❝ the boy who was made of sweetness and honey- with blackened lungs and razor blades scraping raw at his insides and twisted with time and abuse. where is his epilogue of bliss? ❞
[ male oc ]
circa 1994 au
- graphic violence, gore, abuse, self destr...
𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. It had been foreign to him. Lonely. He always had Josette to accompany him, or maybe his baby brother Gabriel. Josie yelling at him to move over, that he's taking up her seat. Drawing pictures on the condensation of the windows and making Kai guess what they were. Throwing a Barbie in his lap and forcing him to play dollies with her. Which he pretended to hate.
Things got a little more complicated when Gabe was born. There was another kid thrown into the mix. It wasn't just Kai and Josie anymore. It was Josette, Gabriel, and Malachai. He didn't like the change at first. When he was six. It made him feel cold, like his colours were slightly muted. Slowly losing saturation. But he got used to it. And it meant that no matter where Josie was— he would never be alone in the back of the car.
Until he was eight.
1980 was the first year that Kai was whisked away to a doctor. Those doctors quickly turned into psychologists, and those psychologists quickly turned into asylums. But at first— it was a doctor. He was sat in the back seat. Alone. As his parents treated him like he was deaf as they spoke back and forth in hushed voices about what could possibly be wrong with him. Words of 'different' and 'wrong' thrusted in his direction. Colourful words to describe an eight year old boy who just wanted to watch cartoons with his sister.
Kai was colourful back then, too. Draped in multicoloured hues that made him stand out in all the right ways. Kids at school liked him. Thought he was a little weird sometimes, but loud and funny and colourful. Until his skin became colourful. Draped in purple, blue, black hues that made him stand out in all the wrong ways.
Kids didn't want to be around him after that. After he was six.
And the purple drained all the multicolours out of him. They desaturated him. Made the whirring green of trees passing by the car window turn grey. That first car journey — the one where he was alone — felt more like a noir movie than a twenty-five minute drive. A noir silent horror movie, one might say. But Kai was eight and he didn't really know what that was quite yet.
But when you start to see the world in black and white from such a small age— your thoughts become very colourful.
Red started to seep into his thoughts. Like those noir horror movies that isolate the red of the blood. It shocks you at first. Watching forty-five minutes of grey only for a red so lurid to be splattered across the screen. But after the initial shock, you appreciate it. The artistry of it all.
