Boy had Thomas gotten into a lot of trouble when he arrived back at
the adoption center. Mrs. Gillwen had yelled at him for a good two hours
about how she was scared to death and how most of the world hated mutants
and how this and how that. Even the officer decided that he would get a
point or two in about how a couple of children should have known better.
Unfortunately everything that they told young Thomas went in one ear and
out the other. He just didn't care. And to top it off, most of the
children were weary of him now that they knew he was 'different'.
It had now been a little over half a year at that same building, the old children watching more couples arrive and more of their friends leave. Tom was now eight years old and though they had celebrated with cake and ice cream, he hadn't gotten any gifts save for a new outfit. None of the children ever really got anything for their birthdays; Mrs. Gillwen couldn't afford to get every child something expensive every time a birthday rolled around. Another Monday had come and gone, and Tom and Tina were both walking around aimlessly in the basement.
"I am so beyond bored."
Tina laughed as she pinned up a picture that she had drawn. It was of two taller people reching forward, both extending a key to a house perhaps. "I'd haveta agree with you there, Tommy." She jumped down from the chair, placing her hands into the pockets of her blue overalls. "But, ain't nothin' gunna ever change 'round here until we get adopted." She moved past Tom quickly, placing a light kiss on his cheek. "G'night, I'm goin' ta bed."
Tom waved to her slightly as she climbed up the stairs, falling back into a bean bag with a tired yawn. There was no solution to this life; every decision was all up to the adults. He had tried to run away, but everyone knew that failed horribly. He said that he would never listen to anyone ever again, but ended up taking directions anyway. He had even once told Mrs. Gillwen that he was going to poison himself with some kind of chemical if she didn't let him get away once in a while, but that only resulted in her calling a Psychiatrist and long weekend conversations. He sighed as his fingers pulled out the clear plastic beads from a small hole in the bean bag one by one, thinking to himself.
Mutants. Tom had heard that word uttered about him so many times he could tally them up on his wall and match the markings to every word in the dictionary. Okay, so maybe he was 'special'. What did everyone want him to do about it? It wasn't like he could just pour out his soul and have the gene fall out. Nobody could teach him how to deal with it either, everybody else in the house was what they liked to call 'normal'. He made a face as he leaned his head back, thumping it against the wall quietly. Well . . . the gene was in his blood. And if it was in his blood, maybe he could pour it out indeed. Tom stared blankly at the wall across the room as he moved up off the bean bag and made his way over towards the desk. His fingers wrapped around the small brass knob and pulled open the front drawer, pale lips smirking slightly when he spotted what he was looking for - a pair of scissors. Good thing they weren't those stupid safety kids scissors.
At this point in time he wasn't thinking straight. Tom fell back into the bean bag with the blades open, testing the sharpness of the silver with his fingertips. When he felt a sharp prick he pulled the scissors away, watching as a small drop of crimson began to run down his index finger. He placed the lithe digit in between his teeth as he continued his emotionless gaze, cocking his head slightly. What a way to get his mind off of all his problems. . .
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After another two weeks Christina had started to worry about Tom. He never wanted to do anything, and he rarely came downstairs save for when it was dinnertime and maybe for a few snacks now and then. Even Mrs. Gillwen was starting to wonder about him, questioning what he had found to occupy his time rather than play with the other kids. Of course Tom never told anybody what he was thinking, just said that he was up in his room writing poems. One day a fairly young couple had come to the door asking to take a look at the children, Mrs. Gillwen forcing Tom to come down the stairs even though he had braced himself on the banister and attempted to refrain from moving.
He and Christina finally clambered down the last of the steps, falling into the empty slots on the couch. The adults were of course drawn to them since they were the last ones to arrive, and a bright smile crossed the woman's face.
"Look, Peter! Older children. That's just what I came here looking for!"
Peter didn't look interested, arching his brown brows as his wife excitedly tugged on his sleeve. "Why an older child, Marie?"
She laughed slightly. "Think of it this way - you won't have to change any diapers. Besides, look at them. How old do you think they are? I'm sure few people would want to adopt children at that age."
Well, she had a point. Mrs. Gillwen moved like a magnet towards them with stacks and stacks of paper work and that motor mouth flapping as they signed page after page. Apparently the couple was going to house both Tom and Tina, and Thomas had never seen Chrissy so excited before. She squealed with glee and took off up the stairs to her room to go and pack. With a shrug he followed not soon after, stuffing what little he owned into a backpack as well.
After about an hour or so the kids had piled into the back of a blue mini-van, Peter climbing into the driver's seat and Marie in the passenger's side. She turned, grin wide and bright. "We've had a room set up for the longest time, we'll just put the extra bed in there and the both of you can share for now." She clapped her hands excitedly in front of her before continuing. "I'm so happy we found you guys! You can call me mom, but if you don't feel comfortable with that quite yet I'm Marie, and this is Peter." She pointed towards her husband as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Well this was a loud family, Tom thought. At least he wasn't separated from Christina. He could still talk about kid-like things with her. Speaking of kids, "Marie?" Tom's quiet voice perked up from the back seat as he leaned forward to speak with her. She nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Are we going to go to school? A new school?"
