Toy Soldiers
An angst written of divorce and its repercussions.
Alfred was in the seventh grade when dad and dad decided to split up. It was bad. Swearing. Yelling. Gnashing of teeth. Finally it was over, him doing algebra in his room, he heard all of it, the fractions slipping through the cracks as he had listened intently, knowing how bad relations between the two had been recently.. his brother, Matty was silent as Alfred was.
It had only taken a month or two.
Soon enough Alfred was spending three and a half days in one spot and so was Matthew with him.
"Don't fret mon bébé's," He'd been told. "This'll all be okay in the end, I promise you!~" Caked under the layer of suave was alcohol. And lots. The disturbance only was felt harder with Al and Matt as they recoiled from the massive blow dealt to their hearts seeing the dirty blonde, tear streak ridden Englishman wave at them as they were driven off.
Half week number one was spent with Francis. Alfred seemed distracted at first, but he began to deal with it as best he could. Matthew refused to believe they were separate, distraught and speechless. But both had been struck.
Then the half a week became half a year.
And from there there two years.
Alfred was stretched. Stretched beyond belief. He felt alone and disturbed, feeling unwilling to get out of bed in the morning and actually do things, but he had plans for himself dammit. He needed to move on from this and knew all too well, but there wasn't much he could do but..
Ignore Arthur's drunken rants and attempt to help Francis cope with his seemingly perpetually shattered emotions. Now Francis seemed to snap at the slightest issue, no room for error. This had especially hurt Matthew who had gotten along better with Francis anyways, who began to treat Matthew with malice.
Matthew had began to play the Clarinet in his meantime to try and get through his pain.. maybe he could get Arthur's attention if he played well enough, maybe he'd listen. Maybe he'd hear.
Matty'd been at it since 6th, having sensed the tension long before Alfred. He felt like a cause, and that had hurt him a lot, but he'd kept quiet.
Alfred had sulked, participation in sports waining, at first gaining weight but then losing it. He'd gone from strong and healthy to weak and in need of a sandwich. The boys soon had to cook for themselves, unable to get Arthur to get up from drunken slumbers or be called ignorant and rude for daring ask Francis to cook. "Can't you see I'm still hurting!?"
Alfred made the decision. And he'd acted fast when doing it, but he'd done it.
He'd joined JROTC. He loved the idea of things being orderly with proper feel, as long ago Arthur had taught him that order was good before he had eaten his words and choked. He enrolled in every extracurricular program to do with it. And he was prepared. Or so he thought.
Meanwhile, Matty had landed himself second chair clarinet as a freshman in his school's band, and was happy to wear the title. The sense of accomplishment was astonishing and it was rejuvenating to him. It seemed like light had been breathed into his life. But he was going to be... contested, for this seat. On multiple fronts.