#I have many Laurel doodles I will never finish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dahvangogh · 4 years

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and empty word are evil| Jason Todd

[ prologue | one | two | three | four ]

[ao3 link] [masterlist]

note: hello, there! I KNOW, I KNOW. I'm a day early but I finally got two new comments on this story: one on AO3 and another here in Tumblr, so I got excited and decided to upload it a bit earlier.This chapter sets in motion many things for this story. Also, despite perhaps not being as exciting or long as the others, it is key to the development of the whole thing. As usual, I apologize if there are any grammatical mistakes. I corrected it myself but I'm no English native.Please, could you leave a comment or kudos? It really helps a lot!

Much love xx

CHAPTER THREE

There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”

― Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral's Kiss

“She hasn’t called me yet… why hasn’t she called me yet? This never happens to me!”

Lisa throws her hands to her head and messes the blonde tresses even more than they are, pacing back and forth in Grace’s open concept kitchen and living room, her posture completely straight.

“Oi, chill!” the raven-haired tries not to laugh, biting her bottom lip “People have jobs and lives, so it’s most likely she is busy!”

The blond turns to look at Grace, who is sitting comfortably on her big comfy sofa doodling in one of her many sketchpads, and crosses her arms under her chest.

“I also have a life, you dumbass. But not even a text? C'mon!”

Grace rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s been a week… perhaps you are getting sloppy in the flirting department?” She tries not to laugh at Lisa’s indignant face and quickly picks up a pillow seconds before the blonde starts hitting her. “Kidding! Just kidding!”

Her friend keeps hitting her, not as if to hurt her but in a playful manner.

“I will have you know that I’m the fucking best at flirting… and other things.”

Grace looks over the rim of her pillow and makes a face as if throwing up.

“Dis-gus-ting” the raven-haired accentuates each syllable, then raises a hand to stop her best friend from starting hitting her again. “No, but for real. Who cares? It’s her loss… you are amazing and the day you date someone, that idiot will be a lucky girl.”

Lisa moves her head to the side and her shoulders drop as if exhausted. Then, she bites her bottom lip while tapping her foot for a few seconds.

At last, she nods and sits next to her on the sofa. The blonde leans her head on her best friend’s shoulder. Grace smiles softly and leans her head on her friend’s crown.

“After hooking up, she told me to wait until her shift was over… then we went to eat tacos.” Lisa’s voice sounds soft and dreamy, not loud and humorous as usual; after a long week, finally telling the ink-haired girl what had happened that night. “We were there for three hours, talking and laughing, and we even closed the fucking place… And it wasn’t a simple hook-up on a nightclub, there was a connection there. I swear.”

The raven-haired smiles while imagining the scene.

“If she saw you eating tacos and didn’t leave your ass there immediately, she is clearly interested.”

Lisa raises her head a bit and looks up at her while Grace looks down, a mocking smile on her plump lips. They hold each other stares for a bit, now the raven-haired is biting her lower lip while the blonde presses her lips together.

Three…

Two…

One

They both burst out laughing, even both keep giggling after a few minutes pass and their laughter has died out.

“Shit, that's true.”

She nods, giggling about how a messy-eater her friend is and pictures it in her mind.

Grace picks the discarded sketchpad and pencil from beside her on the sofa, not the side where Lisa is sitting, and turns a page over.

She quickly draws Lisa’s face, starting with her high cheekbones tinted with hundred freckles and then her petite cute nose, following with her soft-looking jawline. In the drawing, her best friend's big blue eyes are filled with wonder, staring at something they –the viewer of said drawing or the drawer– can’t see, while her thin lips are curled in a lovely smile. Her blonde head, framed with soft long waves, is resting on her hands on the table and Grace adds a napkin holder near.

“Should I draw guacamole smeared all over your chin?” Lisa giggles at that, so the raven-haired quickly draws it. “Perhaps a bottle of Tears of Llorona No. 3 Extra Añejo Tequila besides you?”

“Nah… that thing is 233 bucks.”

Grace huffs, then asks out loud: “Who pays 233 bucks for a bottle of Tequila?”

