This is for JENDIGGITY at the sci fi nexus. :P
Part .06
"What?" Martin asked me. He seemed a little startled. "I thought they moved. I mean, you said that this wasn't your room."
"It was, once, but now its their room. Those books, they're mine. Look . . ." I pointed, "that's my mustard stain . . . I was eating a ham sandwich and got it all over the third book's spine. I was so angry. I remember, I remember Mom and Dad said they'd buy me a new book . . . I was okay after a while, and didn't get a new one . . " I touched the spot lovingly, remembering.
"So . . . they're still here . . ." Martin asked. I grinned suddenly.
"Yes, and these are their children . . . they gave them awful names, poor dears," I looked down at the sleeping children. Qeleigh-Bronwynn's thumb stuck out from underneath the blanket.
"So," Martin's voice was catious, "are these things your brother and sister?"
I looked down at them. "I guess they are. You stay here and close that window; we don't know what will climb in after us. I'll go find Mom and Dad. They'll get you a home -- "
"How?" Martin interrupted me. I grinned.
"Dad has contacts," I told him evasivly.
Slowly, I walked out of the room and went to Mom and Dad's room. The wall of the hallway, which had been decorated with fancy paintings when I left, along with the occasional picture that I had taken, was now filled with pictures of the sleeping forms. There were pictures of very young children indeed walking, running, riding tricylces. Shaking my head, I grinned at Manticore-lings in the pictures.
They were pretty enough. They hard dark reddish-brown hair and deep blue eyes. They were of a very rosy complexion, with chubby cheeks and dimpled elbows. They were the childhood that I had never experience. Briskly, I walked away from the pictures and entered Mom and Dad's room.
I stood there, looking at them sleeping together. Mom on her stomach, her face turned away from me. Dad's arms hugged her, the act of love in his sleep even more shocking to the senses than I remembered.
I walked over to them. "Dad?" I said tentatively, suddenly afraid. "Dad's, it's me . . . Ty." I leaned over and touched his shoulder blades. He snapped up, waking Mom.
"Who's there?" he said groggily, reaching for his glasses. I handed them to him.
"Its me, Ty. Tyronica," I grinned, happy that I was Tyronica and not Alison Marie.
Mom suddenly was hugging me, nearly squeezing the death out of me. "Tyronica!" she almost screamed.
I grinned; then I sniffled. Quickly, I hugged her back. "Mom," I said, almost at a loss for words. "Dad . . . I'm back . . ." Dad leaned over and hugged me.
"MOMMY!" I heard suddenly. Two voices started next. "MOMMY! There's someone in my room."
Mom was out of the bed quicker than you can say Tryptophan. Uh oh . . . Martin . . . Dad was two seconds behind her, and I behind me.
"Wait," I called . . . "it's just . . ."
By the time I finished ever those two words, Mom was in the room glaring at Martin, her hand holding him up off the floor at his throat. He was in a corner -- literally -- and trying to look as small as possible.
"Mom! That's Martin!" I cried. "He's why I'm back! They're alive! My brothers and sisters!"
Mom slowly put Martin down. Dad went over to the two beds -- they showed the two redheads from the picture staring at their mother calmly -- and hugged both of the children. Odd, but Qeleigh-Bronwynn and Roan-Sullivan's hair were the same length.
"What do you mean?" she asked. Martin slinked away from the corner and stood behind me.
"I found out they were alive, I came back. I'm going to get them all. But I need your help. Martin needs a foster family. Not a group home," I said this last part firmly. Martin needed a family. He didn't need to stay in a group home. "I thought you could help."
"Of course," Mom said immediatly. "Logan, you've got friends in that system."
Dad looked up. "I can get him in tomorrow, the day after."
"So," I asked, changing the subject, "you two get hitched."
Mom and Dad grinned. No need for anything more.
Staring at them, I saw the picture of the perfect family that I hadn't been able to create with them. The two adorable babies, smart and pretty. The marriage. The girl and boy equality . . . and dad was walking . . . how?
"You're walking," I told him.
Dad looked down, then up again. "Experimental proccedure. I'd say it was a success."
"So what, you have an exoskeleton under your skin now?" I said, trying to break the tension that had suddenly grown. Suddenly, I turned my head to the right. I could hear him. He was coming up the street and he was going to get there in about two minutes. I didn't want to talk to him. "Gotta go get an apartment. If . . . someone comes, don't tell him I was here. I don't want to talk to him."
