The Foster Kid (Part 8) (A Foster The People Fan Fiction)

Changing At Dawn

I find it interesting and cool with Ryan’s forty eight hour shift. I mean, there are a lot of things that can be done in the hospital during that period. The thrills of saving lives and finding out that the human body can do such things sounds awesome. I understand why it had to be around forty eight, because he’s the freaking chief of surgery. Not to brag about him or anything. It’s just that it’s really awesome- and he’s only a few months older than me for crying out loud. He’s not even thirty yet. But the bad part is they had to be mentally immune to the feeling of guilt and grief. Their feelings and their jobs just simply don’t go together. Sometimes Ryan would go home and go all mad and cranky. That means someone died on the table under his watch. I knew that Ryan was the one to investigate mom’s death. I knew that he was the last one to see her and the one to be able to touch her. What did he feel when he was doing that?

            That thought kept me up at night. I’ve been staring at the ceiling, flicking the flashlight on and off for hours. I don’t know if the guys are still here or not. If they are, I’m fine with it. Every inch of my body was itching from all these feelings that I’m burying deep down inside of me. I know that I should be getting some sleep right now, but I can’t. I just can’t. There’s always something that’s keeping me up at times like this. I can’t really distract myself tonight and I don’t really know why. Maybe it’s one of those times when you’re just really-really unlucky. It’s just one of those unlucky days and you can’t do anything about it. So I probably should face the fact and suck it up. Life simply sucks, children.

 I gave up in trying to sleep and rolled out of my empty bed. I shuffled out of my room to go look for my favorite coffee mug who lives on my desk. I nearly cried when I found that it’s not on its usual space. I didn’t remember moving it or anything. A percent of me shattered. I love that mug. Coffee tastes best in that mug because I bought it with mom ages ago. It’s cool because it’s shape like a freaking camera lens! At first, I thought it was a little bit tacky, but mom talked me out of that idea. And that’s what I’m going to miss the most about her. She’s the best at making decisions. I didn’t regret buying that beautiful thing. So anyways, I rampaged through my whole apartment looking for my loyal working companion. I felt like balling myself on the corner and cry.

            It took me twenty minutes of search and destroy when I remembered about Pontius. How long since you last washed this mug? Lay off the coffee, kiddo. Then it hit me right on the face. Pontius must have put it in the dishwasher. The dishwasher. Why didn’t I think of that? So I did raided that shit and found it. It’s okay, I found it. I found my mug. I filled it with coffee for the millionth time. I don’t know how much coffee its taken. Like what I always do, I then plopped down on my desk. My desk faces the window so I could stare outside and daydream. At this time, it was dark and peaceful. Why wouldn’t it? It was at four in the morning.

            Without me noticing, I started to reach for the pencil. It has always been a reflex to me. It’s, like, in my blood- my battle reflexes. I fumbled with my pencil, chewed on it, dragged lines across sheets of paper, and swiveling around with the chair. After being idle for a few unnecessary moments, I started sketching. It’s like my hand instantly turned into a printer and my mind is the computer. Suddenly, my mind was on this white world covered in black pencil lines and they’re making shapes. I don’t know how, it just happens inexplicably.

            I was just scribbling and drawing lines absentmindedly. My mind was literally all over the place. I was thinking about this and that- I was over thinking at this hour of the day. If Ryan was here, he would stop me. But he’s not and I’m on my own, so I have me to myself. Maybe I just need some time for me to be alone, like really. With one hand clutching on the mug tightly, the other one moves smoothly on top of the paper. With my mouth sipping on coffee, my imaginary world kicked in. I can’t really tell what I will be thinking about, but it’s mostly based on recent events.