(no subject)
WHO: small!Katurian and Giselle
WHERE: Central Park
WHEN: ~8 PM, Monday night
WARNINGS: Mentions of child abuse.
SUMMARY: Katurian has a predictably crummy childhood. BUT THANKFULLY THERE ARE FAIRY TALE PRINCESS HUGS.
FORMAT: Quicklog.
[Katurian grows more anxious as nighttime approaches. It's a predictable pattern, a physiological occurrence that he's all too familiar with. By the time the sun goes down, without fail his hands are trembling and he's pulling at his hair, knotting it with his fingers, leaving red marks on his scalp. The few times he had to stay late at school (detention for losing his temper, detention for telling teachers that they're wrong, detention for being gross and gruesome), he was worried that someone would send a concerned note to his parents. 'Katurian is frightened all the time.'
But they didn't.
In the City, it's the same thing. At twilight, his stomach twists into knots and all the shadows he catches in the corner of his eyes are monsters and skinless dogs and gaping mouths sticky with blood. When he crawls into bed, he listens for the same screams that reverberated from the walls in his parents' house every night but can only grasp for moans in the air conditioner unit. Nights are too quiet. He only has his own thoughts, and they're not good.
(In health sciences when he's eleven, he waits in line to talk to the teacher after class because he thinks he might be schizophrenic. But there's a pit in his stomach and he leaves the line before the teacher can call him back.)
Monday night, he can't go back to the apartment. He won't. The swing down at the park is too small for most thirteen year olds, but he can fit because he's small. He rocks gently, holding his head, murmuring half remembered stories under his breath.]
WHERE: Central Park
WHEN: ~8 PM, Monday night
WARNINGS: Mentions of child abuse.
SUMMARY: Katurian has a predictably crummy childhood. BUT THANKFULLY THERE ARE FAIRY TALE PRINCESS HUGS.
FORMAT: Quicklog.
[Katurian grows more anxious as nighttime approaches. It's a predictable pattern, a physiological occurrence that he's all too familiar with. By the time the sun goes down, without fail his hands are trembling and he's pulling at his hair, knotting it with his fingers, leaving red marks on his scalp. The few times he had to stay late at school (detention for losing his temper, detention for telling teachers that they're wrong, detention for being gross and gruesome), he was worried that someone would send a concerned note to his parents. 'Katurian is frightened all the time.'
But they didn't.
In the City, it's the same thing. At twilight, his stomach twists into knots and all the shadows he catches in the corner of his eyes are monsters and skinless dogs and gaping mouths sticky with blood. When he crawls into bed, he listens for the same screams that reverberated from the walls in his parents' house every night but can only grasp for moans in the air conditioner unit. Nights are too quiet. He only has his own thoughts, and they're not good.
(In health sciences when he's eleven, he waits in line to talk to the teacher after class because he thinks he might be schizophrenic. But there's a pit in his stomach and he leaves the line before the teacher can call him back.)
Monday night, he can't go back to the apartment. He won't. The swing down at the park is too small for most thirteen year olds, but he can fit because he's small. He rocks gently, holding his head, murmuring half remembered stories under his breath.]