Here you go, Chapter 2! I feel like this one was rushed, since I start school in like 2 weeks! :P
Hope you like it! I'll also take any critisism. But don't be so harsh in your comments, like cursing or something!
Oh, speaking of cursing, WARNING: there is some in there, but not alot.
Disclaimer: I do not own Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends.
I only own Dr. Lindale.
Several hours later, the storm started to lessen and lessen until the pitter-patter of rain turned into silence. Wilt awoke still in the soggy, leaky box, he crawled out and slowly attempted to stand up, since his long legs were sore and shaky. He let out a groan as he stretched his body, His broken arm then let out a sharp pain through out his veins and he gasped loudly. It felt excruciating rather than relieving after having possibly the worst slumber of his life.
Wilt then continued to move on, cradling his now fractured arm into his left arm; the sky was still gray and gloomy, but it was bright enough for him to see. He was praying that it wouldn't rain anytime soon.
He tried to ignore the people who bump into him or stare at him. Even one little boy pointed at him, curious to know about him. Wilt tried to walk as fast as he could, even tried to power walk, but he was too weak to try.
4 days later
For a total of at least 10 hours he traveled 23 miles away, he was out of the state of South Carolina by now. Before he knew it, the darkness ascended into the sky. The beanpole knew that during the night time, it was a dangerous environment, especially on the streets he was at. They looked like the ones from the movies. He and Jordan have watched a lot of movies about gangs and guns; they even got into a theater one time to see a violent movie. It was a test of survival for Wilt, Survival of the Fittest. He wasn't fit enough to escape, he even thought that this would be his last night.
Then a voice rang out, "Hey, you!" It sound like a low tough voice. Wilt turn around to find the owner of that voice. He then saw an African-American man who looked like he was around his late 20s or early 30s. He was sort of buff looking, but still looked average size.
"Who, me?" Wilt asked weakly; he was then trembling not just in pain, but in fear too. It felt that he was going to fall on his knees in front of this stranger.
"Whatcha doin' out here?" the man asked him in a soft voice.
"Oh, nothing. I'm trying to look for a hospital to go to." The beanpole replied, then coughed loudly. He had that annoying cough since yesterday's storm.
"Aw, you pitiful thing. You know in this 'hood I actually have a cure for you."
"Really?" Wilt asked with his eye widening with hope. Maybe he could help him. But why was this guy coming closer to him, like he was about to attack him? "What is it?" he asked, under his naïve nature.
"This." the man replied. He showed Wilt his "cure" for his suffering. Wilt's eye widened even more and gasped at it. What was in this man's right hand was a sharp blade.
"WHAT? You're kidding me!" he said as the thug stepped on his foot and Wilt finally fell to the ground. He then was grabbed by the neck, that hurt more than his aching legs and empty stomach. But it didn't top his broken arm.
"The hell I am, you son of a bitch!" he cursed as he held the blade in front of his neck. To Wilt, he smelled like alcohol, knowing that he must've been drinking. He struggled to get himself out, as he made it out of the man's arm. But at the speed of light, the knife slash his left upper lobe and his right middle one.
Wilt then quickly tried to run, but he wasn't as fast as he used to be. All this pain and fatigue was slowing him down more than ever. The man was catching up to him, holding his now bloody blade. "Get back, here! You run like a bitch!"
Wilt still holding his arm, felt as though it might just fall apart. He turned around a corner on the sidewalk; knowing he's up close he then found a dark alley behind him.
The homicidal drunk maniac was getting warmer on his track. But, he didn't bother looking in the alley, since the night sky made it impossible to spot the red pole. Wilt spotted him with his only working eye, praying that he wouldn't find him. The killer then ran pass his hiding spot.
Wilt sighed in relief and tried to smile for that. He hid there for a few minutes to make sure it was safe, if he was near. Fortunately, he wasn't. He then continued limping along the street, until the clouds formed, covering up the star covered sky and full moon. Rumbling thunder was heard and drops of water were felt on Wilt's head and it irritated his messed up eye.
"Oh, perfect," Wilt groaned as the rain fell harder.
What was also bad enough, his senses started to weaken right to the point of fainting.
His arm was now starting to get infected. He was gravely ill from the weather of blustery winds and powerful rainstorms. His legs felt wobbly after hours of walking and days without any food or water and gave up on him, making him drop on the hard cold concrete. The lobes on his face were now bleeding heavily than before. His eyelids were heavy to stay open, pleading for sleep. Wilt then let his eyes accept it.
What he didn't know was that he was laying on part of the road.
