(no subject)
Title :Weighted sorrow in perfect clouds. Chapter 2
Author : Trisha.
Rating : PG-16
Summary :Cause I am playing God. I am raising hell, As far as I can tell. I am all alone. Alone in this world. Alone, with you.
Another mental hospital story with a new idea. So, yeah, hate me for this.
Author's Notes : Wow, I seriously decited to put some of my story into this. And I'm making it sound like the hospital I was in.
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The dining hall, was a vile place...In Patrick's mind. The smell of all the food, laying out under lights, steaming in hot trays, grossed him out. It's enough to make anyone bulemic. The food was obsene, generic, and this place made him nausous.
Oh, and wow children! Pasta night! Yeah, Patrick knew pasta night was bad. He thought about the complex carbs, and the calories...But, staff made sure he had pasta. They'd watch him carefully.
Patrick walked to the salad bar, after taking a tray and bowl. He placed some wilted leaves in the bowl, 2 cherry tomatoes, a slice of cucumber. After being satisfied with the salad, he walked to the hot dinner line.
Picking up a plate, he put some pasta, some tomato sauce. He made a bee line to the fridge for skim milk. He finally ended at an empty table, next to staff.
"Hey Pat-rick!"
Pete was grabbing a seat across from Patrick. He had a small smile on his tan face. He seemed to have a lot of pasta.
If only he knew...
Patrick concentrated, nibbling on the leaves as Pete awkwardly looked around, eating his pasta like normal. He shifts unconfortably, focusing on eating. Pete looked nervous, like he was scared.
After dinner, he threw away the pasta he never touched; he seemed to get away with it this time. Now, to get away with throwing it up, with Pete next door...
Another quiet hour has arrived. This one is set, 8 o'clock to 9 o'clock.
Pete, was fasinated by this. During the first three minutes, he paced the room, looking out the window, thinking, while Patrick sat on his bed, quietly studying his Biology book. Chapter 6- The wonders of genetics, title read. Patrick had a watchful eye of Pete, as minute four approached, and he groaned.
"I am so fucking bored Patrick..." he whined, laying face down into the thin, plastic covered matress. Patrick had the thought that maybe he should tell him all the bodily fluids that have been on that from years in use, but instead shut his book, grabbed his towel, and walked to the bathroom door.
"I'm showering, Okay?"
He nodded curtly, as he shut the door behind him carefully.
He took a breath, in the small, cold room. He started stripping out of his clothes, as he turned the nozzle for the shower on hot. With the noise distraction, he came over to the toilet bowl, kneeling carefully. He placed his glasses on the sink, taking a deep breath as he jammed his finger down his throat quickly.
Suddenly, his stomach lurched. He felt everything he had consumed the past hours come racing up, as he vomited it all back up. The usual tears ran down his face, as it finally died down. He leaned against the wall, breathing and sobbing.
"Patrick? Are you alright? Do you need help?"
A paniced Pete was on the other side of the foor. He seemed worried. But no one ever worried about Patrick. Ever.
"No! Don't get help, it's Okay!"
He took a deep breath, as he made his way into the shower.
Pete was a bit shaken, when he heard Patrick throwing up. He wondered if the kid was sick or something. Maybe he should tell staff? They could get him a doctor. Or...Maybe give him medicine, and he'll sleep it off.
"No! Don't get help, it's okay!"
Pete backed from the door a bit. He was trying to gain Patrick's trust. He had taken a liking into Patrick. Maybe because he was cute...shy...
Eww, pervert. Liking someone in a loony bin? That was insane! But, as Pete walked over to Patrick's bed, he seemed to like him even more. On his dresser, there was hats, picks, and a picture of a girl with blonde hair of Patrick's kind. She was gourgous. He wanted to find out more to Patrick.
But when Patrick stepped out of the shower in pajama pants and a baggy shirt, his heart skipped a beat.
Damn you hormones.
"What are you looking at?" Patrick questioned as he walked to his bed, plopping down facing him and grabbing a book. Cut it read. Pete snorted a bit at the title.
"Who's that girl?" Pete asked, wanting to find out more info.
"My sister."
"Oh...What's her name?"
Patrick looked up, onto a crack on the wall. He seemed distant now. "Stacy."
"What's wrong?" Pete had a look of concern in his eyes as Patrick yawned, laying back on the pillow.
"N-nothing. Forget it. I'm gonna try and sleep."
"Nighty night." Pete whispered as Patrick turned off his light. He turned the other way, back towards Pete.
Stacy...
That was burned into his mind. If it wasn't for Stacy leaving the house, to walk to the store, the night Patrick was sick with the flu, if it wasn't for them living in the slums and gang bangers, Stacy would have come home.
