|
Post by tristan on Sept 19, 2010 14:18:50 GMT -7
Tristan lay on the top bunk bed and stared at the dusty and spider infested ceiling. He watched one come down quietly and then rolled away onto his side. Tristan now faced the room and sighed. He was bored. He was lonely. He was by himself... as always. People never seemed to want to hang out with him. So what if he was quiet, if he was somewhat unusual for a Hermes. He was raised wrong. By an uncaring mother, overshadowed by a glamorous brother...
Tristan rolled off the bed and landed lightly on his feet before crossing to the mirror. His hair was unkempt, was in need of washing... His clothes were rumpled and stained by various colors of paints. His pants were baggy and ripped, bare feet. Tristan had bags under his eyes. He had been having trouble sleeping. It was the third anniversary of Kieran's death. And still nothing from his mother. No letter, no postcard, not even a tissue and change, like in Harry Potter. No, most likely, she was drunk and passed out in a club or at some man's apartment.
Then again, the time difference in California may attribute to her silence, but this was wishful thinking. Just wishful thinking. Tristan was always thinking wishfully, it seemed. What if Mother was normal? What is Kieran was still alive? What if... What if...? WHAT IF...?!
Seriously, he needed to get over it. Kicking a suitcase as he passed, Tristan stepped on a shirt and slipped, falling onto his back. His head slammed off the hard wooden floor and he lay there, dazed and seeing spots. "Ow..." Tristan groaned and tried to roll over, but found it was better to just lay still. It was quite peaceful on the floor. Tristan vaguely hoped he was not bleeding out the back of his head. That would be bad...
Word Count: 313
|
|