Walking home after school, I see a familiar figure standing in the rain ahead of me.
I walk towards him. He’s staring up at the sky, rain dripping all over him. He doesn’t seem to notice anything, not the rain, not the sidewalk he’s standing on. Not even his own cold skin.
“Tallan?”
Slowly, as if in a dream, he turns towards me. I almost flinch at the sight of his face. He has a black eye and a few cuts on his cheek.
“What happened to you?” I cry, reaching up to his face.
He jerks away, grey eyes wide. His black hair is plastered over his forehead and he looks so young, so lost. He glances away. “I’m fine,” he says quietly.
“Did those guys do this to you?” I demand. “They have no right!”
Tallan looks at me, silent. “I’m fine,” he repeats in a hollow voice. Then he turns and walks away from me.
I stare after him, so confused. What’s going on with that boy?
I’m walking down the halls to my locker when I see them rip his sketchbook from him.
They chuck it on the floor, laughing, leering at him. They look around for the approval of their audience, in which no one dares step forward to do a single thing before they walk away, moving on as if nothing happened.
Tallan picks the book up, staring at the ripped pages in silence. No one looks at him twice.
I go up to him. “What jerks,” I say staring after the idiots. I turn back to Tallan, but he’s still looking at his torn book. I feel like hugging him; his mouth is turned down just the slightest bit, eyes downcast. “They didn’t ruin too much, did they?” I ask softly.
He glances up at me, almost looking through me, and his eyes… They look so sad, so broken. He turns away, brushing past me without a single word.
At lunch, I walk around to look for him. I can’t stay away. Even if he doesn’t want to talk to me, at least he can know I’m there.
I find him under the stairwell, hugging his knees to himself, silent and alone. I sit next to him.
“Did you eat yet?”
He doesn’t respond, just keeps staring at the wall. I don’t know what he’s seeing, but his eyes are empty and lost and it scares me a little.
“Do you want a cookie?” I hold it up to him.
His eyes close. His voice, barely above a whisper, rasps, “Leave me alone.”
I don’t.
I shut up, but I stay.
He doesn’t say anything else after that either. His eyes stay closed, but he’s here.
The next day he doesn’t show up.
I wonder where he is, and if he’s okay. I’m worried, I admit. Because I know that that boy is not okay.
He is far from okay.
On the weekend, I ride my bike around the neighbourhood out of sheer boredom. I nearly crash into a dark hooded figure standing in the middle of the street.
It’s him.
He stares at me emotionless as I fuss and check him for injury. “Why are you standing in the middle of the road?” I ask him, upset.
He takes a moment to answer. But when he does, it nearly breaks my heart.
“Maybe a car would come and it won’t stop.”
He lets me lead him back to my house. I take his hand and he seems a bit startled, but doesn’t pull away. I take him home because he won’t tell me where his house is.
“I don’t want to go back,” he whispers to me.
We sit on the couch watching bad reality TV shows and eating Lay’s chips. It’s quiet but I like the silence. It feels comfortable and peaceful. Like there’s nothing to worry about in this moment, not homework, not bullies, not mysterious boys hiding behind dark sweaters.
A weight on my shoulder. Tallan has fallen asleep. I run my fingers gently through his bangs, watching his sleeping face. He looks so innocent, no haunted look on his face.
My parents don’t ask any questions, just digs out a blanket for him. I leave him on the couch, tucking the blanket over his still form. He doesn’t stir. I walk into the kitchen, where my parents are waiting. They look at me and I offer them a small smile.
“He’s a friend,” I say, not sure if that’s a lie or not. “He’s just… tired.”
They glance at each other, but don’t say anything. My mom searches my face, and she must’ve seen something because she just shrugs and asks if he’s staying for dinner.
I tell them I’m not sure, and I go back to the living room to Tallan. He’s still sleeping, breathing softly. I sit on the floor, watching him. I don’t understand him at all, but he just seems so sad. So lost. So hurt and utterly alone. And I want to help him. Gently moving his hair aside again, I find myself wondering what he looks like if he smiles. I can’t imagine it, and that makes me want to cry. I don’t want him to be one of those people that don’t have any wrinkles because they forgot how to smile. I vow right then that I’ll do everything I can to make him smile.
He deserves that much.
it'll be short because i didn't separate it into chapters. and my writing's crooked here, because i took it to school, as per usual. who pays attention to graphs and chemical compounds, anyway?
smile, pass it on: compliment the cashier that bags your groceries/ hands you your coffee/ gives you back your change/ etc today.
>Save You ~ Simple Plan
>external link: he writes amazing poetry. and reblogs pretty pictures.
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Sketches and Scars
Short Story"But once you start noticing something----especially someone---- it’s not as easy to just go back to life before." He was that kid in the back you didn't know existed except when the teacher did roll call. He was that kid that got shoved into in the...
