Dirty hooves and unicorn plasters

Where do I go now?

Tw: spiders, mentions of death and suicide , mentions of past homes , Eating Disorder, Sensory Overload
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Tommy was quite enjoying the privacy of his room and the peace that came with it, that was until the sound of footsteps began clattering down the hall and a knock on the door ruined it. The voice that called out to him to get food was light, it was airy and sweet, soft and bold. Tommy wondered what it would be like to have such a voice; he was comfortable being a boy, he quite preferred it but sometimes his mind wondered, it enquired him those kinds of questions and he indulged in them - would he be happy? Would people respect him more? Would he still be here in this room?

He wondered what it would be like to have long golden hair which he could braid and twirl around his finger as everyone would stop and stare, he wondered what it would be like to have a sweet soft voice that made people stop in their tracks, he wondered what it would be like for girls and guys to whisper about him in bookshops because he looked like a character from their favourite book. But that's all it was, it was simple wonder - not yearning.

He hopped off his bed and waved to his spider friend before stopping at the door, with a deep breath he turned the knob and walked out into the world. He'd never seen much outside these walls, to him this orphanage was the whole world, and the world was,, noisy and hard and crowded and messy - it was all the things he hated and loved at the same time and it was his normal. He covered his ears briefly before walking down the hall to the dining room, he memorised all the little dents and scratches in the wood and counted them as he went, he felt satisfaction as those numbers ended evenly and breathed a sigh of contentment before looking up and registering his surroundings.

He hummed as he walked by a table of kids joking and messing about, he hummed as he walked past workers whispering to each other in hushed tones and worried masks, he hummed as he passed a group of teens that had accepted that they'd never be adopted since most people come in wanting younger kids, he passed a girl staring stoically at her plate and he knew she'd throw it away later, he hummed as he passed a boy who sat alone staring at the place his best friend sat before he shot himself last month, he passed a dazed girl who stood with her share of food with wrists visible of healing cuts about 3 days old and he hummed as he passed a little boy that arrived last night that cried for his parents who he assumed has passed in a car accident judging by the face and pleading worker that broke the news. He hummed as he sat down with a plate and he hummed as he felt no pity for the different people that sat in this room, the people that felt different degrees of his own pain.

They would only ever be able to understand a spoonful of the things he felt every single second of the day, he could not feel sympathy but he did offer them the same pity he hated so much. Maybe that made him a hypocrite but he was an honest hypocrite, his gaze lingering to a boy with the stoic face who lit a blunt under the table before bouncing to that girl who was walking to the bins with her untouched food until his gaze fell to his open plate. He picked up a slice of toast and grimaced as noticed all the seeds in it, grumbling to himself, he began to pick all the seeds out till he deemed it safe enough to eat.

In no way was Tommy allergic to seeds, he simply was a picky eater - actually, to say he was a picky eater was an understatement, he had something called ARFID which almost sounds like afraid which essentially described it the best. ARFID stands for Avoidant Restricted Food Intake Disorder, a food disorder most kids on the spectrum have and it's all to do with smells and looks, textures and colours. It often annoyed the people who let him have the grace of eating but he didn't mind that they didn't understand, the only one who needed to understand was him.

He chewed his toast nonchalantly and let his mind wonder, as he gazed about the room full of hybrids - the room full of broken dreams and people alike. He wondered if he ever entered this place with dreams, if he had then he had long forgotten them, he tucked such things away in boxes and hid those boxes under the bed with all the pain that overflow from his heart. He sighed as he looked down at the rest of the meal, food felt.. wrong.. did he even deserve to eat? Eating was supposed to feel good wasn't it? Yet at most times it felt so wrong and he was suddenly aware of every single calorie, he felt he didn't deserve the food on his plate and there were others in this cruel world that didn't even have anything, he used to be like them so what makes him so special to be able to eat? He was so so selfish, selfish for eating and selfish as he picked up his plate and began the routinely walk.