed in a foolish place. It was our fault and..."
Lightning nodded sorrowfully. "I..." He cut off and hugged his brother tight. "I'm sorry!"
Thunder nodded, holding him close. "It is okay. But we need to right this wrong..."
"But our gifts can only destroy..."
"True, but together we have another gift."
"No," Slade began, confused, "your revenge-"
"Was undeserved." Lightning finished for him. "I have done wrong."
In a bright flash of light the brothers vanished into the sky. Thunder cracked across the rolling clouds, and lightning split the sky, and then it rained. Gallons of fresh rain pouring over the entire city, helping to put out fires and lower the heat, and then...the boys did not come back. Embarrassed over this whole ordeal, they wished to stay far away from the damage they had caused, but were willing to help assist repair that which they had broken.
Wednesday, 12 March 2014
Power Cut
Wake up! Bid a voice in my head. A woman's voice, sweet and melodious. It sounded familiar. Like mother, but younger.
I don't quite remember what happened. It began with a fight. Not a fight between good and evil, not a fight to protect the innocent or stop the unjust, but a fight between two brothers. An argument. Nothing physical by this point, just an argument to do with the lunch they had had before. Perhaps it was a silly thing to argue over, but now one felt sick and the other one had been complaining about the first's complaining.
My brother had been sick at least five times, I should have given him a break, but no. "Honestly, Thunder, I didn't expect you to complain this much. At least this way you are losing a few pounds, brother."
He glared at me then. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
I felt arms around my waist, but then we both noticed the man. He was staring straight at us, so my temper flared and I snapped at him, asking what he was staring at. He walked over, so I struggled free from my brother's grip.
"Who are you?" I asked angrily, already in a bad enough mood thanks to the argument. He didn't respond, but Thunder could see what the man had been doing. It looked like a laser, and he swore before asking quietly what it was.
"Not something you should have seen. This is my domain." The man said in an even tone.
"It looks monstrous."
"You should not have seen this. Either of you. By the looks of you, you won't be missed much."
That was when he tried to kill us. Obviously, since we have this story to tell, it was not successful.
Wake up! The voice repeated, as I began to come to. Tavis, you have to wake up.
And I did. Above me are the skies, beating down a sweltering heat that had been cold and moonlit when I had fought. My brother was not there, and my head hurt so bad. The man, the strange purple man, had messed with my head, with my memories, he had beaten me with my own brain. Brilliant. I felt hands on me, strong hands helping me up. My brother stood before me then, and still I felt off-colour. It was a strange feeling, like I was in danger, and dizzy from whatever that madman had done to my head, and sometimes I can feel my power, singing through my veins, compelling me to use it, but that urge I can always overcome. Nonetheless, it is an unpleasant experience, and not one to be mixed with heightened senses of danger and fear. There is a pulse in my head, growing louder and faster, and I know what it is, but it sounds like the beating of hooves across hard mud and my paranoia shoots up until there is a bright light and I have to shut my eyes, because I have a migraine now.
"Brother, stop it. Power down!"
I inch open my eyes and realise I am the one making the light. It normally takes a lot of strength to shut off that stream, for both myself and my brother. It seems harder today, but I manage it. Perhaps it was not the food that made Thunder unwell, and I am sick too. I shrug it off and we walk for a while, talking.
Every now and then, I give sideways glances to my brother to check he is okay, and every now and then I notice unusual behaviours. He is biting his nails, wringing his hands, looking about himself nervously, and every now and then sparks fly from him. It appears something is worrying him, and so he is not bothering to keep his powers in check. We have always struggled with our powers. They have always been too powerful for us and so difficult to keep in check and concealed when the time is right. The life we lead does not keep us healthy either, which leads to most of our energy being focussed on either survival or power control. He looks scared, but I say nothing. He would not be very civil if I pointed it out, and with my head pounding from whatever fever had washed over my being, I certainly did not feel up to another argument. I just worried in silence.
He didn't say anything about my distress, which I believed was obvious. I try to stop sparks escaping me, but I fail. He either does not notice, or he does not care. Oddly, ever since our fight with the psychic psychopath, I have had this niggling feeling Thunder has never liked me.
It is when it gets around lunch time. I am not hungry, I still feel very ill, but I assume Lightning is hungry. He has not eaten since lunch the day before, he has just been stressy and anxious. This whole time he has offered only single syllable responses and minor grunts, and my worry about him has increased. Though I was involved in the earlier fight, I was dealt with swiftly, as pretty soon, much to my embarrassment, I was throwing up again. I do not know what the assailant did to my brother, but I am not happy. He will taste my wrath when I next see him.
Thunder's fists are clenched by his sides. He looks angry.
I ask him what he wants for lunch, and he just shrugs. The simple movement sends energy out and I get a static shock. "Lightning." I hiss in a stern tone, wishing for him to play it safer. He looks hurt. "Just keep a lid on the electricity. You could hurt someone. You could hurt yourself."
"I'm fine." I object in the same tone.
"I'm just concerned. You have been behaving strange all day."
I take offence to this. "You think I am strange?" I raise my voice by accident and he gives me a stern look.
"That is not what I said." My temper was flaring, but I kept my voice low. People stared enough as it was without him making a scene.
"What do you mean, then?" I asked through gritted teeth.
I winced at the volume and anger in his tone. "Keep your voice down. All I am saying is I want you to stop throwing your powers about."
"I am not throwing my powers about!" I said in a civil tone.
He shouted it loud enough to wake the dead. The street fell silent and electricity spiralled up his arms, and I knew I would have to tread carefully. Our powers were in sync, I could feel mine building up, pushing against my will, but I held on. "You are causing a scene." I told him sternly. Then he just sort of doubled over, like he was in pain and...
It was like a bomb going off. A bright light, the sound of electrical sparking and buzzing and fizzing, the smash of hundreds of broken windows and the patter of raining shards of death, the harsh whistle of air in my ears. I slammed against a wall or post, and an intense pain arose in my arm. Broken? My gut hurt too, and my head and chest. Well, my whole body ached now, but the force of my own powers in my blood was dying.
I had been struggling to control my powers all day, and suddenly I got so worked up, what I had held back just exploded outwards.
When the light died down, all I could see and smell was smoke and dust. I was on the pavement, and there was a ringing in my ears, but still I could hear the screech of car brakes and terrified civilians. There was a chattering of people who were unharmed and confused, the crumple sound of falling masonry and tinkle of falling glass. I was coughing. My lungs were full of the smoke and dust and I was coughing, and then I heard Lightning call to me.
I ran over to check he was okay.
I saw his feet. He stayed standing.
I crouched down, but I knew from the position he was in he could only see my feet.
