☀ 03
[there are a lot of things Red would like to do right now, all of which involve a hefty amount of screaming and would no doubt be very healthy at all in the long run, though he has neither the energy nor motivation for such things. "drained" is as close as one can get to describing what he's feeling right now; "small", too. from the beginning of the morning until well into the evening, he's been sitting in his room with his legs drawn up as if he's trying to make himself as tiny as possible. his face, in contrast, is slack and vacant; his eyes are slightly tinged with red, although the worst of it has all but faded by now leaving only the faintest of traces that he has been crying.
of course, being the stubborn kid that he is, he's adamant not to let anyone see him in such a state and so, after several hours alone in his room with the door locked, he finally tears himself away from his bed and quietly wanders out into the kitchen where the phone is mounted on the wall.
his voice is hollow and just as empty as his expression:]
I guess...we were right all along. The town doesn't care what day it is. It just wanted an excuse to hurt us. [and it worked. he stops there, the long break in speech turning awkward before he gives up and hangs up altogether. there's nothing else to say.
later, late at night, anyone who somehow happens to still be out and about for whatever reason will find him at the park, sitting under a tree in the snow with a newspaper clipping in one hand. he doesn't look down at it so much as simply hold it, mutely.]
of course, being the stubborn kid that he is, he's adamant not to let anyone see him in such a state and so, after several hours alone in his room with the door locked, he finally tears himself away from his bed and quietly wanders out into the kitchen where the phone is mounted on the wall.
his voice is hollow and just as empty as his expression:]
I guess...we were right all along. The town doesn't care what day it is. It just wanted an excuse to hurt us. [and it worked. he stops there, the long break in speech turning awkward before he gives up and hangs up altogether. there's nothing else to say.
later, late at night, anyone who somehow happens to still be out and about for whatever reason will find him at the park, sitting under a tree in the snow with a newspaper clipping in one hand. he doesn't look down at it so much as simply hold it, mutely.]