"Just because he's a discreditable child does not mean that you should
contemn him, because that is what he is: a child. Children.. their minds wander;
and those minds are- contrary to what you may have thought- unattainable for
change." -[Team] Rocket Scientist (Andrew)
BLACK AS NIGHT
chapter one - the boy
The room was a most horrible shade of green. The green that, despite how
hard everyone tries to like it, is always associated with the most repulsive
things. It was not the only offensive attribute, however, as a most nauseous
smell lingered in the air (thanks to mold from the recent, endless torrents
of rain). There was a single window in the room, but ten boards, neatly nailed
to the wall, covered it up, and did not allow light to filter in. But those who
do not know sunlight do not wish for it, prophetically. However, a single bulb,
hanging shabbily on a black wire, flooded the room with a golden light. God's
grace: this was far from it.
He sat, curled up in one corner of this putrid room, knees pulled to his
chest. A simple shifting of weight caused his small body to perform gentle
rocking motions. He seemed anything other than okay.
Tan curls, the shade of sand that moment that the sun kisses the
horizon grazed his neck and continued further, draping over his shoulders and
down his back mid-way. They were anything but gentle, more wily and wiry than
anything else. His eyes, though one was covered with a cotton patch,
appeared to be an ice blue, or electric blue; it was not enough to say that they
simply were.. shocking. As for clothing, however, he wore rags, in a sense.
Threads stuck out of the seams in his shirt, revealing the soft, almost
milk-white skin beneath the fabric; and his jeans were, more-or-less, the same.
The denim was very faded, and the knees were ripped, the ankles torn. Socks
were nonexistant.
Anything but delicate, a simple shove got him onto his feet. Despite
his wobbliness, the boy managed to stumble across the room to what looked like
a solid-steel door. It was faux, to say the least: wood, covered in aluminum
sheets. The aluminum glared back at him, in a way, reflecting a gaunt face.
As he stared into his single usable eye, the boy traced his fingers over his
reflection, as if searching for something. It seemed as if that something had
found him first, though.
"Derrell, you should be awake now, boy!"
"I'm awake, mama. I'm awake."
"Good. I'll unlock the bolt so that you can come eat."
"Thank you, mama. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Shut up, boy! Come get your food."
"Yes, mama."
Derrell, just as clumsily as he had gotten up, stumbled out of his room the
second that the door had allowed his freedom. He gazed around the house,
realizing that it had been more than hours, more than a day, more than two days
that he had seen the cheery, white walls of his outer-confines. Beautiful
tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, making them less bland than they
were made out to be, and a roaring fire, which happily engulfed all dried
objects, especially wood (and photos), cast an orange glow to add a final, homey
touch.
"Derrell, are you going to come and get your food? Or have you decided to
starve for another few days?"
"No, mama, I am.. coming," Derrell spoke weakly. He managed to find his way to
the kitchen while ignoring the smell of ink that wafted heavily in the air.
But as the frail boy ate in silence, he noticed how strong the acidic smell had
become. It charged the endorphins in his brain, giving him a dizzy, euphoric
feeling. He was on a high, if that were at all what you might call it.
"Mama, I want to become a Pok
contemn him, because that is what he is: a child. Children.. their minds wander;
and those minds are- contrary to what you may have thought- unattainable for
change." -[Team] Rocket Scientist (Andrew)
BLACK AS NIGHT
chapter one - the boy
The room was a most horrible shade of green. The green that, despite how
hard everyone tries to like it, is always associated with the most repulsive
things. It was not the only offensive attribute, however, as a most nauseous
smell lingered in the air (thanks to mold from the recent, endless torrents
of rain). There was a single window in the room, but ten boards, neatly nailed
to the wall, covered it up, and did not allow light to filter in. But those who
do not know sunlight do not wish for it, prophetically. However, a single bulb,
hanging shabbily on a black wire, flooded the room with a golden light. God's
grace: this was far from it.
He sat, curled up in one corner of this putrid room, knees pulled to his
chest. A simple shifting of weight caused his small body to perform gentle
rocking motions. He seemed anything other than okay.
Tan curls, the shade of sand that moment that the sun kisses the
horizon grazed his neck and continued further, draping over his shoulders and
down his back mid-way. They were anything but gentle, more wily and wiry than
anything else. His eyes, though one was covered with a cotton patch,
appeared to be an ice blue, or electric blue; it was not enough to say that they
simply were.. shocking. As for clothing, however, he wore rags, in a sense.
Threads stuck out of the seams in his shirt, revealing the soft, almost
milk-white skin beneath the fabric; and his jeans were, more-or-less, the same.
The denim was very faded, and the knees were ripped, the ankles torn. Socks
were nonexistant.
Anything but delicate, a simple shove got him onto his feet. Despite
his wobbliness, the boy managed to stumble across the room to what looked like
a solid-steel door. It was faux, to say the least: wood, covered in aluminum
sheets. The aluminum glared back at him, in a way, reflecting a gaunt face.
As he stared into his single usable eye, the boy traced his fingers over his
reflection, as if searching for something. It seemed as if that something had
found him first, though.
"Derrell, you should be awake now, boy!"
"I'm awake, mama. I'm awake."
"Good. I'll unlock the bolt so that you can come eat."
"Thank you, mama. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Shut up, boy! Come get your food."
"Yes, mama."
Derrell, just as clumsily as he had gotten up, stumbled out of his room the
second that the door had allowed his freedom. He gazed around the house,
realizing that it had been more than hours, more than a day, more than two days
that he had seen the cheery, white walls of his outer-confines. Beautiful
tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, making them less bland than they
were made out to be, and a roaring fire, which happily engulfed all dried
objects, especially wood (and photos), cast an orange glow to add a final, homey
touch.
"Derrell, are you going to come and get your food? Or have you decided to
starve for another few days?"
"No, mama, I am.. coming," Derrell spoke weakly. He managed to find his way to
the kitchen while ignoring the smell of ink that wafted heavily in the air.
But as the frail boy ate in silence, he noticed how strong the acidic smell had
become. It charged the endorphins in his brain, giving him a dizzy, euphoric
feeling. He was on a high, if that were at all what you might call it.
"Mama, I want to become a Pok
