[Fic] The Same Strange Faces
One day, he thinks to himself, he’s going to understand what it’s like to know something constant, to be assured of where he is sleeping that night, what the ground will feel like underneath his feet.
He dreams of a time like this, a point in his existence where such a thing is found in something besides muddled fancies that don’t even properly portray it. His mind simply doesn’t know how but it tries, it tries so very hard.
There’s a house and he’s supposed to go inside it. There are going to be people there, probably nice ones, and they’ll smile and welcome him with open arms. Questions will be asked; things about his likes and dislikes, all the things he’s capable of, that sort of business. Eventually someone will say something about how tiring the trip must have been for him and if he would like a nap.
He’ll nod and sometimes, when things are good, he’ll smile for them.
But he doesn’t want this. Not in this house and not in any. It’s not fair, in his mind. It’s not fair that this is what he knows, this is what he depends on. He wants something more, wants to see the same people smiling, wants to sit and recognize the faces at the table and hear the same voices every day. It’s not how things work though, the routine is there but a part of the routine is that sooner or later, he’s going to leave.
Sooner or later, they’ll smile sadly, smile like if there was something they could do to stop his, they would, and say they loved having him. They tell him he’s going somewhere nice, to people who are going to take good care of him and keep him safe.
He wants to yell, he wants to scream and cry and beg for someone to keep him, to let him stay just a little longer. He wants to know what it’s like to wake up in the same room every day, to feel the same grass between his toes and smell the same air. He wants to know the same morning noises and he same nightly rituals people perform before they go o bed.
And yes,yes he knows he won’t remember them, he never does and maybe that shouldn’t matter that much but when you know you’re forgetting, when you know that this isn’t how it always was, it makes a world of difference.
It makes it easier for him to set his bags down outside of the house and turn his back on the door. It makes it easier for him to start walking away, though the sound his shoes (because he always did wear shoes when he first showed up anywhere) make against the ground are strange and a little sickening.
And he’ll walk for as long as he can, even if it’s just in circles, even if, at the end of it all, he winds up standing in front of his own bags again and the door will open wide and someone will smile at him and tell him that he really should come inside for he has no place out there.
He picks up his things like he does every time and nods, walking inside and and silently wishing that somehow, this was a place he’s already been.
Word Count: 550
Verse: Seperationverse (early)
He dreams of a time like this, a point in his existence where such a thing is found in something besides muddled fancies that don’t even properly portray it. His mind simply doesn’t know how but it tries, it tries so very hard.
There’s a house and he’s supposed to go inside it. There are going to be people there, probably nice ones, and they’ll smile and welcome him with open arms. Questions will be asked; things about his likes and dislikes, all the things he’s capable of, that sort of business. Eventually someone will say something about how tiring the trip must have been for him and if he would like a nap.
He’ll nod and sometimes, when things are good, he’ll smile for them.
But he doesn’t want this. Not in this house and not in any. It’s not fair, in his mind. It’s not fair that this is what he knows, this is what he depends on. He wants something more, wants to see the same people smiling, wants to sit and recognize the faces at the table and hear the same voices every day. It’s not how things work though, the routine is there but a part of the routine is that sooner or later, he’s going to leave.
Sooner or later, they’ll smile sadly, smile like if there was something they could do to stop his, they would, and say they loved having him. They tell him he’s going somewhere nice, to people who are going to take good care of him and keep him safe.
He wants to yell, he wants to scream and cry and beg for someone to keep him, to let him stay just a little longer. He wants to know what it’s like to wake up in the same room every day, to feel the same grass between his toes and smell the same air. He wants to know the same morning noises and he same nightly rituals people perform before they go o bed.
And yes,yes he knows he won’t remember them, he never does and maybe that shouldn’t matter that much but when you know you’re forgetting, when you know that this isn’t how it always was, it makes a world of difference.
It makes it easier for him to set his bags down outside of the house and turn his back on the door. It makes it easier for him to start walking away, though the sound his shoes (because he always did wear shoes when he first showed up anywhere) make against the ground are strange and a little sickening.
And he’ll walk for as long as he can, even if it’s just in circles, even if, at the end of it all, he winds up standing in front of his own bags again and the door will open wide and someone will smile at him and tell him that he really should come inside for he has no place out there.
He picks up his things like he does every time and nods, walking inside and and silently wishing that somehow, this was a place he’s already been.
Word Count: 550
Verse: Seperationverse (early)