Disclaimer: I don't own House of Anubis or the poem 'Nest' by Colm O' Shea.
A/N: This is just a oneshot that I came up with about Jerome while reading the poem 'Nest' by Colm O' Shea. The first two verses apply to the story, but the last two don't so I'm not going to include them here. If you'd like the hear the last two verses, PM me or Google the poem.
That's the branch, slighter than I recall. The tyre still hangs, a black O in space, it's rope little more than thread - hard to discern at dusk.
I remember the boy, mud-stained, spinning, squealing for height. He retains little of the deeds done here, of treasures found, lost in the long grass. No, that small person has mostly blown away, stolen hair by hair by the tiny summer whirlwind he once stood inside, clutching at their hay-lined walls.
Nest, by Colm O' Shea.
Jerome stood in his back garden. He was now eighteen years old, and he was here before he leave for university. It was about eight, maybe nine o' clock, and it was quickly getting dark. He stared at the tree that he used to have so much fun on. It looked smaller now, but maybe that was because he was after growing so tall. He wouldn't be able to scale it now without breaking it, probably.
There was a black tyre hanging off one of the branches - just big enough to fit a small boy in, a small Jerome. He looked at it, somehow it stood out every though it was growing dark fast. The rope that was once thick and sturdy, was now frayed and little more than a thread.
Jerome closed his eyes, remembering his younger self.
He was running around the garden, mud-stained and happy, ignoring his mother's calls to come inside and take a bath...
...now he simply stood outside, sad and lonely, mourning his carefree childhood before he was sent to boarding school, and his father prison. He also took showers every couple of days, not to care for his hygiene, but to try and scrub of his mask.
He was on the swing, squealing for his father to come outside and push him, but his dad just shook his head from the window, and walked away. And then Jerome was spinning wildly, and he fell out of the tyre in a daze. He never went on it again...
...only now he desperately wanted to.
He can't remember if anything special happened out here (maybe Poppy's first steps...?) and he remembers finding something shiny in the grass. Something that he still has, somewhere... and then there was the Easter Egg hunt - he and Poppy always received one hidden in the garden every year, often found along the high, uncut grass...
...now it was trimmed neatly, keeping with the times. It was different, not what he had grown up with. He wish he had grown up with this, it would have been easier on him, wouldn't have forced him to grow up so fast...
He watched behind closed eyes as images of his younger self swirled behind his eyes, and he watched as the images grew duller and duller, and the childlike innocent faded and faded, and he watched as his happy self was snatched away, bit by bit until...
...he felt a tap on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, and turned around to face Joy, who was holding out a mug of steaming hot coffee to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and they walked inside.
He wouldn't change it for the world if he had the choice though.