Dad does, I saw him drink a glass of that thing many times while watching tv or reading.

“Your dad.”

Both laugh while Grace also shakes her head, her father’s expensive tastes never ceasing to amaze her.

“But not me, girl.” Her friend answers back, which makes both of them laugh again. “Desperados is more on my budget… Though sometimes I spend a bit more on a Jose Cuervo one if I feel like treating myself.”

Grace smiles sadly.

Two months after her kidnapping and before she went to Berlin, they both had graduated from their prestigious and expensive private high school. The blonde had decided it was time to come out to her parents and Grace had completely supported her, thinking that Adam and Mary would be open and accept her daughter.

She had been mistaken.

The Addington’s had completely lost it and kicked Lisa out of their home. Thankfully, Lisa’s aunt Marissa had welcomed her in her own home and called Grace to tell her what had gone down.

Three days later, Lisa had been notified that she had been written out of her parents’ will and she wouldn’t be able to get a single penny from the family’s fortune. Plus, to add salt to the wound, she should never call her parents or even step a foot on her old home.

The raven-haired remembers how heartbroken her best friend had been, crying loudly on one of the beds of her aunt’s many guest rooms, while Marissa explained what the family lawyer had informed her.

She hadn’t been sad about the money but her parents’ hatred and lack of love for her.

Despite all of that, Marissa had sat down at the rim of the bed and had helped Lisa sit down. When she had calmed down –Grace remembers running to the kitchen for a glass of water and some chocolate–, her aunt had announced that she wasn’t going anywhere. Marissa unofficially had adopted Lisa, using her own wealth to help and support her niece.

Yet Lisa didn’t like asking for much, too independent and still licking her own wounds.

“Next week, I will buy a few bottles of the expensive ones and we will drink them all while watching RuPaul Drag Race: All-Stars, how does that sound?”

The raven-haired hears her friend harsh breath as if holding her cries.

“Fucking amazing, Gracie.”

She smiles, understanding what her friend is truly saying underneath coarse language, and pats her on the hand.

Thanks.

[ – – – ]

It has been a few hours and they both have just finished eating Chinese Takeaway, sitting in the same position as before but with a big and fluffy warm blanket wrapped around them. Grace is drawing again while they both watch the new season of Peaky Blinders on the big living room TV.

Grace is drawing from memory one of her favorite paintings of Empress Sisi, with her beautiful half-braided hairstyle decorated with silver flowers, and lovely white wedding gown. Don’t mistake her, she prefers others over this painting of Sisi, but someway somehow she had memorized only this one.

So beautiful, poor heartbroken Sisi.

“I’m a proud lesbian, okay?” her friend says, her blonde head moving on Grace’s shoulder as if she speaks with her whole self and not only with her mouth. Grace stops her pencil moving. “But I totally understand why so many people want to be dicked down by Tommy Shelby.”

She laughs at that.

“Yeah, he is hot…”

Suddenly, Lisa raises her head from her friend’s shoulder and mimics her friend’s posture, sitting cross-legged and reclining her back against the sofa. Then, the blonde starts arranging the blanket better around her.

“But?” she asks, still busy arranging the big blanket.

“I don’t know... ” Grace sighs loudly and looks at her friend, shrugging her shoulders. “He is handsome, in an i-would-draw-him-time-and-time-again way, but I never thought, and excuse my vocabulary, oh I would totally such his dick.”

Lisa now leans her head back, now looking at her best friend with a sad smile, the TV series completely forgotten or unimportant to them.

“How long has it been since you dated someone?” her voice sounds rueful, though the blonde knows the answer already. “Or kissed someone?”

Grace shakes her head, almost embarrassed about what she is about to confess, and even feels herself blush.

Here we go.

“Since I was eighteen.” the raven-haired sighs, then rubs her hands together, forgetting her drawing for the moment. “I can’t still stand someone touching me that way… It’s hard for me to trust any men. I mean, when you start a relationship you expect to have sex or at least close skin to skin proximity… ”

The last words make Lisa laugh loudly.