And it would have never happened.
He remembers it clearly.
He heard a light switch turn off, and the silence was louder then ever. He sniffled a bit. Visitor's day was coming. December 25th. He'd have to see mom, and Sam...
Sam...
Mr. Rockland was watching him, or what he heard.
Mr. Rockland did it. He harmed Patrick in the worst way possible every time he babysat.
Everytime!
He babysat hundreds of times! Patrick's eyes grew heavy as he thought.
All because Stacy had to leave...
A small boy laid in a bed, in a tiny room in the house on Stanley and Lanater. The room was a baby blue, as the boy was only four.
The boy had blonde hair, and had some baby fat. He was as sick as ever, with his tempature over 101. He coughed heavly as a girl about sixteen with blonde hair walks in.
"Mom's working late Tricky." she said, as she grabbed a tissue and wiped the green snot pouring out of his nose, like a fosset.
"Stacy..." he whined, his voice hoarse.
"Sweetie, I need you to stay right here, k?" she said. "I have to get the medication for you to get better. You wanna feel better?" he nodded as she wiped his face with a damp cloth. "When I get back, I'll stay right here with you. I'll tell you a story."
He sniffled a bit, as she ran out the door.
The front door opened and shut as Patrick sniffled, missing her already. He grabs a book and looked at the pictures of a mouse, with a chocolate chip cookie, when he heard a bang.
He squealed a bit. He jumped out of bed, falling over from dizziness. He grabbed his blanket around him and walked down the dark hallways. All the lights were out as he reached for the handle to the outside world.
The tiny boy opened the door. His eyes grew.
A girl was crying loudly, hunched over something, with a crowd of people. The boy slowly made his way over, breathing heavily.
When he approached, his eyes grew at the sight.
Lying on the ground, was his sister. Stacy. Dead.
He leant out to touched her. She was all bloody, as a shot was right in her chest. She felt cold as ice.
The boy laid next to her, exsausted. He passed out. He couldn't help it.
Patrick woke suddenly crying. He seemed to have worked up a sweat. Pete was watching him from his bed.
"You okay?" he questioned, with more concern in his voice.
Patrick noticed how there was a ton of concern in his voice all the time. Patrick rubbed his eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine!" he whispered, snapping back at him. He could see a hurt Pete in the dark retaliate from the snappiness in Patrick's voice.
"I-I'm sorry Peter...Nightmare..." Patrick said, as he reached for a tissue, noticing a faint light pouring slowly into the room from the window. The clock read 6:58. Patrick wiped his face, and sniffled as an awkward silence fell between them.
"Wake up time is 7:30...you get meds...and breakfast..." he managed to say, as he fiddled with the drawers and clothes.
Pete barly slept the night. The matress sucked balls, smelt weird, and felt like it was covered in plastic. The pillow smelt, and his mind was excited. This was day one.
He watched as Patrick laid out a shirt, with plaid boxers, white socks, and torn jeans.
Patrick knew he was watching. Patrick has been wearing the same clothes for the past year. No one brought him clothes. They didn't know his size. They didn't bring him snacks. He wouldn't eat them, or throw them up.
He grabs the pile of clothes and goes into the bathroom to change. Pete didn't know about Patrick. He seemed shy. But there was something, some charm to this kid, that made Pete attracted to him. So many mysteries! The shy boy seemed like no one cared about him.
It must be that bad.
Pete walked to his dresser, taking out random clothes and placing them on the bed. He always wondered how they other half lived. Pete fiddled with his shirt as he thought.
It must be terrible. Patrick must be so depressed. The kid was so shy, the kid was so...fragile.
Pete jumped, as the bathroom door opened, and Patrick put his clothes under his pillow.
"Good morning kids, get up, get meds, eat breakfast. School's in 45."
Pete heard a loudspeaker somewhere. Patrick put his glasses on and walked out of the room.
He knew so very little about Patrick. He knew so very little about this place.
Patrick walked down the maze of halls, finally stopping at a closet. The door was split half way up, like a window on top, and a shut door on bottom. A friendly woman with auburn hair smiled as she fingered the tiny cup labled, Stump, Patrick.
"Here sweetie." she said, grabbing a cup of red juice. Patrick swallowed the pills in the cup, drained the juice out of the tiny plastic cup, and opened his mouth, for the nurse to make sure he swallowed.
She smiled one last time as he made his way to the kitchen. She was what he wanted for a mother.
But, this is how it came out in the end.
Yeah, I know it sucks major balls, but review. I will start working on a new chapter. Yeah...It's getting good.