It looked like he was standing on his toes. It seemed strange and I, in a confused state, laughed.
I touched his arm because it looked damaged.
He squeezed my arm and I cried out. It was definitely broken. I heard him gasp and stutter out an apology, and then a flash of light blinded me. I opened my eyes and he was gone. He had flown away.
I had flown away.
I had to.
I had hurt him.
I kept on flying until I got to where I am now, sat on the edge of a sheer rock edge, my feet dangling down into the abyss below. It is late afternoon, the sky full of orange and brown hues. He is my brother and I had hurt him that bad just because I was a paranoid little...why am I suddenly so paranoid though? I did not feel this way before...before...
That psychic man, the one who was in my head. He has done something to me! He is the reason all this has happened!
I get taken to a hospital. The bright lights confuse me and all I can think about is how scared and upset my brother had sounded. I want to go to him and find him. They won't let me go as they bandage up my arm and force this strange rubbery thing over my mouth. They insist it is to help me breathe, but I just want to go. I don't care.
The area is devoid of life but for a few lizards and myself. It is pretty much a sandy, dusty wasteland. I do not remember how long I was flying for. I kept going until I could no longer. It is dark and I feel sick. Now I realise what has been going on, I feel more in control, more confident. This deserted place becomes my playground. Although my energy is low, and I wish to sleep, I push myself, force myself to send charges dancing across the sand, watching electric waves kick up sand. I make a light show, try and prove to myself I am in control, but every now and then something goes wrong. Even so, it is almost like a dance. I spin and throw my arms out. Bring them up gracefully, like a ballerina, charged and ready, then shoot in front like I am brushing something unpleasant off of a flat surface. I spin-
And fall? I spin too close to the edge, my foot going over the edge, and then I am falling through space, cold air whistling past, sand stinging my skin. I am too shocked to scream and too tired to fly, so I just fall until something snags the back of my shirt, bringing the neckline in against my throat so fast and hard I black out.
They do not let me leave the hospital, so I get away when they are not focussed on me. I have to find my little brother. I have no clue where he might have gone, and I cannot trace him with our communicators. The reckless child he is, he broke his communicator not too soon after he had first received it. All I can do is go off in one direction and hope for the best. I do not feel unwell any longer. It is late afternoon, leading towards night time. I haven't much chance of finding him before nightfall, but I have to try. I have to know he is alright.
It takes hours before I see the light, literally. It is early morning, possibly about two or three. Either way, it is still dark. I do not know where we are now, but I see light in the distance, bolts of lightning spinning off at seemingly random intervals and directions, but there is a pattern. There is always a pattern with my Lightning.
I swoop in, narrowly avoiding being struck. He has not noticed. He is preoccupied with his show, not quite enjoying it, not quite disliking it, but concentrating hard. He concentrates on the light and its patterns, but not on the space he occupies. I see him spin, awfully close to the edge, and I try to shout a warning, but it is caught in my throat along with a tonne of dust and phlegm. He falls and it is suddenly too dark to see, so I dive off my cloud and reach out into the darkness. I feel something, and I grab. It is not rock or sand, it is cloth. His belt, perhaps. No, not the belt. I know because I hear him gag. I summon the cloud back and here we are, safe and very much alive. I descend slowly to the ground and lay him down gently. It is light again when he comes to. I watch over him for the hour, and then he groans, turning his head as though searching for something. "Brother?" I ask timidly, fearing he may be hurt, especially after the grab I made for him. His eyes shoot open.
Thunder is knelt beside me when I wake up this time, something I feel is rare. When we sleep, he is always up before me and he always goes away for a little bit in the mornings, while I sleep. I always wake before he returns. This time I am lying upon something soft, but more substantial and solid than our clouds. The memories return and I groan again.
"You are okay, yes?" I ask in concern, touching his shoulder gently with my good hand.
I sit up, taking him by surprise. "I am fine. What about you, are you okay? Why did you follow me? Oh...what did I do to your arm?"
He is distressed, so I shush him, drawing him in close for a hug as one normally does when the other is unhappy. "I came to find you because you are my brother, I did not wish for you to be upset."
"But I hurt you. You are in a hospital gown, I really badly hurt you and for no reason!"
I smile. "I do not believe you were in control. Besides, you are my brother and I love you. I would always forgive you, no matter what." I promise, and he relaxes in my embrace.
I don't quite remember what happened. It began with a fight. Not a fight between good and evil, not a fight to protect the innocent or stop the unjust, but a fight between two brothers. An argument. Nothing physical by this point, just an argument to do with the lunch they had had before. Perhaps it was a silly thing to argue over, but now one felt sick and the other one had been complaining about the first's complaining.
My brother had been sick at least five times, I should have given him a break, but no. "Honestly, Thunder, I didn't expect you to complain this much. At least this way you are losing a few pounds, brother."
He glared at me then. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
I felt arms around my waist, but then we both noticed the man. He was staring straight at us, so my temper flared and I snapped at him, asking what he was staring at. He walked over, so I struggled free from my brother's grip.
"Who are you?" I asked angrily, already in a bad enough mood thanks to the argument. He didn't respond, but Thunder could see what the man had been doing. It looked like a laser, and he swore before asking quietly what it was.
"Not something you should have seen. This is my domain." The man said in an even tone.
"It looks monstrous."
"You should not have seen this. Either of you. By the looks of you, you won't be missed much."
That was when he tried to kill us. Obviously, since we have this story to tell, it was not successful.
Wake up! The voice repeated, as I began to come to. Tavis, you have to wake up.
And I did. Above me are the skies, beating down a sweltering heat that had been cold and moonlit when I had fought. My brother was not there, and my head hurt so bad. The man, the strange purple man, had messed with my head, with my memories, he had beaten me with my own brain. Brilliant. I felt hands on me, strong hands helping me up. My brother stood before me then, and still I felt off-colour. It was a strange feeling, like I was in danger, and dizzy from whatever that madman had done to my head, and sometimes I can feel my power, singing through my veins, compelling me to use it, but that urge I can always overcome. Nonetheless, it is an unpleasant experience, and not one to be mixed with heightened senses of danger and fear. There is a pulse in my head, growing louder and faster, and I know what it is, but it sounds like the beating of hooves across hard mud and my paranoia shoots up until there is a bright light and I have to shut my eyes, because I have a migraine now.
"Brother, stop it. Power down!"
I inch open my eyes and realise I am the one making the light. It normally takes a lot of strength to shut off that stream, for both myself and my brother. It seems harder today, but I manage it. Perhaps it was not the food that made Thunder unwell, and I am sick too. I shrug it off and we walk for a while, talking.