Another feminine giggle and a nod. "Of course, we just have to register the both of you. Oh, you're going to love your new life."
And that was that. Out of one home and on to the next. One could only wonder what could possibly go wrong with starting over yet again.
It had now been a little over half a year at that same building, the old children watching more couples arrive and more of their friends leave. Tom was now eight years old and though they had celebrated with cake and ice cream, he hadn't gotten any gifts save for a new outfit. None of the children ever really got anything for their birthdays; Mrs. Gillwen couldn't afford to get every child something expensive every time a birthday rolled around. Another Monday had come and gone, and Tom and Tina were both walking around aimlessly in the basement.
"I am so beyond bored."
Tina laughed as she pinned up a picture that she had drawn. It was of two taller people reching forward, both extending a key to a house perhaps. "I'd haveta agree with you there, Tommy." She jumped down from the chair, placing her hands into the pockets of her blue overalls. "But, ain't nothin' gunna ever change 'round here until we get adopted." She moved past Tom quickly, placing a light kiss on his cheek. "G'night, I'm goin' ta bed."
Tom waved to her slightly as she climbed up the stairs, falling back into a bean bag with a tired yawn. There was no solution to this life; every decision was all up to the adults. He had tried to run away, but everyone knew that failed horribly. He said that he would never listen to anyone ever again, but ended up taking directions anyway. He had even once told Mrs. Gillwen that he was going to poison himself with some kind of chemical if she didn't let him get away once in a while, but that only resulted in her calling a Psychiatrist and long weekend conversations. He sighed as his fingers pulled out the clear plastic beads from a small hole in the bean bag one by one, thinking to himself.
Mutants. Tom had heard that word uttered about him so many times he could tally them up on his wall and match the markings to every word in the dictionary. Okay, so maybe he was 'special'. What did everyone want him to do about it? It wasn't like he could just pour out his soul and have the gene fall out. Nobody could teach him how to deal with it either, everybody else in the house was what they liked to call 'normal'. He made a face as he leaned his head back, thumping it against the wall quietly. Well . . . the gene was in his blood. And if it was in his blood, maybe he could pour it out indeed. Tom stared blankly at the wall across the room as he moved up off the bean bag and made his way over towards the desk. His fingers wrapped around the small brass knob and pulled open the front drawer, pale lips smirking slightly when he spotted what he was looking for - a pair of scissors. Good thing they weren't those stupid safety kids scissors.
At this point in time he wasn't thinking straight. Tom fell back into the bean bag with the blades open, testing the sharpness of the silver with his fingertips. When he felt a sharp prick he pulled the scissors away, watching as a small drop of crimson began to run down his index finger. He placed the lithe digit in between his teeth as he continued his emotionless gaze, cocking his head slightly. What a way to get his mind off of all his problems. . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
After another two weeks Christina had started to worry about Tom. He never wanted to do anything, and he rarely came downstairs save for when it was dinnertime and maybe for a few snacks now and then. Even Mrs. Gillwen was starting to wonder about him, questioning what he had found to occupy his time rather than play with the other kids. Of course Tom never told anybody what he was thinking, just said that he was up in his room writing poems. One day a fairly young couple had come to the door asking to take a look at the children, Mrs. Gillwen forcing Tom to come down the stairs even though he had braced himself on the banister and attempted to refrain from moving.
He and Christina finally clambered down the last of the steps, falling into the empty slots on the couch. The adults were of course drawn to them since they were the last ones to arrive, and a bright smile crossed the woman's face.
"Look, Peter! Older children. That's just what I came here looking for!"
Peter didn't look interested, arching his brown brows as his wife excitedly tugged on his sleeve. "Why an older child, Marie?"
She laughed slightly. "Think of it this way - you won't have to change any diapers. Besides, look at them. How old do you think they are? I'm sure few people would want to adopt children at that age."
Well, she had a point. Mrs. Gillwen moved like a magnet towards them with stacks and stacks of paper work and that motor mouth flapping as they signed page after page. Apparently the couple was going to house both Tom and Tina, and Thomas had never seen Chrissy so excited before. She squealed with glee and took off up the stairs to her room to go and pack. With a shrug he followed not soon after, stuffing what little he owned into a backpack as well.
After about an hour or so the kids had piled into the back of a blue mini-van, Peter climbing into the driver's seat and Marie in the passenger's side. She turned, grin wide and bright. "We've had a room set up for the longest time, we'll just put the extra bed in there and the both of you can share for now." She clapped her hands excitedly in front of her before continuing. "I'm so happy we found you guys! You can call me mom, but if you don't feel comfortable with that quite yet I'm Marie, and this is Peter." She pointed towards her husband as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Well this was a loud family, Tom thought. At least he wasn't separated from Christina. He could still talk about kid-like things with her. Speaking of kids, "Marie?" Tom's quiet voice perked up from the back seat as he leaned forward to speak with her. She nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Are we going to go to school? A new school?"
Another feminine giggle and a nod. "Of course, we just have to register the both of you. Oh, you're going to love your new life."
And that was that. Out of one home and on to the next. One could only wonder what could possibly go wrong with starting over yet again.