/living just to find emotion/
Spencer's sitting on a bright orange stool, and he's spinning aroundaroundaround, the world becoming just a b l u r around him. Everything's ohso fast, and he loves every second of it.
/ the dead never truly leave us, you know…/
The weaving m u r m u r of scandalized voices surround him, but it's nothing he hasn't heard before. He goes fasterfasterfaster, until finally the stool tips, spilling him to the marble floor, ripping his expensive funeral clothes. T e a r s threaten to fall (and ohno he can't do this!) but a gurgle stops him. He l a u g h s too then, the boyish bark much in contrast to his sister's {giggle.}
/he hears them late at night, when everyone else sleeps…/
/one, two, buckle my shoe
He's the only fifth grader at school still using Velcro, but he tells them it's 'cause his dog chews shoelaces off. He doesn't have a dog.
/three, four, knock on the door
One day there's a knock at their apartment door and a strange man takes him to a tall building where the colours blind him and everyone's just [too nice, you know?] They make him solve puzzles and draw pictures of his family, but for his mother he puts a hole. (That's where she is now, y'know.)
/when he recalls this, years later, he remembers he is sitting on an orange stool./
: :
He's in middle school now, where the teachers aren't niceynicey anymore. A woman with rusty hair yells at him from a bullhorn, the kids are all moving in clusters, and the PA blares constantly.
All in all, Spencer [l o v e sit].
He meets Socko, the short kid with olive-y skin and [unfinished] eyes, and they become instant enemies, Spencer h a t i n g him so much he could explodexplodexplode—
-but of course they land in detention {together}, and that's really /all it takes./
: :
/don't ever look back, don't ever look back/
: :
High school is ohsodifferent from middle school. He feels [soalone,] and his dad notices this but ignoresitignoresit—
Until finally, inevitably, the scissors are dancing over his pale skin, pressing in, the blood rushing out but n e v e r e v e r falling. He gives up, feeling nothing at a l l.
[[I never thought it would come down to this…]]
(Some people dread pain. He l o n g s to feel some.)
He laughs and breathes and lives and yells, the teachers fondly calling him a firecracker. His marks rise and dip, rise and dip. And he's p o p u l a r.
/So why isn't he h a p p y?/
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His first kiss is at eleven- his first real kiss at seventeen.
Her name was {Lily} and she tasted like l e m o n a d e.
She hurts him. She hurts him, and he never wants to f e e l pain again.
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/he's different all right. marches to his own drum./
~*V*~
Law school plain old sucks.
It's boring, dull and goes –by- the- rules, all the things that Spencer {[n e v e r]} was. Slowly, he feels himself m e l t into the briefcases and day-old coffee, the grey suit his {[father]} makes him wear.
Socko sympathizes (but he would, you know, owning a sock store and all) and offers kind, useless bestfriend advice that Spencer ignores.
He's out of there in three days, after a vicious battle involving toilet paper, ballpoint pens, and a very confused chipmunk .
/spencer doesn't melt. he s h in e s./
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It's when his father [[l e a v e s him]] that he discovers sculpting.
(Colours rush, shapes mold {together}.)
What more could he ask for?
/what you always thought you knew/
There are things he and Carly a v o i d. She doesn't ask about his scars, and he doesn't ask about hers.
{[We need help, don't we?]}
: :
They walk in together, Carly mumbling about how she [doesn't have to do this], how she's finejustfine.
I'm doing this for you, kiddo.
The therapist surveys them through her thick glasses. Silence. Then—
-can you see through walls with those things?
Shutupjustshutup!
There are tissues on her table. Spencer vows to [neverever] use them.
: :
(And he doesn't. They leave her office that day and they never come back.)
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The alcohol stings him. It burns him so hard, so damn hard he gags. He rips a sculpting knife through his skin, the blood pours out thick and fast—
For the first time in weeks, he s m i l e s.
/I blame only myself./
That's all he says at her f u n e r a l. Four simple, bitter, [{painfully}] h o n e s t words.
He turns and /walks/. Walks until his brain turns to mush, until he can't remember his own name.
He can, however, still remember hers.
(So he w a l k s some more.)
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/who's p l a y i n g with who, here?/
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Streetlight people,
Living just to find {[emotion]}
Hiding s o m e w h e r e in the {[night]}
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Spencer doesn't want to feel anymore.
A/N: First time trying something like this! I chose Spencer to experiment with, cause there's
not enough Spencer fics, and he's really a very deep character. I hope it's okay, and not too weird. :P. Tell me what you thought about it!