Every now and then, I give sideways glances to my brother to check he is okay, and every now and then I notice unusual behaviours. He is biting his nails, wringing his hands, looking about himself nervously, and every now and then sparks fly from him. It appears something is worrying him, and so he is not bothering to keep his powers in check. We have always struggled with our powers. They have always been too powerful for us and so difficult to keep in check and concealed when the time is right. The life we lead does not keep us healthy either, which leads to most of our energy being focussed on either survival or power control. He looks scared, but I say nothing. He would not be very civil if I pointed it out, and with my head pounding from whatever fever had washed over my being, I certainly did not feel up to another argument. I just worried in silence.
He didn't say anything about my distress, which I believed was obvious. I try to stop sparks escaping me, but I fail. He either does not notice, or he does not care. Oddly, ever since our fight with the psychic psychopath, I have had this niggling feeling Thunder has never liked me.
It is when it gets around lunch time. I am not hungry, I still feel very ill, but I assume Lightning is hungry. He has not eaten since lunch the day before, he has just been stressy and anxious. This whole time he has offered only single syllable responses and minor grunts, and my worry about him has increased. Though I was involved in the earlier fight, I was dealt with swiftly, as pretty soon, much to my embarrassment, I was throwing up again. I do not know what the assailant did to my brother, but I am not happy. He will taste my wrath when I next see him.
Thunder's fists are clenched by his sides. He looks angry.
I ask him what he wants for lunch, and he just shrugs. The simple movement sends energy out and I get a static shock. "Lightning." I hiss in a stern tone, wishing for him to play it safer. He looks hurt. "Just keep a lid on the electricity. You could hurt someone. You could hurt yourself."
"I'm fine." I object in the same tone.
"I'm just concerned. You have been behaving strange all day."
I take offence to this. "You think I am strange?" I raise my voice by accident and he gives me a stern look.
"That is not what I said." My temper was flaring, but I kept my voice low. People stared enough as it was without him making a scene.
"What do you mean, then?" I asked through gritted teeth.
I winced at the volume and anger in his tone. "Keep your voice down. All I am saying is I want you to stop throwing your powers about."
"I am not throwing my powers about!" I said in a civil tone.
He shouted it loud enough to wake the dead. The street fell silent and electricity spiralled up his arms, and I knew I would have to tread carefully. Our powers were in sync, I could feel mine building up, pushing against my will, but I held on. "You are causing a scene." I told him sternly. Then he just sort of doubled over, like he was in pain and...
It was like a bomb going off. A bright light, the sound of electrical sparking and buzzing and fizzing, the smash of hundreds of broken windows and the patter of raining shards of death, the harsh whistle of air in my ears. I slammed against a wall or post, and an intense pain arose in my arm. Broken? My gut hurt too, and my head and chest. Well, my whole body ached now, but the force of my own powers in my blood was dying.
I had been struggling to control my powers all day, and suddenly I got so worked up, what I had held back just exploded outwards.
When the light died down, all I could see and smell was smoke and dust. I was on the pavement, and there was a ringing in my ears, but still I could hear the screech of car brakes and terrified civilians. There was a chattering of people who were unharmed and confused, the crumple sound of falling masonry and tinkle of falling glass. I was coughing. My lungs were full of the smoke and dust and I was coughing, and then I heard Lightning call to me.
I ran over to check he was okay.
I saw his feet. He stayed standing.
I crouched down, but I knew from the position he was in he could only see my feet.
It looked like he was standing on his toes. It seemed strange and I, in a confused state, laughed.
I touched his arm because it looked damaged.
He squeezed my arm and I cried out. It was definitely broken. I heard him gasp and stutter out an apology, and then a flash of light blinded me. I opened my eyes and he was gone. He had flown away.
I had flown away.
I had to.
I had hurt him.
I kept on flying until I got to where I am now, sat on the edge of a sheer rock edge, my feet dangling down into the abyss below. It is late afternoon, the sky full of orange and brown hues. He is my brother and I had hurt him that bad just because I was a paranoid little...why am I suddenly so paranoid though? I did not feel this way before...before...
That psychic man, the one who was in my head. He has done something to me! He is the reason all this has happened!
I get taken to a hospital. The bright lights confuse me and all I can think about is how scared and upset my brother had sounded. I want to go to him and find him. They won't let me go as they bandage up my arm and force this strange rubbery thing over my mouth. They insist it is to help me breathe, but I just want to go. I don't care.
The area is devoid of life but for a few lizards and myself. It is pretty much a sandy, dusty wasteland. I do not remember how long I was flying for. I kept going until I could no longer. It is dark and I feel sick. Now I realise what has been going on, I feel more in control, more confident. This deserted place becomes my playground. Although my energy is low, and I wish to sleep, I push myself, force myself to send charges dancing across the sand, watching electric waves kick up sand. I make a light show, try and prove to myself I am in control, but every now and then something goes wrong. Even so, it is almost like a dance. I spin and throw my arms out. Bring them up gracefully, like a ballerina, charged and ready, then shoot in front like I am brushing something unpleasant off of a flat surface. I spin-
And fall? I spin too close to the edge, my foot going over the edge, and then I am falling through space, cold air whistling past, sand stinging my skin. I am too shocked to scream and too tired to fly, so I just fall until something snags the back of my shirt, bringing the neckline in against my throat so fast and hard I black out.
They do not let me leave the hospital, so I get away when they are not focussed on me. I have to find my little brother. I have no clue where he might have gone, and I cannot trace him with our communicators. The reckless child he is, he broke his communicator not too soon after he had first received it. All I can do is go off in one direction and hope for the best. I do not feel unwell any longer. It is late afternoon, leading towards night time. I haven't much chance of finding him before nightfall, but I have to try. I have to know he is alright.
It takes hours before I see the light, literally. It is early morning, possibly about two or three. Either way, it is still dark. I do not know where we are now, but I see light in the distance, bolts of lightning spinning off at seemingly random intervals and directions, but there is a pattern. There is always a pattern with my Lightning.
I swoop in, narrowly avoiding being struck. He has not noticed. He is preoccupied with his show, not quite enjoying it, not quite disliking it, but concentrating hard. He concentrates on the light and its patterns, but not on the space he occupies. I see him spin, awfully close to the edge, and I try to shout a warning, but it is caught in my throat along with a tonne of dust and phlegm. He falls and it is suddenly too dark to see, so I dive off my cloud and reach out into the darkness. I feel something, and I grab. It is not rock or sand, it is cloth. His belt, perhaps. No, not the belt. I know because I hear him gag. I summon the cloud back and here we are, safe and very much alive. I descend slowly to the ground and lay him down gently. It is light again when he comes to. I watch over him for the hour, and then he groans, turning his head as though searching for something. "Brother?" I ask timidly, fearing he may be hurt, especially after the grab I made for him. His eyes shoot open.
