Damaged Goods
Chapter 1
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The room was dark, no light dares touch the cold walls, no light dare to touch the only occupant in the room. If anyone were to go into the room they'd find a mess, the bed was in disrepair after being severely beaten in anger, the mattress slit up the middle revealing the stuffing and springs, any bedding was discarded over the cold, concrete floor.
A picture hung crookedly on the wall, it showed four mutant turtle brothers and their Sensei, their father, the brothers wore blue, orange, red and purple bandanas, the frame was worn, the glass smashed, a bulls eye glass mark was over the one in orange, blood stained the once pure glass and had oozed slowly till it had dried and crusted.
A bookcase was turned on its side the shelves were dislodged and books thrown everywhere, book covers where scrawled over and torn, the contents ripped and scattered. What were once intricate, detailed drawings were now just another piece of trash.
The desk where he had spent so much time, drawing… writing… crying… was in pieces ready to be used as fire wood, or to be put in the garbage. And in the corner sat the shadow of a former turtle, his knees were tucked to his chest, his eyes leaking heavy tears, blood ran down from his arms caking as it dried from the crescent shaped moons on his arms, caused by his fingernails digging into delicate flesh. He hadn't moved from the spot for a while, ignoring the hunger in his stomach, which was quickly replaced by the feeling of sickness, he scrubbed at his eyes tearing the remainder of his bandanna off, he no longer belonged, that had been made clear by his older brothers. Splinter had only been gone two days, two days was all it had taken before the family had fallen a part, the mutated rat was due back today, some retreat to a far away place, a chance to meditate, a chance to enjoy the peace that often lacked in the layer.
He thought of his father trying to remember some of the wise rats sayings, anything that would help him keep grasp of his tiny piece of sanity. Familiar feelings of warmth surrounded him as he remembered the warm hugs he used to get, the kindness that he received, he shook his head, the feelings of warmth disappeared and the coldness replaced him, he shook unconsciously, someone was coming to his door, he heard the knock. Sheer panic set in and he desperately tried to curl in on himself trying to stay away from the pain,
"Mikey?" came the soft question, it was Donatello, the softly spoken pacifist, he'd witnessed the entire event, tried to stop some damage but couldn't stop his angered brothers, he didn't open the door, just tried to talk to his younger brother, he knocked again,
"Mikey? I know your in there", he said, he tried the door but quickly found it was locked, he knew he could break it down, but that would only invade Mikey even more, sighing softly his eyes lowered to the floor,
"Mikey, Leo and Raph have gone out, they're not coming back till tomorrow when Sensei is back, if you want anyone to talk too I'm here for you", the purple clad turtle whispered softly, his hand lingered on the door feeling the roughness of the cold wood against his skin, sighing he looked down and moved off towards his lab, he needed to write a few things down, hopefully Sensei would let him help pick up the pieces.
Mikey loosened slightly as he heard the footsteps moving away from his door, maybe he should talk to his brother, at least he could treat some of his injuries. Sighing softly he curled tightly into himself the pain in his arms keeping him company. His eyes closed against the tears, he felt exhausted but knew he couldn't sleep, what if they came, what if they hurt him again. Images flashed across his eyes, dark and vivid, flashes of red and blue, pain following.
He opened his eyes quickly, breathing heavy. Thinking for a few minutes, he slowly stood up, his legs were shaking through lack of use, they buckled slightly as he moved forward, his hand rested on the cold wall steadying him. His one good eye surveyed the damage he had done, he lowered his eyes, disgrace and dishonour washing over him, and his emotions had controlled him, he continued onto the door his feet crunching on damaged materials. Carefully he stepped over the bookcase, his hand traced the door handle, caressing the metal gently.
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to be continued….
I re read through this after a break and noticed some seriously bad errors, I've updated the chapters so they make more sense.
