fic post: melody guthrie.
Title: Essay
Characters: Melody Guthrie.
Prompt: The Fowler by Wilfrid Gibson; originally posted at soclosetothesun, here
Notes: Post-M-Day. Written in response to Amanda's shini02 poetry post.♥ Because Guthrie!sibs fic wins at life.
It's more than just a little hard to adjust.
She wonders if she'll ever enjoy coming to school. She's not welcome here -- then again, none of them ever were. Not her brothers or her sisters -- and most certainly not her. Not after word got out that she attanded the "mutant school". People never forgive here. When you're born "wrong", you're born wrong.
There are one or two people willing enough to offer kindness, but there's more than twice as many people ready to condemn. She spends most of her lunchtimes in an empty classroom -- the ones that aren't used anymore. She sits there, alone, does her homework and counts down the hours until she can finally go home.
Today she's working on an essay for her English class. They were each given a poem, and based on that poem, they have to write their thoughts. It's much harder than she thought it would be.
Her poem is The Fowler by Wilfrid Gibson.
She's written just one word. For her, that sums up exactly what the poem means. The rest of what she could say doesn't come out as easily. Nothing she could say could ever possibly be enough.
Josh.
Characters: Melody Guthrie.
Prompt: The Fowler by Wilfrid Gibson; originally posted at soclosetothesun, here
Notes: Post-M-Day. Written in response to Amanda's shini02 poetry post.♥ Because Guthrie!sibs fic wins at life.
It's more than just a little hard to adjust.
She wonders if she'll ever enjoy coming to school. She's not welcome here -- then again, none of them ever were. Not her brothers or her sisters -- and most certainly not her. Not after word got out that she attanded the "mutant school". People never forgive here. When you're born "wrong", you're born wrong.
There are one or two people willing enough to offer kindness, but there's more than twice as many people ready to condemn. She spends most of her lunchtimes in an empty classroom -- the ones that aren't used anymore. She sits there, alone, does her homework and counts down the hours until she can finally go home.
Today she's working on an essay for her English class. They were each given a poem, and based on that poem, they have to write their thoughts. It's much harder than she thought it would be.
Her poem is The Fowler by Wilfrid Gibson.
She's written just one word. For her, that sums up exactly what the poem means. The rest of what she could say doesn't come out as easily. Nothing she could say could ever possibly be enough.
Josh.