-Trish
Author : Trisha.
Rating : PG-16
Summary :Cause I am playing God. I am raising hell, As far as I can tell. I am all alone. Alone in this world. Alone, with you.
Another mental hospital story with a new idea. So, yeah, hate me for this.
Author's Notes : Wow, I seriously decited to put some of my story into this. And I'm making it sound like the hospital I was in.
-------------------------
The dining hall, was a vile place...In Patrick's mind. The smell of all the food, laying out under lights, steaming in hot trays, grossed him out. It's enough to make anyone bulemic. The food was obsene, generic, and this place made him nausous.
Oh, and wow children! Pasta night! Yeah, Patrick knew pasta night was bad. He thought about the complex carbs, and the calories...But, staff made sure he had pasta. They'd watch him carefully.
Patrick walked to the salad bar, after taking a tray and bowl. He placed some wilted leaves in the bowl, 2 cherry tomatoes, a slice of cucumber. After being satisfied with the salad, he walked to the hot dinner line.
Picking up a plate, he put some pasta, some tomato sauce. He made a bee line to the fridge for skim milk. He finally ended at an empty table, next to staff.
"Hey Pat-rick!"
Pete was grabbing a seat across from Patrick. He had a small smile on his tan face. He seemed to have a lot of pasta.
If only he knew...
Patrick concentrated, nibbling on the leaves as Pete awkwardly looked around, eating his pasta like normal. He shifts unconfortably, focusing on eating. Pete looked nervous, like he was scared.
After dinner, he threw away the pasta he never touched; he seemed to get away with it this time. Now, to get away with throwing it up, with Pete next door...
Another quiet hour has arrived. This one is set, 8 o'clock to 9 o'clock.
Pete, was fasinated by this. During the first three minutes, he paced the room, looking out the window, thinking, while Patrick sat on his bed, quietly studying his Biology book. Chapter 6- The wonders of genetics, title read. Patrick had a watchful eye of Pete, as minute four approached, and he groaned.
"I am so fucking bored Patrick..." he whined, laying face down into the thin, plastic covered matress. Patrick had the thought that maybe he should tell him all the bodily fluids that have been on that from years in use, but instead shut his book, grabbed his towel, and walked to the bathroom door.
"I'm showering, Okay?"
He nodded curtly, as he shut the door behind him carefully.
He took a breath, in the small, cold room. He started stripping out of his clothes, as he turned the nozzle for the shower on hot. With the noise distraction, he came over to the toilet bowl, kneeling carefully. He placed his glasses on the sink, taking a deep breath as he jammed his finger down his throat quickly.
Suddenly, his stomach lurched. He felt everything he had consumed the past hours come racing up, as he vomited it all back up. The usual tears ran down his face, as it finally died down. He leaned against the wall, breathing and sobbing.
"Patrick? Are you alright? Do you need help?"
A paniced Pete was on the other side of the foor. He seemed worried. But no one ever worried about Patrick. Ever.
"No! Don't get help, it's Okay!"
He took a deep breath, as he made his way into the shower.
Pete was a bit shaken, when he heard Patrick throwing up. He wondered if the kid was sick or something. Maybe he should tell staff? They could get him a doctor. Or...Maybe give him medicine, and he'll sleep it off.
"No! Don't get help, it's okay!"
Pete backed from the door a bit. He was trying to gain Patrick's trust. He had taken a liking into Patrick. Maybe because he was cute...shy...
Eww, pervert. Liking someone in a loony bin? That was insane! But, as Pete walked over to Patrick's bed, he seemed to like him even more. On his dresser, there was hats, picks, and a picture of a girl with blonde hair of Patrick's kind. She was gourgous. He wanted to find out more to Patrick.
But when Patrick stepped out of the shower in pajama pants and a baggy shirt, his heart skipped a beat.
Damn you hormones.
"What are you looking at?" Patrick questioned as he walked to his bed, plopping down facing him and grabbing a book. Cut it read. Pete snorted a bit at the title.
"Who's that girl?" Pete asked, wanting to find out more info.
"My sister."
"Oh...What's her name?"
Patrick looked up, onto a crack on the wall. He seemed distant now. "Stacy."
"What's wrong?" Pete had a look of concern in his eyes as Patrick yawned, laying back on the pillow.
"N-nothing. Forget it. I'm gonna try and sleep."
"Nighty night." Pete whispered as Patrick turned off his light. He turned the other way, back towards Pete.
Stacy...
That was burned into his mind. If it wasn't for Stacy leaving the house, to walk to the store, the night Patrick was sick with the flu, if it wasn't for them living in the slums and gang bangers, Stacy would have come home.
