Sometimes, people tell me random things and then stories happen. Like that time a friend told me to write a Doctor Who stapler monster. Stuff like that
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Evidently Deviltown, Part 3bendingsignpostJuly 17 2011, 21:13:11 UTC
She brings the change of clothes with her when she checks on him the following night. They’re Howard’s old jimjams and after the way that fiasco ended, she doesn’t think her mum will mind the use.
Inside, there’ve been a few changes. The shoebox lid has been decimated, for one thing. Her first thought is of how Smokey used to shred their newspapers, but it’s much more deliberate than that. Bits of cardboard litter the linoleum floor, set into the square pattern, some showing the colour of the box, some brown-side-up. She bends down to look closer. Game pieces, clear as day. Torn and chewed, like the plaything of a werepup, but recognizable.
“Playing a game?” she asks.
Positioned defensively in the corner, he goes right on not saying anything, not looking at her. When the last one did this, it gave her the creeps, but it sits on him so sadly.
“Looks like checkers,” she says. “Is it? You’re playing checkers with yourself?”
Still nothing.
“I’m going to leave these here,” she tells him, setting down the jimjams. “It’s okay if you don’t like them, they’re just until I wash what you’ve got.”
He looks at the clothing, at least. That’s a positive sign.
“I’ll be back before morning with some more food,” she says. “Gonna try to balance your diet out. Y’know, get you a diet first, then balance it.”
No reaction to that. God, he looks so sad.
She closes the door, does up the first two locks, and goes to her room. She comes back with a deck of cards, a few sheets of paper, and an old crayon.
“Here, Freckles,” she says and immediately wants to hit herself. Now she’s gone and named him. She’s a pet person, not a livestock person. This really is going to end terribly.
His mouth forms a tight line but his eyes follow her hands. It’s the most attentive she’s ever seen him.
She empties her hands, setting the contents down on the floor. “These are for you,” she says. If he draws on the walls, she really doesn’t care. “See you later.”
She backs out, closes the door and locks it properly. She stands there, listening, for movement, and hears nothing. Maybe she would have heard something eventually, but she has to go to work.
Inside, there’ve been a few changes. The shoebox lid has been decimated, for one thing. Her first thought is of how Smokey used to shred their newspapers, but it’s much more deliberate than that. Bits of cardboard litter the linoleum floor, set into the square pattern, some showing the colour of the box, some brown-side-up. She bends down to look closer. Game pieces, clear as day. Torn and chewed, like the plaything of a werepup, but recognizable.
“Playing a game?” she asks.
Positioned defensively in the corner, he goes right on not saying anything, not looking at her. When the last one did this, it gave her the creeps, but it sits on him so sadly.
“Looks like checkers,” she says. “Is it? You’re playing checkers with yourself?”
Still nothing.
“I’m going to leave these here,” she tells him, setting down the jimjams. “It’s okay if you don’t like them, they’re just until I wash what you’ve got.”
He looks at the clothing, at least. That’s a positive sign.
“I’ll be back before morning with some more food,” she says. “Gonna try to balance your diet out. Y’know, get you a diet first, then balance it.”
No reaction to that. God, he looks so sad.
She closes the door, does up the first two locks, and goes to her room. She comes back with a deck of cards, a few sheets of paper, and an old crayon.
“Here, Freckles,” she says and immediately wants to hit herself. Now she’s gone and named him. She’s a pet person, not a livestock person. This really is going to end terribly.
His mouth forms a tight line but his eyes follow her hands. It’s the most attentive she’s ever seen him.
She empties her hands, setting the contents down on the floor. “These are for you,” she says. If he draws on the walls, she really doesn’t care. “See you later.”
She backs out, closes the door and locks it properly. She stands there, listening, for movement, and hears nothing. Maybe she would have heard something eventually, but she has to go to work.
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