Thunder is knelt beside me when I wake up this time, something I feel is rare. When we sleep, he is always up before me and he always goes away for a little bit in the mornings, while I sleep. I always wake before he returns. This time I am lying upon something soft, but more substantial and solid than our clouds. The memories return and I groan again.
"You are okay, yes?" I ask in concern, touching his shoulder gently with my good hand.
I sit up, taking him by surprise. "I am fine. What about you, are you okay? Why did you follow me? Oh...what did I do to your arm?"
He is distressed, so I shush him, drawing him in close for a hug as one normally does when the other is unhappy. "I came to find you because you are my brother, I did not wish for you to be upset."
"But I hurt you. You are in a hospital gown, I really badly hurt you and for no reason!"
I smile. "I do not believe you were in control. Besides, you are my brother and I love you. I would always forgive you, no matter what." I promise, and he relaxes in my embrace.
Wednesday, 5 March 2014
North and South
I have good days and bad days. Good days where I'm practically bouncing off the walls and no-one can bring me down, and bad days where I just want to lay in bed and never ever get up ever again.
On a good day, I can't sit still. I have oodles of energy and it just has to go somewhere. I can't shut up, and I always have someone to talk to, so I talk to them about anything. I often compare a girl's make-up with mine. I like gothic make-up, the kind that makes me look like a member of Kiss. I'm always smiling, and it even annoys people, because they think it's weird.
I don't understand when people don't want to hang around me at this time. I'm very positive, and I feel like they really should take the time to hang out with me-...oops, that sounds conceited...but that's how I feel on good days. I feel like I'm the most amazing person in the world.
I'm always making plans on the good days. Plans to meet up with others or buy a hamster or ideas for new spells, you know? That sort of thing. I'm just bouncing off the walls. But just clap near me, and I can be drawn away from my plans and ideas, and forget them in an instant, and then I won't be happy. Then I'll be angry and I'll snap. I can never sit still, either because I'm hyper or furious. I get so agitated and uncomfortable around others, and this is on the good days.
Sometimes I hear things that aren't there. I hear a phantom voice, or feel someone brush their hand against my cheek, only to find not a soul is in place to do so. Even so, my brain doesn't want to think logically. It starts me off on a 'who did that?' round. I think silly things on my good days, like if you milk cow udders to get milk from them, you must have to do the same to coconuts.
I irritate other people just as much as they irritate me. In the night, when everyone is back in the dorm and I've gotten ready for bed, washed all the white and black off my ruddy face, and everyone is tucked in and ready to turn their lights out, I'm jumping on the bed, singing. I just don't feel sleepy, I feel full of energy, like I could run a marathon, even though I skipped breakfast, lunch and dinner that day, and no, no snacks in between either. My stomach may be complaining, but my head isn't. My head just wants me to run and jump and play, turn in circles and sing and shout and scream. That's also when I spend. I go to the shops a lot, buy silly things. I get my arms inked even though tattoos were never my thing, I buy chocolate bars and biscuits I'll never eat (guess that's the consequence of shopping on an empty stomach), a manicure kit, pillows, that hamster I wanted, shrunken heads and books, make-up, new quills and ink even though I already have plenty, cuddly toys and wooden ones, joke shop things and charcoal. I just have to buy it all, whether I want it or not, and I always run out of money. I sometimes 'borrow' some off my brother, Mickey. He doesn't mind though. And sometimes I say things that sound a little off, a little unlike me. Things that are likely to get me beaten up. On a good day I might spout my anti-religion or anti-establishment or anti-gay views. And then that upsets people, and I get hurt, but it's still a good day because although I'm angry, it won't last long, and soon I'll be inanely happy again.
On a bad day, things get different. On a bad day, I never smile. On a bad day, I feel like my life is over. I feel like I'm at the bottom of an unfathomably large pit and I don't like it. I find myself crying, but I can never say why. I can't think why I feel so sad, feel so hopeless. I just do. I don't want to move from my bed on a bad day. I want to lie there because I just feel exhausted. So tired I feel sick. I can barely get up, and you can tell I'm having a bad day because if I do get up, I won't brush my hair or do my make-up.
When I do get up, I'll go to do something and forget what I was doing. I'm so forgetful on a bad day. Mickey will ask me to remember something for him, and the moment he finishes the sentence, I forget what the thing was, and then I feel stupid. Am I stupid? I think that must be it, and then I feel sadder and more hopeless.
On a bad day, I'll look at something I normally love doing and feel sick at the thought of doing it, like throwing rocks or playing music. It just won't seem worth it. It won't seem worth it, I'll walk on and think I may have lost part of me in losing that activity, that hobby. That makes this strange, numb feeling unfurl in the pit of my stomach. I'm losing who I am and I feel like I can't do anything right!
I feel I've done something wrong. What am I worth? I'm sat there asking myself who I am and realising that something is terribly, terribly wrong. Worse still, whatever is wrong is my fault. I've done something terrible, but I can't remember what, so my mind cycles through every bad deed I've ever done. Especially the ones from a good day. There's no way out and I'm scared. I feel this abyss I'm in will never be escapable. I see everything and I think the worst about everything. The nothing will work out, there's no point, glass half empty sort of thing. On a bad day, I hate myself. I think I'm the lowest of the low rather than the highest of the high. I see myself as worthless and I think I don't belong. I don't belong, especially not in Hogwarts. Especially especially not in Gryffindor. I'm not brave, I'm a pathetic wimp. I can still hear the phantom voices, feel the phantom touches and breaths, but it's different this time. Unpleasant. Make me shudder. I don't like it this time. I want my mum. On bad days, I'll try and eat, I'll feel awfully hungry, but I'll just feel sick and sad and my appetite will be almost non-existent. I'll be hungry and tired, but I can't do anything about it, because I've no appetite and I can't get any sleep. I'm always awake before everyone else on a bad day, so I always know it's going to be a bad day.
On a bad day, I don't want to be there. I don't want to be anywhere. I've wanted to take my life on a bad day before. I knew it wouldn't last forever, but the bad days were all too common.
Then there are normal days. Days where I'm very quiet and sleep normally. Days when not eating from before catches up with me and I eat until I think I might be sick. Days when I'm not hyper and crazy, and I'm not miserable and depressed. I spend most of my normal time fearing my swings from high to low, scared the next time I go low I won't come out, or the next time I go high I'll do something so stupid I really hurt myself.
Mostly when I'm normal, I look at my brothers and I think about the effect these swings have on them.
On a good day, I can't sit still. I have oodles of energy and it just has to go somewhere. I can't shut up, and I always have someone to talk to, so I talk to them about anything. I often compare a girl's make-up with mine. I like gothic make-up, the kind that makes me look like a member of Kiss. I'm always smiling, and it even annoys people, because they think it's weird.