And it would have never happened.
He remembers it clearly.
He heard a light switch turn off, and the silence was louder then ever. He sniffled a bit. Visitor's day was coming. December 25th. He'd have to see mom, and Sam...
Sam...
Mr. Rockland was watching him, or what he heard.
Mr. Rockland did it. He harmed Patrick in the worst way possible every time he babysat.
Everytime!
He babysat hundreds of times! Patrick's eyes grew heavy as he thought.
All because Stacy had to leave...
A small boy laid in a bed, in a tiny room in the house on Stanley and Lanater. The room was a baby blue, as the boy was only four.
The boy had blonde hair, and had some baby fat. He was as sick as ever, with his tempature over 101. He coughed heavly as a girl about sixteen with blonde hair walks in.
"Mom's working late Tricky." she said, as she grabbed a tissue and wiped the green snot pouring out of his nose, like a fosset.
"Stacy..." he whined, his voice hoarse.
"Sweetie, I need you to stay right here, k?" she said. "I have to get the medication for you to get better. You wanna feel better?" he nodded as she wiped his face with a damp cloth. "When I get back, I'll stay right here with you. I'll tell you a story."
He sniffled a bit, as she ran out the door.
The front door opened and shut as Patrick sniffled, missing her already. He grabs a book and looked at the pictures of a mouse, with a chocolate chip cookie, when he heard a bang.
He squealed a bit. He jumped out of bed, falling over from dizziness. He grabbed his blanket around him and walked down the dark hallways. All the lights were out as he reached for the handle to the outside world.
The tiny boy opened the door. His eyes grew.
A girl was crying loudly, hunched over something, with a crowd of people. The boy slowly made his way over, breathing heavily.
When he approached, his eyes grew at the sight.
Lying on the ground, was his sister. Stacy. Dead.
He leant out to touched her. She was all bloody, as a shot was right in her chest. She felt cold as ice.
The boy laid next to her, exsausted. He passed out. He couldn't help it.
Patrick woke suddenly crying. He seemed to have worked up a sweat. Pete was watching him from his bed.
"You okay?" he questioned, with more concern in his voice.
Patrick noticed how there was a ton of concern in his voice all the time. Patrick rubbed his eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine!" he whispered, snapping back at him. He could see a hurt Pete in the dark retaliate from the snappiness in Patrick's voice.
"I-I'm sorry Peter...Nightmare..." Patrick said, as he reached for a tissue, noticing a faint light pouring slowly into the room from the window. The clock read 6:58. Patrick wiped his face, and sniffled as an awkward silence fell between them.
"Wake up time is 7:30...you get meds...and breakfast..." he managed to say, as he fiddled with the drawers and clothes.
Pete barly slept the night. The matress sucked balls, smelt weird, and felt like it was covered in plastic. The pillow smelt, and his mind was excited. This was day one.
He watched as Patrick laid out a shirt, with plaid boxers, white socks, and torn jeans.
Patrick knew he was watching. Patrick has been wearing the same clothes for the past year. No one brought him clothes. They didn't know his size. They didn't bring him snacks. He wouldn't eat them, or throw them up.
He grabs the pile of clothes and goes into the bathroom to change. Pete didn't know about Patrick. He seemed shy. But there was something, some charm to this kid, that made Pete attracted to him. So many mysteries! The shy boy seemed like no one cared about him.
It must be that bad.
Pete walked to his dresser, taking out random clothes and placing them on the bed. He always wondered how they other half lived. Pete fiddled with his shirt as he thought.
It must be terrible. Patrick must be so depressed. The kid was so shy, the kid was so...fragile.
Pete jumped, as the bathroom door opened, and Patrick put his clothes under his pillow.
"Good morning kids, get up, get meds, eat breakfast. School's in 45."
Pete heard a loudspeaker somewhere. Patrick put his glasses on and walked out of the room.
He knew so very little about Patrick. He knew so very little about this place.
Patrick walked down the maze of halls, finally stopping at a closet. The door was split half way up, like a window on top, and a shut door on bottom. A friendly woman with auburn hair smiled as she fingered the tiny cup labled, Stump, Patrick.
"Here sweetie." she said, grabbing a cup of red juice. Patrick swallowed the pills in the cup, drained the juice out of the tiny plastic cup, and opened his mouth, for the nurse to make sure he swallowed.
She smiled one last time as he made his way to the kitchen. She was what he wanted for a mother.
But, this is how it came out in the end.
Yeah, I know it sucks major balls, but review. I will start working on a new chapter. Yeah...It's getting good.
-Trish