Motioning to Martin, we exit through the window.
Part .06
"What?" Martin asked me. He seemed a little startled. "I thought they moved. I mean, you said that this wasn't your room."
"It was, once, but now its their room. Those books, they're mine. Look . . ." I pointed, "that's my mustard stain . . . I was eating a ham sandwich and got it all over the third book's spine. I was so angry. I remember, I remember Mom and Dad said they'd buy me a new book . . . I was okay after a while, and didn't get a new one . . " I touched the spot lovingly, remembering.
"So . . . they're still here . . ." Martin asked. I grinned suddenly.
"Yes, and these are their children . . . they gave them awful names, poor dears," I looked down at the sleeping children. Qeleigh-Bronwynn's thumb stuck out from underneath the blanket.
"So," Martin's voice was catious, "are these things your brother and sister?"
I looked down at them. "I guess they are. You stay here and close that window; we don't know what will climb in after us. I'll go find Mom and Dad. They'll get you a home -- "
"How?" Martin interrupted me. I grinned.
"Dad has contacts," I told him evasivly.
Slowly, I walked out of the room and went to Mom and Dad's room. The wall of the hallway, which had been decorated with fancy paintings when I left, along with the occasional picture that I had taken, was now filled with pictures of the sleeping forms. There were pictures of very young children indeed walking, running, riding tricylces. Shaking my head, I grinned at Manticore-lings in the pictures.
They were pretty enough. They hard dark reddish-brown hair and deep blue eyes. They were of a very rosy complexion, with chubby cheeks and dimpled elbows. They were the childhood that I had never experience. Briskly, I walked away from the pictures and entered Mom and Dad's room.
I stood there, looking at them sleeping together. Mom on her stomach, her face turned away from me. Dad's arms hugged her, the act of love in his sleep even more shocking to the senses than I remembered.
I walked over to them. "Dad?" I said tentatively, suddenly afraid. "Dad's, it's me . . . Ty." I leaned over and touched his shoulder blades. He snapped up, waking Mom.
"Who's there?" he said groggily, reaching for his glasses. I handed them to him.
"Its me, Ty. Tyronica," I grinned, happy that I was Tyronica and not Alison Marie.
Mom suddenly was hugging me, nearly squeezing the death out of me. "Tyronica!" she almost screamed.
I grinned; then I sniffled. Quickly, I hugged her back. "Mom," I said, almost at a loss for words. "Dad . . . I'm back . . ." Dad leaned over and hugged me.
"MOMMY!" I heard suddenly. Two voices started next. "MOMMY! There's someone in my room."
Mom was out of the bed quicker than you can say Tryptophan. Uh oh . . . Martin . . . Dad was two seconds behind her, and I behind me.
"Wait," I called . . . "it's just . . ."
By the time I finished ever those two words, Mom was in the room glaring at Martin, her hand holding him up off the floor at his throat. He was in a corner -- literally -- and trying to look as small as possible.
"Mom! That's Martin!" I cried. "He's why I'm back! They're alive! My brothers and sisters!"
Mom slowly put Martin down. Dad went over to the two beds -- they showed the two redheads from the picture staring at their mother calmly -- and hugged both of the children. Odd, but Qeleigh-Bronwynn and Roan-Sullivan's hair were the same length.
"What do you mean?" she asked. Martin slinked away from the corner and stood behind me.
"I found out they were alive, I came back. I'm going to get them all. But I need your help. Martin needs a foster family. Not a group home," I said this last part firmly. Martin needed a family. He didn't need to stay in a group home. "I thought you could help."
"Of course," Mom said immediatly. "Logan, you've got friends in that system."
Dad looked up. "I can get him in tomorrow, the day after."
"So," I asked, changing the subject, "you two get hitched."
Mom and Dad grinned. No need for anything more.
Staring at them, I saw the picture of the perfect family that I hadn't been able to create with them. The two adorable babies, smart and pretty. The marriage. The girl and boy equality . . . and dad was walking . . . how?
"You're walking," I told him.
Dad looked down, then up again. "Experimental proccedure. I'd say it was a success."
"So what, you have an exoskeleton under your skin now?" I said, trying to break the tension that had suddenly grown. Suddenly, I turned my head to the right. I could hear him. He was coming up the street and he was going to get there in about two minutes. I didn't want to talk to him. "Gotta go get an apartment. If . . . someone comes, don't tell him I was here. I don't want to talk to him."
Motioning to Martin, we exit through the window.