"I don't deserve live anymore. Just take me, Lord, take me. I'm ready to die."
There maybe a possibility that his wish might be granted as he saw headlights of a vehicle heading towards him. His eyes gave up on him and everything was black.
The vehicle was actually a black car with a falcon on top of the hood. It suddenly screeched as it approached an unidentified object. "What on earth is that?" the owner of the car shouted in a feminine tone. "I bet it's one of those hooligans who's been out drinking!" The car horn honked a few times, but no response. "I guess I'm gonna have to do it by myself."
Who came out of the unique car, was surprisingly a plump women around her early 50s with slightly blonde hair in a bun, wearing glasses. She then gasped by what she saw near her feet; an imaginary friend that has a fractured arm that was turning black and blood pouring from his face.
By the looks of this it looked like the scene of a homicide. She had to help this poor thought. She spotted a phone booth, placed 50 cents in and dialed 911. "Yes, I need an ambulance, now. I've just found an imaginary friend with a disfigured arm lying on the streets. I'm at Darwin St. !"
Wilt he heard the voice, but considered it to be his mind tricking. He was breathing heavilly as his blood ceased to circulate his arm and was pouring out of his deep wounds. His blurred vision caused him to slowly shut his eyes to await his death.
"Goodbye, world. Goodbye, Jordan."
His eye opened to see if he was in heaven. Everything was all white, until his vision started cooperating. What he saw was a white light flashing in front of him, which made him squint.
He knew something felt different than before; other than not being in panic, but he felt less pain than before, which was odd. Also, he couldn't feel his aching arm anymore.
Wilt looked down to see, nothing but a bandaged stump with a small hint of blood. He then screamed in terror.
"Where am I? And where's my arm? It's gone!"
"You're in a hospital." a young voice rang out. At the doorway was a doctor, who was around 35 with thinning hair. "We nearly thought you were goner there, by the look of your condition. An ambulance brought you here a few hours ago."
"I'm sorry, but why am I MISSING my ARM?"
"Oh, yes, that. That's…another thing, by your previous condition, we had to do…an amputation."
"A what?" did Wilt just hear that right? Since he never heard of the word before.
"In other words, your arm's infections was serious…so they had to…had to…" it was hard for the doctor to continue as he knew this would upset him even more. But Wilt got the picture, and tears started to form into his eyes, but held them in to not prove he was weak. "I'm sorry."
Also, the cuts on your face were deep so we had to stitch them up, since there was nothing we could do to treat them."
The doctor, Dr. Lindale went up to friend to comfort him as Wilt continued to fight his tears, but it was no use. Not only did he lose a game and a friend, but it also cost him a limb.
He wanted to jump out of the bed and punch the wall or window something. But, he held his tantrum to himself, since he was hooked up to all those machines.
Now he transformed into a broken freak, which was what he'll be for the rest of his life.
As a day came by, Wilt was waking up after quietly sobbing himself to sleep. Throughout the day, the doctors and nurses treated him with kindness. He didn't feel like he deserved all this attention because he lost a limb. Why should they care? They face amputated patients all the time. Don't they?
Then Dr. Lindale came through the door and asked, "Hey, buddy. How are you?" He knew the look on his face. He then turned to see that he hardly even touched his breakfast. Walking toward his side he said, "I know it's hard, but I know you can get through this. You got pretty lucky for surviving that long in that condition."
"Really?"
"Yep. Oh, the reason I came in here is because I didn't get your name. Do you have one?"
Wilt then paused, because he actually felt like an idiot for nearly forgetting his own name.
"Wilt. I'm Wilt", the friend said. For the first time he actually had a hardly visible yet warm smile.
"Also, you've got a visitor." the door then open to reveal an elderly woman, who was the one who called 911.
"Hello, dear. Are you feeling any better?" she asked in a sweet voice.
"A little. How are you?"
"Fine thank you." she said back. "If you want to know who I am my name's Martha Foster."
"I'm Wilt."
Throughout the past six weeks of recovery and physical therapy, Martha came over every single day to visit him until the hours passed. They would talk, laugh and ask. In a way, her voice sort of reminded Wilt of Jordan's grandma (minus the cheek pinching). She was sure to bring a smile on his face.
But, the woman wanted to ask the friend where he came from.
"Dearie, what on earth happened to you? When I first found you were torn like someone tortured you!"
Wilt then paused walking across the hallway, without limping. His legs were now receiving strength as Wilt gained his balance. He nearly forgot about the incident, he didn't want anyone to know about this.
