SDMN| Stories

• POKÉMON CARDS | RANDY & SIMON

It was happening again.

Simon had messed up. He had made the mistake of showing his drunk father his report card, hoping that he would be happy with the few B's he got. He should've just gone straight up to his room, like usual.

'It's an improvement." Simon smiled weakly, holding the paper with shaky hands. He slowly met his father's eyes but had to look away as they turned cold.

"An improvement?" He scoffed, snatching the paper from his son's hands, "You're close to failing almost everything and you call it an improvement?"

Simon winced at the slow pace his father was speaking, the man was in disbelief. Slowly, he stood up, griping onto the cursed object as some sort of grounding technique. All the young boy could do was watch as the next few seconds played out as if he were only a ghost, a spectator to the scene.

"Woman! Get in here!"

Simon's heart started to race. He wanted to look away. To run away.

"What is it now?" His mother stormed into the room, the cooking utensil still in hand.

"Our son is a failure!"

What was left of his broken heart sunk, resolving in a sickening gut feeling.

"Maybe he wouldn't be failing if you were around to help him!"

"I'm fucking slaving away at work each day to get money to put food on our table! You're the woman, you should be helping him!"

"Maybe he can't focus when all you do is watch the TV on full volume and yell about the football!"

"Watch your fucking mouth. It's not my fault he's retarded. Look at him! He's not going to get anywhere in life anyways!"

"Don't you dare say that in front of him."

"Why? Simon. Here." His father growled.

Reluctantly, he took a shaky step forward. The world seemed to swim past him as if he were in some twisted nightmare.

"Tell your mother why you're not going to amount to shit. Tell her why you're such a failure."

Tears stung his eyes and threatened to spill down his cheeks, his nose, and throat burning. He tried to blink but the pain remained.

"I-I..." he began, unable to produce words through the invisible blockade in his throat. "M' sorry." Was whispered into the air, tears finally making their path down his face.

"See? The idiot can't even speak!" His father spat poison into his face, the toxic alcohol worsening the burn of his nose. It reeked of domestic violence.

"Cut it out, he's crying." The cooking utensil was waved around as his mother swatted that man's shoulder.

"Crying!?" The man bent down to Simon's face, his own expression twisted with sadistic anger. "No son of mine cries."

Simon winced as a hand was slapped down on his shoulder.

"YOU HEAR ME?" It dug into the flesh, gripping as if the boy was about to give way any moment. "YOU'RE NO SON OF MINE!"

Bracing himself, he screwed his eyes shut. He's been in this situation too many times to know what happens next.

Before he knew it, he was on his back, winded and struggling to breathe. Now he was sobbing uncontrollably, dazed and miserable.

"GET THE FUCK BACK UP!"

Simon did get up.

He got up and ran.

Out the front door, accompanied by the rapid pounding of his heart, he bolted down the street. Burning tears stung his eyes as the sun set, feet matching the rhythm of his heart.

His legs seemed to know where to go although his mind was blurry, a swarming headache of shouts echoing through his skull. Each footstep seemed like so much more effort than it should have been, but he had to keep going.

Once he was able to process a simple thought, he realised where he was. Wiping the waterfalls from his blue eyes, he took in a few deep, shaken breaths. A quick scour of his outfit told him that he shouldn't be outside at this time, but he refused to care.

Knock knock.

Simons heard seemed to stop in anticipation.
It was quiet.
Until.

"Hello? Me parents ain't home, so if that's who you're lookin' for..."

"Randy?" Relief flowed through Simon, a breath of fresh air that cleared the angry swarm in his head.

"Simon? I'm upstairs, come through. Spare key is where it always is." The shout echoed through the open house.

He took the small key that was under the left plant-pot, the same spot it had always been. Countless times he had escaped to his friends' house, letting himself in. He was always welcomed dearly.

The key slotted into the door and it opened smoothly, Simon was sure to lock it behind him. With a quick look around, he had seen that nothing had changed in the last week, and he hopped up the stairs to Randy's room.

"You know it's not safe to tell people you're parents aren't home." Simon made a weak attempt at humor, a facade of nonchalance that he knew wasn't going to last long.

"Ha-ha, smartass. Come look at this Arcanine I just-" Randy stopped when he met Simon's gaze, the red tearing eyes glimmering sorrowfully as a small smile was forced onto his lips.

He watched them quiver, the older boy shaking his head as he tried to keep himself together.

Randy beckoned Simon to sit with him, the latter gladly accepting, immediately snuggling into his side. He was hugged in a soothing squeeze as Randy's other hand wrapped around his shoulder, resting on his back.

He felt the older boy start to sob, ugly crying into his shoulder to tears that would soak into his sweatshirt.

"Shh, it's alright, Si."

Despite the comforting, soft words that were whispered into his ear, Simon had held too much in to stop now.

He lifted his head, wet cheeks coming up in another weak smile. His breathing was erratic and it was clear to Randy that he was a mess.

"I'm a failure." 

Silence followed. What Simon took for agreement was actually Randy in disbelief. How could someone so perfect and smart like Simon ever view himself as anything less than amazing?

"How about you help me open Pokemon cards? I have a whole other box here. Just for us."