“Why do you say it so… formal and weird?”

“Because it’s true!” Grace feels her smile completely gone, her feelings and worries pouring out of her mouth without a stop.“People expect to be able to touch, hug, kiss or do sexual things when in a relationship with someone. But I can’t… I couldn’t possibly stand it. I want to, but I can’t!”

Lisa instantly hugs her tightly, caressing the arm her hand rests on.

“Well, that’s okay. Your mental health is above any fucking relationship.” her friend’s voice is soft and kind, still hugging her tightly. “One day, you might meet someone who will understand and maybe you might try.”

Grace sighs, though weirdly enough something in her stomach starts moving.

I hope it's a stomachache... better to have diarrhea than a relationship.

“Or maybe, you might meet an amazing hot dude with a big dick and only want to kiss him until you die of lack of oxygen… ”

That last sentence makes her laugh loudly, Lisa quickly joining her.

“Doubt it, but hey… if it happens, it’s not a bad way of dying.”

Both laugh again.

“Now, seriously. Have you talked to anyone about it?” her friend looks at her, worry all over her freckled face. “I mean a psychologist. Or perhaps participated in a PTSD group therapy or rape survivors group therapy? It might help, you know... ”

She can’t help but whimper when hearing that word.

“No.” Grace closes her eyes and leans back against her sofa. Despite being best friends, she didn’t like talking about what had happened those three days, though she did explain a bit so her friends, family and police would understand. “My dad made me see a psychiatrist for a few years in Berlin, it was one of his many conditions so I could stay there. To give him peace of mind, you know?”

The raven-haired snuggles into her best friend’s side, searching for warmth and acceptance, then continues explaining.

“I still get in touch with her once or twice every few months.”

Dr. Louise Bell had been like an angel sent from Heaven. She had been kind and patient with her, explaining how the impact of that incident goes far beyond any physical injuries, supporting her and never judging her. Also, the psychologist had been right.

Grace had spent a month in the hospital because of her physical injuries but to this day, she was still recovering from the internal ones.

The world will never feel like a completely safe place ever again.

Nor will she trust others as much as she did before.

Neither does she stop self-degrading herself or questioning her judgment from time to time.

She still has nightmares, a few flashbacks and unpleasant memories coming back to her from time to time. Nevertheless, time helps to heal.

“You are not dirty, Grace. Neither are you damaged goods or unworthy of love.” she always replays Louise’s words in her mind when she is feeling bad about herself or in one of her depressive episodes.

She has improved a lot in many aspects. Grace doesn’t shower three times a day anymore, nor does she start shaking when seeing a man and she has been able to go to a park again.

Not Central Park, though. Not yet.

The raven-haired has gained much confidence and self-love through her friends, Louise’s help and her powers –the last thing helping a lot.

But relationships and intimacy are yet impossible for her.

She had tried but it had gone wrong so soon.

“I did try… I went on a couple of dates with this guy in Berlin and…” She sighs, the memories fuzzy in her mind because of how scared and anxious she had been back then. “All was going well until we kissed but… he touched my waist and I flipped out.”

He had gone flying, but Lisa didn't need to know about that.

Lisa, always kind to her, hugs her closer to herself; letting Grace confide and vent if she needs to.

“Dr. Bell told me to talk about it, to challenge myself from time to time, to reconnect with my body and feelings while not avoiding or numbing them,” Grace explains, thinking back about all she learned in her sessions with Louise. “You know I also took some self-defense lessons, learned yoga and even did massage therapy to not be so uncomfortable with being touched.”

And became a night vigilante of some sort.

“I can stand people touching me but... ” she rubs her hands together, taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly. “A relationship means trusting someone and having intimacy… I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”

“And that’s okay, Grace.”

“Yeah, I know. Dr. Bell always reminds me that everyone deals with trauma in their own way. So even if it has been six years, I can take all the time I need.”

Lisa pats the arm her arm is draped on.

“Please, don’t think I’m pressuring you into going around hooking up or dating random people… I just worry about you sometimes.”