I don't understand when people don't want to hang around me at this time. I'm very positive, and I feel like they really should take the time to hang out with me-...oops, that sounds conceited...but that's how I feel on good days. I feel like I'm the most amazing person in the world.
I'm always making plans on the good days. Plans to meet up with others or buy a hamster or ideas for new spells, you know? That sort of thing. I'm just bouncing off the walls. But just clap near me, and I can be drawn away from my plans and ideas, and forget them in an instant, and then I won't be happy. Then I'll be angry and I'll snap. I can never sit still, either because I'm hyper or furious. I get so agitated and uncomfortable around others, and this is on the good days.
Sometimes I hear things that aren't there. I hear a phantom voice, or feel someone brush their hand against my cheek, only to find not a soul is in place to do so. Even so, my brain doesn't want to think logically. It starts me off on a 'who did that?' round. I think silly things on my good days, like if you milk cow udders to get milk from them, you must have to do the same to coconuts.
I irritate other people just as much as they irritate me. In the night, when everyone is back in the dorm and I've gotten ready for bed, washed all the white and black off my ruddy face, and everyone is tucked in and ready to turn their lights out, I'm jumping on the bed, singing. I just don't feel sleepy, I feel full of energy, like I could run a marathon, even though I skipped breakfast, lunch and dinner that day, and no, no snacks in between either. My stomach may be complaining, but my head isn't. My head just wants me to run and jump and play, turn in circles and sing and shout and scream. That's also when I spend. I go to the shops a lot, buy silly things. I get my arms inked even though tattoos were never my thing, I buy chocolate bars and biscuits I'll never eat (guess that's the consequence of shopping on an empty stomach), a manicure kit, pillows, that hamster I wanted, shrunken heads and books, make-up, new quills and ink even though I already have plenty, cuddly toys and wooden ones, joke shop things and charcoal. I just have to buy it all, whether I want it or not, and I always run out of money. I sometimes 'borrow' some off my brother, Mickey. He doesn't mind though. And sometimes I say things that sound a little off, a little unlike me. Things that are likely to get me beaten up. On a good day I might spout my anti-religion or anti-establishment or anti-gay views. And then that upsets people, and I get hurt, but it's still a good day because although I'm angry, it won't last long, and soon I'll be inanely happy again.
On a bad day, things get different. On a bad day, I never smile. On a bad day, I feel like my life is over. I feel like I'm at the bottom of an unfathomably large pit and I don't like it. I find myself crying, but I can never say why. I can't think why I feel so sad, feel so hopeless. I just do. I don't want to move from my bed on a bad day. I want to lie there because I just feel exhausted. So tired I feel sick. I can barely get up, and you can tell I'm having a bad day because if I do get up, I won't brush my hair or do my make-up.
When I do get up, I'll go to do something and forget what I was doing. I'm so forgetful on a bad day. Mickey will ask me to remember something for him, and the moment he finishes the sentence, I forget what the thing was, and then I feel stupid. Am I stupid? I think that must be it, and then I feel sadder and more hopeless.
On a bad day, I'll look at something I normally love doing and feel sick at the thought of doing it, like throwing rocks or playing music. It just won't seem worth it. It won't seem worth it, I'll walk on and think I may have lost part of me in losing that activity, that hobby. That makes this strange, numb feeling unfurl in the pit of my stomach. I'm losing who I am and I feel like I can't do anything right!
I feel I've done something wrong. What am I worth? I'm sat there asking myself who I am and realising that something is terribly, terribly wrong. Worse still, whatever is wrong is my fault. I've done something terrible, but I can't remember what, so my mind cycles through every bad deed I've ever done. Especially the ones from a good day. There's no way out and I'm scared. I feel this abyss I'm in will never be escapable. I see everything and I think the worst about everything. The nothing will work out, there's no point, glass half empty sort of thing. On a bad day, I hate myself. I think I'm the lowest of the low rather than the highest of the high. I see myself as worthless and I think I don't belong. I don't belong, especially not in Hogwarts. Especially especially not in Gryffindor. I'm not brave, I'm a pathetic wimp. I can still hear the phantom voices, feel the phantom touches and breaths, but it's different this time. Unpleasant. Make me shudder. I don't like it this time. I want my mum. On bad days, I'll try and eat, I'll feel awfully hungry, but I'll just feel sick and sad and my appetite will be almost non-existent. I'll be hungry and tired, but I can't do anything about it, because I've no appetite and I can't get any sleep. I'm always awake before everyone else on a bad day, so I always know it's going to be a bad day.
On a bad day, I don't want to be there. I don't want to be anywhere. I've wanted to take my life on a bad day before. I knew it wouldn't last forever, but the bad days were all too common.
Then there are normal days. Days where I'm very quiet and sleep normally. Days when not eating from before catches up with me and I eat until I think I might be sick. Days when I'm not hyper and crazy, and I'm not miserable and depressed. I spend most of my normal time fearing my swings from high to low, scared the next time I go low I won't come out, or the next time I go high I'll do something so stupid I really hurt myself.
Mostly when I'm normal, I look at my brothers and I think about the effect these swings have on them.
Tuesday, 4 March 2014
Painless
I've seen pain before, many times. People get hurt or achey and complain, make faces. It looks distressing. When I see pain like that, I'm glad I can't feel it. Sometimes I'm not so glad. One time I was thrown in a pond by my cousins at a wedding party, and I scratched almost all of one side of my leg against a rock, and I never realised until I almost passed out from blood loss. It was a bad cut. I ended up in hospital and everything. I have a speech problem now. My tongue is the wrong shape, so it doesn't fit to parts of my mouth properly. That's because I've chewed it. I've bitten and chewed until it's become this nasty, lumpy thing. It's swollen too. There's not room for much else in my mouth, so I don't like kissing with tongues, or having my temperature checked, or eating and drinking. It's all such a chore.
Because I don't feel pain, I never know when to stop. I've been known to walk around with broken limbs like everything's perfectly normal. I drink and drink and drink until I throw up and pass out, then I wake up with a hangover, drink some water to quench my thirst and drink some more alcohol. I've taken drugs, too. I've used needles on my arms for hits, and all I feel when the needle goes in is a cold thing. It's unpleasant when it shifts through my inners, but I love a good high. I've smoked, and it leads to coughs and cravings. Okay, yes, I'm a smoker.
I think I'm cursed. None of my parents had a gene for this, it was me. I mutated. I become super skinny or almost bleed to death or pass out without any clue anything is wrong, and the day I was introduced to crack and weed didn't help. I've always loved the high, but obviously there are consequences.