"I'm sorry, but I don't want to talk about it."
"Why not?"
"It's just…I don't think it's any of your concern, is that okay?"
He looked to see the old woman staring at him, as though she was looking through him. She can tell that he was hiding something. "Come on, Wilt. Out with it."
"Well, I was made by a kid, who loved to play basketball."
"I could tell you were a basketball fan, 'cause you're so tall." she joked as Wilt chuckled back. They headed back to his room as he continued. The woman seem very interested as a child learning about their grandparents when they were young.
"Anyways, we were inseparable. We were the best players in the neighborhood. Until, one day, everything changed. My boy was counting on me, but instead I ended up disappointing him and-." Wilt paused as he bit his lip. He really didn't want to go in full details.
The woman's blood boiled through her veins, thinking that this child must have been very abusive and brutal to him, that Wilt ran off to escape this torture. Now look where he's at: In a hospital, handicapped, stitched up with a blind eye. "There, there, it's alright dear. I know what you've been through."
"Oh, it's not what you're th-" Wilt tried to explained.
"Don't you worry, sweetie. I know of a place for someone like you."
After that, she checked Wilt out of the hospital and they both head toward Madame Foster's Firebird Car. The red beanpole stared in awe at the automobile.
She opened the door for him, but then noticed Wilt's size, "Oh, I hope you don't mind it being a bit snug."
"Oh, no. I'll just try to squeeze in, if that's okay." he then bent down and ducked into the car. His legs were scrunched in the front seat. To Wilt it did seem uncomfortable. He didn't want to sound picky about it.
Martha then started the car and moved on.
It was rather silent, through out this long exhausting trip, rather than the radio being on. It was on the oldies station, which was annoying. Wilt wondered where she was taken him.
"Madame, sorry to ask, but, where are we going?"
"Oh, you'll see. We're almost there."
As Wilt looked through the window, it seemed that every mile they passed was clearing the troubles out of his mind. But, Jordan was still permanent in his heart.
Martha, then made a complete stop to their final destination. He turned to see Wilt sound asleep; she reached over to gently shake his shoulder. "We're here."
He awoken and opened the door, then stretched his muscles and let out a huge yawn. "Where are we?" he drowsily asked.
"This is Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, we've recently opened for business, an imagination habitation for all friends given up by their owners. We have a small number of friends here."
"I'm not sure about this."
"Oh, don't worry dear. You'll feel welcome here once you're inside. Now come on, smile, Wilt. It makes a bad impression. Come on." she said. Wilt then gave a simple smile. "Bigger."
He then gave a famously huge toothy grin, which actually frightened her a little, but a smile was all that matters.
They walked up towards the door, then opened it. Wilt ducked down the doorway and looked around.
"Herriman! We got another one!" Martha yelled. Wilt felt safe and secured here, thinking he might get used to starting a new life here.
As new friends and families arrived he was always bring out a warm smile that would make them smile back. He would comfort the friends that were recently given up and showed them a smile, which didn't make them feel sad and alone, but made them feel welcome to their new home, until a new family comes to adopt them. He waved farewell to those fortunate friends.
One day, he was walking down the hall to get some excercise, until one of the friends was known as Bloppy Pants was having trouble completing his chore: Reaching the cobwebs on the ceiling.
"Hey, you need some help? You look like you're having trouble reaching." Wilt asked kindly. The grey cat looked up to see the thin beanpole looking down at him.
"Oh, no...but...um, thank you...I got it here. Mr. Herriman expects me to do this"
"No, it's okay, I insist. Because, I'm sorry to say, but you can't even reach. I got it." Wilt got the broom and easily reached up the corner ceiling and caught the webs, which left Bloppy in shock. "Here you go."
"Oh, thanks, Wilt." Bloppy thanked him and smiled up at him.
"No, problemo." Wilt felt as though he just did something good as a boy scout helping a senior across the street. It was a sense of pride knowing he just helped someone and was given a smile in return.
He was given many "thank yous" in return for given them a hand (no pun intended), even if they didn't need it. But, as Wilt's kindness and helpfulness around the house continued, the residents, including Mr. Herriman and Madame Foster then started using him and taking advantage of him, frequently. But, Wilt didn't seem to notice it; all he wanted to do was to do anything he can to make everyone happy and satisfied. If he did this for Jordan, he wouldn't have been turned down by him.
But those days were over, all he had to do was give a smile, even if it was fake. Even with that toothy grin during the worst of times, would hide the pain he was actaully feeling inside until it dissapeared. The only pain he would feel would be in his cheekbones.