Grace looks up at her friend and gives her a soft smile, nodding. Then, she rests her head on her shoulder, looking at the TV.

“He really looks hot while smoking though.”

She is talking about Tommy Shelby, who is currently smoking a cigarette in front of a nun, looking like a dark prince.

“Fuck, he really does.”

[ – – – ]

Grace is an early bird, she had always been one and probably will always be. The raven-haired likes sitting on her balcony, the views of her skyscraper apartment always being better than any morning News program, with a cup of coffee or even a smoothie.

The building, all constructed with glass and sustainable materials, has forty floors and her apartment is in the thirty-nine. Each floor is divided into two apartments, her thirty-nine neighbor is a nice woman recently divorced who works in an expensive and reputed law firm.

The raven-haired doesn’t usually interact much with her neighbors, though she knows that the five low floors are used for work purposes and that her neighbor from the forty bought his whole floor to make his apartment bigger because he is an eccentric millionaire who doesn’t like sharing that much.

Also, he sometimes likes to use the stairs instead of the elevator.

Imagine using the stairs in a skyscraper of forty floors and with your apartment being in the last? Can’t relate at all.

She looks around her balcony, which is quite bigger than a standard one, and smiles proudly at her good taste in furniture. The raven-haired selected white and black furniture for this place, plus added many plants. A low garden glass table is in the center, a big white sofa placed against her big glass windows and looking directly towards the table and subsequent views, a big white armchair on the left of the table looking at the low table and all big beautiful pot plants through the floor of the whole railing, surrounding it.

“Grace, do you prefer having breakfast here or we go and hit Pauli’s Diner for a quick meal?”

Her blonde friend asks from the kitchen. The big balcony is connected to the living room, which is open-concept with the kitchen, so her voice sounds quite close to her. Grace stands up, places her coffee on the glass table, and folds her fluffy grey blanket on the white armchair.

She picks her cup and walks inside, seeing Lisa in the kitchen preparing more coffee, her stereo on in the WXYZ Radio channel.

“Good morning, Gothamites! It’s me, Alan Scott and currently, it is seven AM of this fine Saturday morning. If you have been paying attention to social media or the News, you probably already know that last night things went crazy in our dear city. But to those who don’t know, last night Poison Ivy was being personally delivered to Arkham Asylum by GCPD until things went BOOM!”

Both Lisa and her look at the stereo with interest, confusion across the blonde’s pale face while the raven-haired waits for confirmation of Harley’s plan succeeding.

“Fuck, what happened now?” her friend mutters.

“I don’t know” she says a white lie, after all she truly doesn’t know what really happened.

“Literally, things went BOOM. The crazy bird Harley Quinn blew up many of GCPD car patrols and the SWAT van where Ivy was being transported allowing the eco-terrorist to escape. Five policemen died on the spot and other seven are in critical condition. Unfortunately, two passed away on their way to Gotham City General Hospital. Despite Batman and Robin trying to help, as of now Harley and Ivy are missing. Commissioner Gordon and Mayor Sebastian Hady’s joint press appearance is scheduled at 10 am today and we will get further information. Now, Molly. What do you think about this horrible incident?”

“God, the Hospital and the clinic are probably bustling.” Lisa’s hands go to her head as if going insane just thinking about it. Then, she turns towards her best friend. “Yesterday and today are my free days, should I call my boss and offer my help?”

Grace is completely in shock.

She had specifically asked Harley to not kill any policeman. The raven-haired had done so when they first talked about the plan in the nightclub VIP room, then twice at their “sleepover” and another time after delivering the explosives.

Harley had promised her she wouldn’t.

That damned harlequin...

“Grace?” her friend calls her, looking up with concern towards the kitchen ceiling where the lights are flashing on and off nonstop. “Grace?!”

I’m going to fucking kill that lying harlequin and make myself a carpet with her hyenas.

The lightbulbs in the ceiling explode, Lisa lets out a very high scream and protects her head with her hands while bending over a bit.

You are a dead man walking, Harley Quinn.