I don't much care for my own health, because I can't tell the difference between healthy David and unhealthy David. It's all just David, and fair's ware when I have a fever or throw up, because that's how I know I have a bug. Otherwise sickness and pain don't bother me. I am David, nerves of steel, if nerves at all!
I see my future. A bloated corpse, surrounded by syringes and empty pill boxes, not a single friend to find me. That's how I've been taught drug addictions go, and I'm okay with it. It's the path I've led myself down, so not much can be done.
Then I see my little brother along the way. Blonde, he is. Curly blond hair, like an angel, and although no-one ever asked him to, he acts as if he's my keeper. He follows me around and tries to make sure I don't get hurt. Kind of like a puppy. He stresses out about me, and I stress out about him getting stressed out. I just wish he would focus on his own problems rather than on me. He says he wants to do genetic research when he's older to help people like me, and any kids or grandkids I might have. A kind of sickening yet sweet commitment. Sickly sweet.
The thing is, I don't know it, but I'm a wreck. My skin is mottled and pale, I can have vile moodswings at times. I'm tired and sick a lot. I can't count the number of breakdowns I've had, but then those are far too common in my dorm. LSD and ecstasy, those are my favourites, and weed. Mickey always has a good supply of the good stuff, and a good drink to wash it down with. I haven't been sleeping properly for over a year, but I don't care. Considering my appetite is low to start with, since I never even feel hungry, I've ended up in hospital due to starvation before, since the drugs just take over. Because I don't feel pain, because I never know when to stop, I've gotten so deep in this world that I'm trapped down a hole. There are no ways of climbing out, I cry, curled up on my bed, alone. In the dark. Mickey pushed drugs on us and I couldn't stop. "Try this, David, try this!", so much wasted money, so much wasted life. I get so hot during the day, even now, in winter. I had to take off my shirt outdoors the other day...and let people see my chest.
I hate my body. I absolutely hate it. I have the mark of a drug addict all over me. I've made myself this ugly, unlovable wreck of a man, and as much as I try and blame others, try and blame the people I buy this stuff off, the people who introduced me to it, in the end I have to admit this is my fault. They made me a school prefect before all this happened, and that's another thing I've lost. I don't know physical pain, but I certainly know emotional pain.
I know the pain of looking in the mirror and hating everything about yourself, right down to your clouded blue eyes and the way your freckles stand out on your pale cheeks. I know the pain of being so tired, but not being able to sleep. The pain of having to use heroin as a night cap. I know the pain of jittery, clumsy hands and feeling embarrassed whenever you have to use them. I know the pain of looking around and not being able to tell what is reality and what is illusion. I can't be hurt by a needle, pinch or punch, but I can be hurt psychologically, and that's already happened. The thing is, withdrawal can kill you, and so it scares me, so I can't stop. The cravings become intense and I feel so short of breath sometimes, but I have to keep on with this or else. I want out! I don't like this any more! It isn't just a harmless high, I don't like walking on the clouds, not if it's like this! I want my mum! I don't want to be alone! I want to tear my shirt and scream for help. Help me, help me, help, help, help! But no-one listens to the cry of an addict. No-one ever listens. Even if they did, they wouldn't understand. Because of my mottled tongue, because they'd tell me to just stop, but it isn't that simple, because they aren't the ones addicted, they don't know what it's like. They don't know, they don't know, they don't ever know, and I hope, I so hope they never do.
Because I don't feel pain, I never know when to stop. I've been known to walk around with broken limbs like everything's perfectly normal. I drink and drink and drink until I throw up and pass out, then I wake up with a hangover, drink some water to quench my thirst and drink some more alcohol. I've taken drugs, too. I've used needles on my arms for hits, and all I feel when the needle goes in is a cold thing. It's unpleasant when it shifts through my inners, but I love a good high. I've smoked, and it leads to coughs and cravings. Okay, yes, I'm a smoker.
I think I'm cursed. None of my parents had a gene for this, it was me. I mutated. I become super skinny or almost bleed to death or pass out without any clue anything is wrong, and the day I was introduced to crack and weed didn't help. I've always loved the high, but obviously there are consequences.
I don't much care for my own health, because I can't tell the difference between healthy David and unhealthy David. It's all just David, and fair's ware when I have a fever or throw up, because that's how I know I have a bug. Otherwise sickness and pain don't bother me. I am David, nerves of steel, if nerves at all!
I see my future. A bloated corpse, surrounded by syringes and empty pill boxes, not a single friend to find me. That's how I've been taught drug addictions go, and I'm okay with it. It's the path I've led myself down, so not much can be done.
Then I see my little brother along the way. Blonde, he is. Curly blond hair, like an angel, and although no-one ever asked him to, he acts as if he's my keeper. He follows me around and tries to make sure I don't get hurt. Kind of like a puppy. He stresses out about me, and I stress out about him getting stressed out. I just wish he would focus on his own problems rather than on me. He says he wants to do genetic research when he's older to help people like me, and any kids or grandkids I might have. A kind of sickening yet sweet commitment. Sickly sweet.
The thing is, I don't know it, but I'm a wreck. My skin is mottled and pale, I can have vile moodswings at times. I'm tired and sick a lot. I can't count the number of breakdowns I've had, but then those are far too common in my dorm. LSD and ecstasy, those are my favourites, and weed. Mickey always has a good supply of the good stuff, and a good drink to wash it down with. I haven't been sleeping properly for over a year, but I don't care. Considering my appetite is low to start with, since I never even feel hungry, I've ended up in hospital due to starvation before, since the drugs just take over. Because I don't feel pain, because I never know when to stop, I've gotten so deep in this world that I'm trapped down a hole. There are no ways of climbing out, I cry, curled up on my bed, alone. In the dark. Mickey pushed drugs on us and I couldn't stop. "Try this, David, try this!", so much wasted money, so much wasted life. I get so hot during the day, even now, in winter. I had to take off my shirt outdoors the other day...and let people see my chest.
I hate my body. I absolutely hate it. I have the mark of a drug addict all over me. I've made myself this ugly, unlovable wreck of a man, and as much as I try and blame others, try and blame the people I buy this stuff off, the people who introduced me to it, in the end I have to admit this is my fault. They made me a school prefect before all this happened, and that's another thing I've lost. I don't know physical pain, but I certainly know emotional pain.
