A home for the little non-smutty Pentatonix oneshots I end up writing to reach my daily word count goal when my main stories are uncooperative.
Let me know what you think, because frankly if I'm writing these, I need the encouragement. 😆
Ships wil...
Just a quick little thing to get it out of my head, based off of this prompt:
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Avi
Avi is eight when he finds out. He's at Esther's bat mitzvah, or rather, he's playing in the park behind the restaurant afterwards with the other kids who are too young and too bored to sit and make small talk with all the old people who only seem to exist so they can come to these things.
They're pretending things in the park, knights and damsels and golems and whatever, when one of them mentions something Avi doesn't believe. He tells her as much, tells her she's stupid, but the other kids side with her, say that he's the one who's stupid and a baby at that. They laugh at him.
He still doesn't believe it though, it's utterly preposterous. But he asks his dad after his mom is done lecturing him for ruining his best clothes. His father hems and haws, but eventually caves and tells Avi the dark truth, and then awkwardly pats him on the back while he cries it out.
Dragons aren't real, it turns out. There are worse things in life, he discovers as he gets older, and this is easier to pretend isn't a fact than most. But it's the first real blow to his childhood dreams, and that hurts.
Kevin
Kevin is eleven when one of the kids down the street gets shot by the police. He's older than Kevin, just turned seventeen, and he's been in and out of trouble his whole life with petty theft and drug dealing and weapons charges. The case seems pretty clear cut; the kid has always been bad news, there are witnesses who saw him pull a gun, and one of the officers involved is someone Kevin knows from the music school he attends who's always been kind to him.
But his parents still wonder, and his mom sits him down to talk to him about how he always has to be polite and respectful, never give the police any reason to look at him twice, go out of his way to make sure they know the color of his skin doesn't mean he's a threat.
None of his white friends get the same talk, he finds out the next day. They're taught to listen to police and to go to them for help, but not to be afraid of them. The kid who got shot was a criminal so deserved what he got, their logic says; no further detail required. They look at him funny when he mentions his mom's talk, like he's the one who's crazy, not the world they pretend doesn't exist.
He goes back home and he rages, and he cries, and he pleads, and he prays. And he does it all behind closed doors because he wouldn't want to scare anybody. Make them think he's dangerous in any way.
Mitch
Mitch is twelve when he knows deep down for sure, and fifteen before he finally admits it to himself. It's not fair, but no matter how deep he tries to bury himself in the closet, he's a little too close to the stereotype not to suffer some of the consequences anyway: high voice, feminine mannerisms, theater brat, and choir nerd. He's a target for bullies whenever he's not surrounded by his friends. He plays it like it doesn't matter to him, that he is who he is and assumptions are stupid. But he's not very successful.