#Jason Todd #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #Jason Todd x reader #Jason Todd x oc #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #my writing #aewae ff

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starsofmirkwood · 7 years

Note

I would love to read your story about not being able to disappoint the sun, it sounds interesting :) Hope you have a wonderful day!

Thank you sweetie!!

I wrote this in my Junior year of high school, when I was taking a creative writing class. Our prompt was to write a story with an epiphany in it, so I decided to write mine about the idea of cosmic indifference, and how it could be perceived as comforting, from the perspective of an utterly miserable teenage boy. I don’t remember what I titled it, so… I’m open to suggestions! :)

…

It was drizzling. The sky was a frozen grey, and the wind came and went in halfhearted swirls. It was a lifeless day, a day to stay inside and avoid people. The kind that numbed you, made you feel just as dull as the thick clouds, as cold as the rain. Sam shut his eyes as he took a long breath.

He had never been a morning person. Not on mornings like these. Being awake was better than sleep, at this point. Third night in a row of restlessness. He didn’t feel tired. The air stinging his ears woke him up. He wished he had a hat, and maybe some coffee. He hated coffee. He tugged his jacket tighter around himself and tried dodging the rain as he shuffled to class.

Sam slung his backpack under his table and brushed the rain from his shoulders, shaking as he felt a drop of water run from his soaked hair down his forehead and into his eye. Blinking furiously, he pushed his hair out of his face. He was freezing.

Art class. He liked it a bit. He could draw well enough to capture the beauty in things. His classmates told him he was amazing. Ms. Earley said he had a gift. For him, it wasn’t good or bad. It was relaxing, watching his hand create things. It was a way of getting his feelings out without anyone knowing. A hiding place.

Today he painted. Ignoring the instructions to compose scenery, he sketched a face. Nobody he knew. Dark hair and a sharp nose. A man’s face. Intelligent eyes. The whole thing was done in watery shades of blues and greens. Sam was satisfied. He signed his name in ink, and turned it in. He got a frown from Ms. Earley for dismissing the assignment. He left the room 6 minutes early. He wouldn’t get in trouble. Never did. If anyone asked, Ms. Earley would tell them he was in the bathroom.

The hallway was quiet. Six minutes of peace. He did end up in the bathroom, grabbing a wad of paper towels to wipe some of the water from his hair. It was mostly dry now, but the clinging dampness felt stifling. Sam caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked pale. Was he sick? He needed sleep. Dark circles framed his eyes. His hair was wild, frizzy with moisture and curled into awkward waves in places. He looked a mess.

He smoothed his hair down with a yawn. He didn’t want to be here. Or anywhere. Restlessness crept back up. Always. God, he didn’t want to be here.

Splashing some water on his face, Sam took a long breath that came out dangerously close to a sob. He stared at his reflection. He didn’t recognize the stranger there. The clothes were his, but the boy wearing them… he looked defeated. Sam turned away. He was tired.

Next class was biology. It fascinated Sam, oddly. All the pretty miracles of nature and the cycles of everything. Ordered, yet chaotic. Not as nice as anatomy would be, but intriguing. Life and how it works. Death. It was all the same. Fascinating.

Watched a video in class. Something about the Sonoran Desert. Sam didn’t take notes. He doodled a saguaro cactus, thinking about humanity, and how it doesn’t matter how tall and strong you are, or how much you surround yourself in protection and spines, when a storm hits, man and cactus alike are capable of falling.

Literature class. Tolerable on good days. Today was not a good day. No days were. Sam endured it anyway, on the basis that it really was something worth learning. Many things were. Most things weren’t.

Sam picked up his copy of Lord of the Flies, opened it to a random page. He had loved the book. It was fast paced, gripping, more beast than boy. Spoke volumes about the human race without saying a word.

The corners of the paperback were getting bent, and one page was folded at an odd angle. He had dropped the book once, and it had landed in such a way that had damaged it. It was funny, in a demented sort of way.

