Stay Invisible
Title: Stay Invisible
Fandom: The Used
Length: Drabble and some... (I do write longer, I promise!)
Author's Note: Continued character study of sorts... Letting my McCracken fascination take me where it will. Comments please.
The cool of the painted brick wall draws his drooping eyes open. Chest rattling as he breathes in deep, Bert shifts on the bus station bench he's taken temporary residence upon. He's warm and relatively comfortable for the next six or so hours. All he has to do is shuffle up to the departure board and stare at it frowning before returning, hopefully, to his corner bench. Its familiarity feels like home. What home use to feel like, anyway. He'll take what he can get.
The heat from ouside pushes its way into the station. Tendrils of the humid air curl inward as sliding doors open and then close. Open and then close. Bert's joints ache as he shifts to look at the clock on the wall. Springfield is due to arrive any minute now. Licking his chapped lips, he pulls his worn bag over his shoulder and wanders towards the departure board. He's so fucking tired but he can't risk getting kicked out. Yeah, he probably should try to find some food. Hell, he should definitely find a clinic. He hasn't been feeling well for days. But this weather? This weather will kill him.
Everything he owns is with him; on him. And the coughing and aching chest and gut? He owns those too. Bowing his head, Bert darts in and out of the rush of the crowd and tries to stay as invisible as possible. It's not that difficult. Not when everyone has shit that's so much more important than some dirtbag kid lurking about.
Fandom: The Used
Length: Drabble and some... (I do write longer, I promise!)
Author's Note: Continued character study of sorts... Letting my McCracken fascination take me where it will. Comments please.
The cool of the painted brick wall draws his drooping eyes open. Chest rattling as he breathes in deep, Bert shifts on the bus station bench he's taken temporary residence upon. He's warm and relatively comfortable for the next six or so hours. All he has to do is shuffle up to the departure board and stare at it frowning before returning, hopefully, to his corner bench. Its familiarity feels like home. What home use to feel like, anyway. He'll take what he can get.
The heat from ouside pushes its way into the station. Tendrils of the humid air curl inward as sliding doors open and then close. Open and then close. Bert's joints ache as he shifts to look at the clock on the wall. Springfield is due to arrive any minute now. Licking his chapped lips, he pulls his worn bag over his shoulder and wanders towards the departure board. He's so fucking tired but he can't risk getting kicked out. Yeah, he probably should try to find some food. Hell, he should definitely find a clinic. He hasn't been feeling well for days. But this weather? This weather will kill him.
Everything he owns is with him; on him. And the coughing and aching chest and gut? He owns those too. Bowing his head, Bert darts in and out of the rush of the crowd and tries to stay as invisible as possible. It's not that difficult. Not when everyone has shit that's so much more important than some dirtbag kid lurking about.