Twelve (PG)
Twelve
Not a cloud in the sky, sun shining, birds singing and a thousand other clichés.
Oh the fucking irony.
It's supposed to be raining. The sky should be grey. I should be freezing as a harsh wind straight from a Dickens novel blows dead leaves around my feet.
But apparently the powers that be didn't get the memo. There's no pathetic fallacy here. The world keeps turning for everyone except the eleven huddling around a hole in the ground. Eleven people that have put aside their feelings about each other. For you. There's no pretense, not here. Not today. Rachel's mask of confidence has gone, there's no bravado from Finn, no smart comments uttered by Puck.
But it turns out that these eleven people were your family. Maybe even more than I was, because they really knew you. They knew about the snide remarks you faced in the corridors, the dumpster dives before school, the hate in people's eyes as you dared to be yourself. They were the ones who helped you clean off after getting slushied, who were there with concealer and excuses to hide your bruises, who made sure you were you, instead of the person others thought you should be.
And they were there when it happened. They held your hand and promised you that they'd make the pain stop, they fought with the paramedics, refusing to move, then demanded to ride to the ER with you. They stood, staring through the glass, watching the doctors trying to breathe life back into you. And when you couldn't fight anymore, twelve became eleven, and those eleven were left trying to work out how to carry on without you. Because twelve worked. Twelve pieces fitted together, held each other up with songs and stories and shared experiences. And now, those eleven had to work harder to stop each other from falling.
You would've liked the weather today. There would've been no complaints about how the rain would ruin your sweater and the wind would mess up your hair. But it feels wrong.
It should be raining. The sky should be grey and there should be a harsh wind making our eyes water. But instead, the world keeps turning around eleven pieces where there should be twelve.
----------------
Thoughts? I might write a prequel if you guys think the story should be expanded a little more?
Not a cloud in the sky, sun shining, birds singing and a thousand other clichés.
Oh the fucking irony.
It's supposed to be raining. The sky should be grey. I should be freezing as a harsh wind straight from a Dickens novel blows dead leaves around my feet.
But apparently the powers that be didn't get the memo. There's no pathetic fallacy here. The world keeps turning for everyone except the eleven huddling around a hole in the ground. Eleven people that have put aside their feelings about each other. For you. There's no pretense, not here. Not today. Rachel's mask of confidence has gone, there's no bravado from Finn, no smart comments uttered by Puck.
But it turns out that these eleven people were your family. Maybe even more than I was, because they really knew you. They knew about the snide remarks you faced in the corridors, the dumpster dives before school, the hate in people's eyes as you dared to be yourself. They were the ones who helped you clean off after getting slushied, who were there with concealer and excuses to hide your bruises, who made sure you were you, instead of the person others thought you should be.
And they were there when it happened. They held your hand and promised you that they'd make the pain stop, they fought with the paramedics, refusing to move, then demanded to ride to the ER with you. They stood, staring through the glass, watching the doctors trying to breathe life back into you. And when you couldn't fight anymore, twelve became eleven, and those eleven were left trying to work out how to carry on without you. Because twelve worked. Twelve pieces fitted together, held each other up with songs and stories and shared experiences. And now, those eleven had to work harder to stop each other from falling.
You would've liked the weather today. There would've been no complaints about how the rain would ruin your sweater and the wind would mess up your hair. But it feels wrong.
It should be raining. The sky should be grey and there should be a harsh wind making our eyes water. But instead, the world keeps turning around eleven pieces where there should be twelve.
----------------
Thoughts? I might write a prequel if you guys think the story should be expanded a little more?