Sam drummed his fingers on his keyboard. An essay about the theme of the book. Due next Tuesday. Sam didn’t know where to start. The theme. Which one? There were many possibilities. Good and evil, civilization and savagery, rules and discord, knowledge and fear and power and wisdom, Ralph and Jack and Simon and Roger and Piggy and it was overwhelming. Sam typed what he knew. Man is inherently evil. Every man. Primitive and unholy. He didn’t need the book to tell him. Jack Merridew. Anarchy and chaos. Order and laws keep people from savagery. That’s what the book said. Sam rather liked Jack. Something about his untamable aberrance appealed to him, reminded him, terrifyingly, thrillingly, of himself.

The printer whirred and beeped as his essay came through. It smelled like ink and stale paper. He proofread his work, for a third time, this time on a physical copy, and decided that his words were sufficiently eloquent and precise, he stapled the papers together with a twang, and tucked the essay into the folder on Mr. Tennyson’s desk.

Ignoring the keyboard clicks and off-topic ramblings of his classmates, Sam spent the rest of the time reading a new book from the library. It was fiction, although Sam preferred fact, but it was entertaining enough to pass the time. About the future and space and war and all those useless distractions. A means of worthwhile escapism, rarely found.

Math was next. Well, Sam loved math. It was the one class he looked forward to, even though his excitement had been rather depleted lately. His teacher loved him. Called on him to solve problems, write out the answer on the board. It wasn’t a chore. Numbers and patterns spiraling to infinity filled his head, and were a thing of beauty to him. Fibonacci’s sequence, algorithms like Turing’s, number theories, abstractions and differentials made sense to him and connected in his head so perfectly, like universal strings inside his mind. A bit too complex for simple geometry, but he smugly enjoyed being smarter than his classmates. It made the loneliness easier to bear.

Today, Mr. Murphy’s lesson was on the area of cones and pyramids and frustums, and Sam already knew all this. He tried to pay attention anyway, because he sort of liked the old man, even if he was a bit too kind and gave the class far too much leniency. Sam personally rooted for him to grow a backbone and actually stand up for himself, but he never mentioned it, figuring a man who couldn’t even trim his ear hair probably wasn’t going to be teaching much longer anyway.

Mr. Murphy didn’t call on him that day, so Sam rotated between doing his homework and taking notes. He only bothered with either because he got a grade for it, and what little motivation he had left pushed him through it. It was just mathematics. Nothing unbearable, he told himself.

Study hall was the worst time of day. Hideously dull, eternally a waste of Sam’s time. He’d played at deductions for a while. Boring after the first three days. Nothing stimulating, nothing more than bland, unexceptional people. Some were less tedious than others.

There was Eliza, the awkward girl with acne on her forehead and thoroughly good intentions. She smiled at Sam occasionally, and probably would have sat with him from time to time if he didn’t make it abundantly clear that he didn’t care for company. She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t particularly smart either, but what she lacked in communicative aptitude she more than made up for in altruism and quiet observation.

Laurel was Eliza’s opposite in nearly every way, Sam had decided. Confident, charming, and brilliant, Sam admired her. She was shallow, but intimate. She wouldn’t say much that wasn’t entirely superficial, but the way she carried herself, the smiles she’d give out so freely, and the way she’d speak so softly you’d have to lean close to hear her, made it feel like she was a close friend, or a lover. But she was clever, and radiated femininity, and although Sam had never talked to her, he could sense her intelligence in the knowing depth her eyes held when her gaze met his.

A boy, Jeremy, had been in Sam’s history class last year. They’d been partners for a project. They weren’t friends, but the taller boy had been kind to Sam, although Sam had done most of the work for the project. They’d both received good grades, and hadn’t spoken since.

There were the typical workaholic kids, furiously scribbling words onto wrinkled lined paper, textbooks open and creased from use. Other kids cared much less, a category Sam was tempted to fall into, but he made good grades regardless. Music blared from one back corner of the room, where a group of assholes refused to put in headphones and valued their short-lived, unsatisfying pleasure over the needs of other people who wanted nothing more than to finish the assignment they hadn’t had time to do last night.