I know the pain of looking in the mirror and hating everything about yourself, right down to your clouded blue eyes and the way your freckles stand out on your pale cheeks. I know the pain of being so tired, but not being able to sleep. The pain of having to use heroin as a night cap. I know the pain of jittery, clumsy hands and feeling embarrassed whenever you have to use them. I know the pain of looking around and not being able to tell what is reality and what is illusion. I can't be hurt by a needle, pinch or punch, but I can be hurt psychologically, and that's already happened. The thing is, withdrawal can kill you, and so it scares me, so I can't stop. The cravings become intense and I feel so short of breath sometimes, but I have to keep on with this or else. I want out! I don't like this any more! It isn't just a harmless high, I don't like walking on the clouds, not if it's like this! I want my mum! I don't want to be alone! I want to tear my shirt and scream for help. Help me, help me, help, help, help! But no-one listens to the cry of an addict. No-one ever listens. Even if they did, they wouldn't understand. Because of my mottled tongue, because they'd tell me to just stop, but it isn't that simple, because they aren't the ones addicted, they don't know what it's like. They don't know, they don't know, they don't ever know, and I hope, I so hope they never do.
Sunday, 2 March 2014
Falling Apart
A long, long time ago, I used to like to play. I would bow, and sing, and speak in silly high-pitched voices and walk on my hands. I made myself the fool, class clown, ultimate joker. That was me. I enjoyed that role, though, because it was me, it was the me that was inside.
I've always been just a little bit fat. My dad told me stories about my mum, and about me. I was a very chubby baby, compared to the other babies. My mum had always been a little overweight as well, up until she died. I left a toy truck at the top of some stairs, and she slipped on it and fell, and broke her neck. I guess it's my fault she died. I don't think about that much, because I didn't know her very well, and now I have my step mother, Katie. Katie's got that tall, skinny model's build, dark skin and healthy, silky black hair. I have five half-siblings so far. Daniel, Amy, Michael, Jodie, Ian and Isaac. I'm the eldest by five whole years. I don't get any respect though. I guess respect isn't what I deserve.
I don't get respect from mum and dad either. Katie never did like fat people, I don't think. She's always giving me some rather rude hints that she wants me to lose some weight. I don't remember when my dad started telling me I could stand to cut down a few pounds. Because they were always telling me, and my siblings were always skinny and petite, the siblings started making fun of my weight as well. Fair enough, I thought. Maybe I should try lose a little weight.
The kids at Hogwarts were quite accepting, except for people like Jade or Mickey or Zephyr. They were bullies to most people though. I was in a dorm with some cool guys. David, who couldn't feel pain, Lucas, who was quiet and always hiding, Adam, who had a vile temper, Mickey, turned out to be a drug pusher, and Geoffrey, a Goth, plain and simple. We sort of saw each other as a family, and as the most mature ones, the Drostan twins were essentially the mum and dad. We decided Geoffrey was the mum because he wore make-up and had such long hair. He didn't mind.
I wasn't very successful on the diet and exercise front. I already had this great big blimp of a stomach, and I kept eating at mealtimes until I was full, and I dunno, I've always loved exercise but it's never lost me any weight while I've been eating. That's the problem. I tried loads of diets that didn't involve starving myself, and then I was getting desperate. I couldn't feel at home with my parents while I was this big. I was getting really self-conscious. And then there were people like Jade, who started teasing me for being camp (which is literally just the high voice I put on for jokes) and being fat, and apparently I'm a crybaby too. I admit, I faint at the sight of blood, but I wouldn't call myself a crybaby. And I'm definitely not gay just because I have that high voice. I have a girlfriend, and she's one of Jade's friends and all, so she should know.
I get more and more desperate. I feel like my family will forever reject me if I can't lose weight. I'm 16 now, and all I've done is get fatter, and I'm sad, although I mask it with my jokes. I'm miserable, and fat, and I want my parents to love me.
I gave up on all the diet and exercise. It wasn't working. I had no clue what to do, I just knew I had to lose the fat and fast. One day, on the weekend, I just stayed in my room all day, not daring to leave, go near the hall for breakfast, lunch or dinner. I was starving by the night. The only thing in my belly was water, after all, and my body didn't like that. It wanted something sweet and full of energy. I was craving chocolate and shortbread, candy floss and peppermint. But it was after hours and we all had to stay in our beds, so in bed I stayed, drinking all the water I could.
The next few days, I just fell into the habit of not eating. It was easier than I thought, although it hurt. It hurt a lot, but the hunger came and went, and I knew a few tricks to keep it at bay. Two teaspoons of vinegar in the morning, chew some ice cubes on the lead up to lunch, at dinner time climb up a tree and don't come down until you know dinner's over. Exercise is supposed to help, and if I stay up the tree I won't exactly have anything to eat. I usually tie my hair to a branch and think about my parents. That puts me off. I feel like I'll let them down.
After a while the pain fades, I can ignore it. I expect to feel good, but I don't. I'm thinner, but I still feel miserable, and tired, so very tired. I couldn't stop thinking about food, either. Tuna bake, fried mushrooms, roast chicken, strawberry laces, rich chocolate gateau...I shake my head, trying to clear it, but it won't clear. My girlfriend knows what I'm doing to myself, and I think that's the only reason she's putting up with my weird behaviour. Because she's concerned. She wants to help, but she doesn't know how, but making me eat isn't going to help. Roxie thinks it will, Lucas and Adam think it will, Angel thinks it will, but it won't. It will just make me fat again. Angel said it herself, when I start eating again the weight will pile back on like mad. I'll just gorge myself. I will start eating again eventually, of course. I just have to reach my target weight first. Then I have to starve a little longer, until my ribs are showing. That way, when I start eating again the weight won't go up too fast, and I think at first I'll try only eating carrot sticks. And even then, only one meal a day. I have to carefully wean myself back on. I have to or I'll be fat and miserable again!
And now the ribs begin to show and I feel I can hardly move. Just a little more, I tell myself. I feel weak and sick, and I've only been awake half an hour and already I'm exhausted. I can see my ribs when I lift my shirt, but it still isn't enough. I feel like I'm going to pass out. The room is spinning. I hear my stomach growl, a desperate beg for fuel. My breathing is shallow and fast, I can't control it and now my chest hurts and I feel so faint. I want to look the absolute best for when I get home, but this isn't right. My ribs are poking out and I'm still refusing food. Not even carrot sticks are making it past my lips. My brother Danny sent a letter home a while back, telling mum and dad what I was doing, and what they sent me in response made me sure they didn't take it seriously. They don't think they could have an anorexic son. No, that's a girls' thing, they swear. I should stop seeking attention. I'm losing the weight they've always wanted me to lose, and Danny and Amy, I look at them and I can see they're terrified because of how thin I've gotten, but I still think it isn't enough. Just a little thinner. I cough into my fist and that seems to do it for me. I collapse onto my bed. I'm pale, and so cold, and so tired. My whole body aches, but I tell myself it's all for the best, it's all for the best. It's like when a caterpillar goes into a cocoon, and then comes out a butterfly. I'm making myself look good. Better. For all good things in life, you have to pay the price, and this is the price I have to pay to look decent, for my parents to accept me. I drag my hand across the top of my head, groaning. It all hurts. Hair comes loose, into my hand. I groan again. Just a little longer. Hold out a little longer, Alexis. It'll all be good in the end. The longer you hold out, the more pleasurable the prize at the end will be. The more wonderful it will be to have something in your stupid fat stomach again. Still fat. Still fat. Still too big. Lose a little more weight. Lose a little more, just a little more, and you'll be perfect.
