a bit of angstyfic for ya (its short and vague; the
best kind):
title: Round Here
author: Casix Thistlebane
disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just the
situation
summary: a beach, an evening, and an apology
Round Here
by Casix Thistlebane
It was the look in his eyes that did it. That look
that took her back a decade and a handful of years and
made her heart ache that she couldn't be back there
again with him. She could handle his speech and
behavior most days, so long as she didn't watch too
closely. He'd always been fairly childlike anyway.
She had always dreamed of bringing her kids to this
beach one day. She'd never thought of it this way.
She bit back a reprimand as he dashed towards the
waves in jeans and a smile, daring them to crash down
over his head and make him shiver with salt. He could
still swim, after all; better than many people she
knew, especially in the ocean. He hadn't forgotten a
single part of his twenty years, and even remembered
his highschool classes better now than he could before
the change. He could call up places and historical
events at the drop of a hat and a few key words,
though she'd had to remind him four times to take his
sneakers off before he got out of the car and onto the
sand.
She watched him as he held his arms out straight to
either side and traversed the changing line of the
water and land in quick, dizzying steps, and wondered
if he'd ever be him again.
They had found him this way one morning, after he'd
answered a call from his mother, asking him to go
"deal with" his father. He'd left the night before,
and no one had thought twice about it until he didn't
come back the next day. They'd rushed over and
searched the house until they'd found him, making
mosaics with a deck of blood specked cards next to the
bodies of his parents.
The police had dismissed it all as another act of
domestic violence; tragic yes, but not earth-
shattering, and the paramedics had given him something
for the shock and told them to make sure he got plenty
of rest. He'd be fine soon enough.
That had been over a year ago.
Doctors since had declared it as anything from autism
to schizophrenia, though none could determine the
cause, and nothing they had tried helped. He prattled
on and played all day, but clammed up if you mentioned
that evening. He'd stopped talking about the spell
after a week of researching had not turned up anything
that could do that to him, but was prone to long
silences, especially after dark, and had occasionally
drawn unidentifiable symbols in the sand.
She took care of him during the day with money the
others provided and led her other life (such as it
was) at night. In the twilight they would come here,
and he would take on the waves.
He approached as the sun flat-lined on the horizon,
his sculptured body tanned and gleaming with sea
water. His jeans were drenched, and his expression
was serious. If it weren't for the starfish he
clenched in one white-knuckled fist, she could have
mistaken him for who he used to be. He usually looked
gleeful and guilty on these evenings.
He silently offered her the starfish and she took it
gently, making as if to get up. He pushed her down
with one strong hand and then sat, cross-legged with
his back straight and his hands stuck between his
legs.
"You're sad again." His arms were so straight that
they started to hyper-extend, showing the paler skin
of the insides of his elbows. "I make you sad."
"No." She used the starfish to make a pentagram.
"You could never make me sad."
"You're sad because I'm not me." He rocked on his
hips and leaned towards her. "'Cause I'm not who I
was."
She smiled a little, tracing a circle beneath the
starfish. "That's true. But I'm glad you're still
here."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." She put a hand on his cheek and
brought back dampness. She touched her lips and
tasted salt. "Never apologize for who you are."
"I'm sorry." She didn't know if he hadn't understood
or was apologizing for apologizing. "I wish I could
come back."
She realized that the drops on his cheeks weren't all
seawater and wrapped her arms around him.
He leaned his head on her chest. "I'm trying."
"I know."
They stayed like that until the starfish on the sand
glowed with the light of its kin in the sky, before
turning back to the car.
She had to tell him three times to buckle his
seatbelt.
The end
best kind):
title: Round Here
author: Casix Thistlebane
disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just the
situation
summary: a beach, an evening, and an apology
Round Here
by Casix Thistlebane
It was the look in his eyes that did it. That look
that took her back a decade and a handful of years and
made her heart ache that she couldn't be back there
again with him. She could handle his speech and
behavior most days, so long as she didn't watch too
closely. He'd always been fairly childlike anyway.
She had always dreamed of bringing her kids to this
beach one day. She'd never thought of it this way.
She bit back a reprimand as he dashed towards the
waves in jeans and a smile, daring them to crash down
over his head and make him shiver with salt. He could
still swim, after all; better than many people she
knew, especially in the ocean. He hadn't forgotten a
single part of his twenty years, and even remembered
his highschool classes better now than he could before
the change. He could call up places and historical
events at the drop of a hat and a few key words,
though she'd had to remind him four times to take his
sneakers off before he got out of the car and onto the
sand.
She watched him as he held his arms out straight to
either side and traversed the changing line of the
water and land in quick, dizzying steps, and wondered
if he'd ever be him again.
They had found him this way one morning, after he'd
answered a call from his mother, asking him to go
"deal with" his father. He'd left the night before,
and no one had thought twice about it until he didn't
come back the next day. They'd rushed over and
searched the house until they'd found him, making
mosaics with a deck of blood specked cards next to the
bodies of his parents.
The police had dismissed it all as another act of
domestic violence; tragic yes, but not earth-
shattering, and the paramedics had given him something
for the shock and told them to make sure he got plenty
of rest. He'd be fine soon enough.
That had been over a year ago.
Doctors since had declared it as anything from autism
to schizophrenia, though none could determine the
cause, and nothing they had tried helped. He prattled
on and played all day, but clammed up if you mentioned
that evening. He'd stopped talking about the spell
after a week of researching had not turned up anything
that could do that to him, but was prone to long
silences, especially after dark, and had occasionally
drawn unidentifiable symbols in the sand.
She took care of him during the day with money the
others provided and led her other life (such as it
was) at night. In the twilight they would come here,
and he would take on the waves.
He approached as the sun flat-lined on the horizon,
his sculptured body tanned and gleaming with sea
water. His jeans were drenched, and his expression
was serious. If it weren't for the starfish he
clenched in one white-knuckled fist, she could have
mistaken him for who he used to be. He usually looked
gleeful and guilty on these evenings.
He silently offered her the starfish and she took it
gently, making as if to get up. He pushed her down
with one strong hand and then sat, cross-legged with
his back straight and his hands stuck between his
legs.
"You're sad again." His arms were so straight that
they started to hyper-extend, showing the paler skin
of the insides of his elbows. "I make you sad."
"No." She used the starfish to make a pentagram.
"You could never make me sad."
"You're sad because I'm not me." He rocked on his
hips and leaned towards her. "'Cause I'm not who I
was."
She smiled a little, tracing a circle beneath the
starfish. "That's true. But I'm glad you're still
here."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." She put a hand on his cheek and
brought back dampness. She touched her lips and
tasted salt. "Never apologize for who you are."
"I'm sorry." She didn't know if he hadn't understood
or was apologizing for apologizing. "I wish I could
come back."
She realized that the drops on his cheeks weren't all
seawater and wrapped her arms around him.
He leaned his head on her chest. "I'm trying."
"I know."
They stayed like that until the starfish on the sand
glowed with the light of its kin in the sky, before
turning back to the car.
She had to tell him three times to buckle his
seatbelt.
The end