Sam occupied himself with looking out a window. It was raining harder now, and the dimness outside gave way to a ghostly, barely-there reflection on the pane of glass, and Sam stared into the poor imitation of his eyes. He blinked tiredly and tried not to think. He distracted himself from his thoughts with other thoughts. It was bitter and funny, how that played out. It never worked.

Sam dodged and wove his way through the whirling chaos of students in a too-small hallway, shifting and ducking when those prone to being inconsiderate made sudden stops or decided to walk slowly, and in groups.

He still had one class left, but the unsated, miserable part of himself, the foremost part, couldn’t take it. Thinking about any more pressure in his day made his eyes water in anxiety, and his fingers shook a bit. He ducked into the bathroom for a second time in the day, and was surprised that he wasn’t alone.

He coughed as he stumbled into the hazy air, blinking smoke from his eyes and clutching a sleeved fist over his mouth and nose. Another boy was standing by the sink, flicking ash onto the counter carelessly. He had thick hair that fell across his eyes, high eyebrows, and long, bony arms. He turned his noble head lazily to watch Sam, and he must have sensed that Sam was on the verge of breaking down, because he smiled at him. It wasn’t a kind smile, and didn’t reach his eyes. It was akin to sympathy. Pitying. But he reached into his pocket and fished out his box of cigarettes and held it out to Sam anyway.

Sam looked from his eyes to the box and back. He’d never smoked, and never intended to, but when the boy shook the box, threatening to put it away, Sam grabbed one and stuck it between his teeth. Without a word, the boy lit it for him, and Sam took a long breath, and barely managed to swallow his coughing fit. He exhaled in a thick grey puff that made his eyes sting and his throat hurt. He loved it.

A few minutes passed in blissful silence as the two smoked. A time came when Sam turned his head and found the other boy was gone. He didn’t know how long it had been. A smoke alarm went off in a piercing wail, and Sam realized why the boy had left. He took his still burning cigarette and held it against the wood of the counter until it burned a small black spot, growing bigger and bigger until it caught fire, and the fire spread. Sam slipped out of the bathroom door soundlessly and unnoticed, smooth as the cloud of smoke that trailed with him.

…

The night was quiet. Once everyone had gotten over the hype and the hysteria of the school’s fire had died out, it was like the silence after a thunderstorm subsides. The school hadn’t been badly damaged. They had put the fire out before it could spread farther than the bathroom, and no one had been injured. Sam wanted to be glad about that, but he found himself unable to fully care.

Time ticked on in slow hours, and Sam spent it sitting out on his rooftop. It was cool outside. Not so cold as to be painful, but enough that Sam’s breath fogged in front of his mouth, and the slight wind had stolen the color and feeling from his cheeks and fingers. It had stopped raining, and only a few thin wisps of clouds hung in the sky, trailing across the softly glowing moon.

He’d climbed out his bedroom window, wrapping himself in a thick blanket to fight the clinging dampness. From there, facing away from the small road that ran by his house, he had an unmarred view of the sky that stretched above the the trees with leaves clinging to the topmost branches, above the houses that dotted the gentle slope of the land, above everything.

The stars seemed so small, and so far away, like tiny specks of light against a shadow-painted sky. They had always been beautiful to Sam, lovely in their cold, wavering light, but always shining.

Sam thought about how the stars were perhaps the only thing that remained constant. Even though they were constantly changing and drifting and burning away into oblivion, to a human perspective, they were immortal. They were untouchable, throughout time, and while the planet would spin on and on in chaos and entropy, the stars would never die.

The stars were a vast reminder to Sam that while there are limits on life, the universe does not care about people or pain or the trivialities of existence. It didn’t care care about English essays or loneliness or boys who smoked in school bathrooms. In the grand play of everything, Sam didn’t matter. He was small among that which was infinite, and when he was gone, the universe would not miss him.

Sam felt a stillness come over him, and he was calm. He closed his eyes for what seemed to be forever, and when he opened them, he smiled. He was at ease for the first time in a long while, and the tumult in his mind had subsided, at least for a moment, and it was freeing, and Sam felt as though he would be alright.

#writing #short story #original fiction #text #asks #answered #yarn-dino-eating-potatoes #:)

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