I've always been just a little bit fat. My dad told me stories about my mum, and about me. I was a very chubby baby, compared to the other babies. My mum had always been a little overweight as well, up until she died. I left a toy truck at the top of some stairs, and she slipped on it and fell, and broke her neck. I guess it's my fault she died. I don't think about that much, because I didn't know her very well, and now I have my step mother, Katie. Katie's got that tall, skinny model's build, dark skin and healthy, silky black hair. I have five half-siblings so far. Daniel, Amy, Michael, Jodie, Ian and Isaac. I'm the eldest by five whole years. I don't get any respect though. I guess respect isn't what I deserve.
I don't get respect from mum and dad either. Katie never did like fat people, I don't think. She's always giving me some rather rude hints that she wants me to lose some weight. I don't remember when my dad started telling me I could stand to cut down a few pounds. Because they were always telling me, and my siblings were always skinny and petite, the siblings started making fun of my weight as well. Fair enough, I thought. Maybe I should try lose a little weight.
The kids at Hogwarts were quite accepting, except for people like Jade or Mickey or Zephyr. They were bullies to most people though. I was in a dorm with some cool guys. David, who couldn't feel pain, Lucas, who was quiet and always hiding, Adam, who had a vile temper, Mickey, turned out to be a drug pusher, and Geoffrey, a Goth, plain and simple. We sort of saw each other as a family, and as the most mature ones, the Drostan twins were essentially the mum and dad. We decided Geoffrey was the mum because he wore make-up and had such long hair. He didn't mind.
I wasn't very successful on the diet and exercise front. I already had this great big blimp of a stomach, and I kept eating at mealtimes until I was full, and I dunno, I've always loved exercise but it's never lost me any weight while I've been eating. That's the problem. I tried loads of diets that didn't involve starving myself, and then I was getting desperate. I couldn't feel at home with my parents while I was this big. I was getting really self-conscious. And then there were people like Jade, who started teasing me for being camp (which is literally just the high voice I put on for jokes) and being fat, and apparently I'm a crybaby too. I admit, I faint at the sight of blood, but I wouldn't call myself a crybaby. And I'm definitely not gay just because I have that high voice. I have a girlfriend, and she's one of Jade's friends and all, so she should know.
I get more and more desperate. I feel like my family will forever reject me if I can't lose weight. I'm 16 now, and all I've done is get fatter, and I'm sad, although I mask it with my jokes. I'm miserable, and fat, and I want my parents to love me.
I gave up on all the diet and exercise. It wasn't working. I had no clue what to do, I just knew I had to lose the fat and fast. One day, on the weekend, I just stayed in my room all day, not daring to leave, go near the hall for breakfast, lunch or dinner. I was starving by the night. The only thing in my belly was water, after all, and my body didn't like that. It wanted something sweet and full of energy. I was craving chocolate and shortbread, candy floss and peppermint. But it was after hours and we all had to stay in our beds, so in bed I stayed, drinking all the water I could.
The next few days, I just fell into the habit of not eating. It was easier than I thought, although it hurt. It hurt a lot, but the hunger came and went, and I knew a few tricks to keep it at bay. Two teaspoons of vinegar in the morning, chew some ice cubes on the lead up to lunch, at dinner time climb up a tree and don't come down until you know dinner's over. Exercise is supposed to help, and if I stay up the tree I won't exactly have anything to eat. I usually tie my hair to a branch and think about my parents. That puts me off. I feel like I'll let them down.
After a while the pain fades, I can ignore it. I expect to feel good, but I don't. I'm thinner, but I still feel miserable, and tired, so very tired. I couldn't stop thinking about food, either. Tuna bake, fried mushrooms, roast chicken, strawberry laces, rich chocolate gateau...I shake my head, trying to clear it, but it won't clear. My girlfriend knows what I'm doing to myself, and I think that's the only reason she's putting up with my weird behaviour. Because she's concerned. She wants to help, but she doesn't know how, but making me eat isn't going to help. Roxie thinks it will, Lucas and Adam think it will, Angel thinks it will, but it won't. It will just make me fat again. Angel said it herself, when I start eating again the weight will pile back on like mad. I'll just gorge myself. I will start eating again eventually, of course. I just have to reach my target weight first. Then I have to starve a little longer, until my ribs are showing. That way, when I start eating again the weight won't go up too fast, and I think at first I'll try only eating carrot sticks. And even then, only one meal a day. I have to carefully wean myself back on. I have to or I'll be fat and miserable again!
And now the ribs begin to show and I feel I can hardly move. Just a little more, I tell myself. I feel weak and sick, and I've only been awake half an hour and already I'm exhausted. I can see my ribs when I lift my shirt, but it still isn't enough. I feel like I'm going to pass out. The room is spinning. I hear my stomach growl, a desperate beg for fuel. My breathing is shallow and fast, I can't control it and now my chest hurts and I feel so faint. I want to look the absolute best for when I get home, but this isn't right. My ribs are poking out and I'm still refusing food. Not even carrot sticks are making it past my lips. My brother Danny sent a letter home a while back, telling mum and dad what I was doing, and what they sent me in response made me sure they didn't take it seriously. They don't think they could have an anorexic son. No, that's a girls' thing, they swear. I should stop seeking attention. I'm losing the weight they've always wanted me to lose, and Danny and Amy, I look at them and I can see they're terrified because of how thin I've gotten, but I still think it isn't enough. Just a little thinner. I cough into my fist and that seems to do it for me. I collapse onto my bed. I'm pale, and so cold, and so tired. My whole body aches, but I tell myself it's all for the best, it's all for the best. It's like when a caterpillar goes into a cocoon, and then comes out a butterfly. I'm making myself look good. Better. For all good things in life, you have to pay the price, and this is the price I have to pay to look decent, for my parents to accept me. I drag my hand across the top of my head, groaning. It all hurts. Hair comes loose, into my hand. I groan again. Just a little longer. Hold out a little longer, Alexis. It'll all be good in the end. The longer you hold out, the more pleasurable the prize at the end will be. The more wonderful it will be to have something in your stupid fat stomach again. Still fat. Still fat. Still too big. Lose a little more weight. Lose a little more, just a little more, and you'll be perfect.
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