Okay, I'm back! Now I'm throwing Blaine into the mix! I hope you like the story. If you don't, don't worry! I don't mind. Maybe leave a review?
I don't own Glee.
Blaine Anderson often sat alone at night.
He didn't particularly want to be alone - he would have enjoyed sitting with his friends, but they were all too scared to leave their beds after eleven. He couldn't say he was surprised - the guards were ruthless, brutal and they would kill first, ask questions later. Well, they wouldn't ask questions at all. Shoot, kill, run. It was a dance of deceit, played out so many times it came naturally. Their brutal, sadistic nature was not a fluke, but a trait. They wanted to hurt people - they liked it.
Blaine lived on the Right Side of The Divide. WIth the disarray of his world, the irony of the name made him laugh humorlessly. He lived by a lax routine, with his parents and his brother, George. George was twenty one, and not talented, despite his ego begging to differ. His parents were constantly drunk - there was a large supply of free alcohol on the right side - and he usually stayed in his room. They loved him, they really did; but sometimes, things were so hard to cope with on The Divide that it was easier to drink until everything was clouded over and they couldn't stand.
Whilst on the Left Side, everything and everyone had a specific routine and a specific place, the right side was a kerfuffle of royal standards. The houses were oddly placed, mismatched shapes and made of random materials - weatherbeaten wood, cracked stone and even sometimes holes patched up with fabric. Everything was in disarray, with gang fights every night in the streets and loud, rambunctious people baning against the house windows. It was scary; no one ever knew when another fight would blow up.
Blaine wasn't academic. He was creative and vibrant, and intelligent, but it didn't interest him. So he gave up on his academic subjects and focused solely on making music - what was the purpose, in his world, of trying things you'll never do? He had no hope. None at would never succeed, ever. He was doomed to sit in his room, strumming his guitar. It was his most prized possession. It'd been in his family for years, passed down through generations. George had tried it, but never grasped the instrument. He simply didn't have Blaine's musical ear. Or, well, talent.
His parents were fuming when they heard he dropped out of school. His mother cried, his father threw a whiskey bottle at the wall and Blaine just shrugged, dark hazel eyes fixed on the floor at his father's feet. The bottle smashed, broken glass cutting through Blaine's thin trousers and scratching his legs. He just pulled it out, dabbed it with a little water and retreated to his room with his guitar and a tattered notebook. It was three days before he came out, thin and reserved. A bubble had formed; a barrier around the boy, and no one could talk to him through it.
Blaine was popular in his section of the Right Side. He was attractive and funny, loud, opinionated and the little slice of rebellion everyone wanted. He had many friends; but he never really saw them outside of school. Now he'd dropped out, all they could do was call round his once every few months. Even that became impossible after a while.
Inside his house was small and barely furnished. The floor was cold stone, with a moth-eaten, threadbare brown and scraggly rug underneath the window. There were three rooms – the bedroom he shared with his brother, his parents bedroom and the main room, where they ate, lived and cooked. The walls were hardly staying up, made of stone that is stuck together with watered down cement (just so they had enough), and could fall at any time. It was worrying and it made him feel unsafe even in his own home.
There were crack in the walls where the stone has been hit with fists and worn down over time by awful weather patterns. Even the crackling fire underneath the large pot in the area designated to cooking could not warm the whole house. They filled jars with boiling water and left them in the beds. Whilst it was not ideal, it was better than severe pneumonia. But sopping wet beds from leakages of broken glass weren't the most delightful things on an icy, rainy night.
He lived next to the woods, just six hundred metres from 'The Divide'. There wasn't much forest left – most of the place is taken up by large cities providing either small, beaten houses or the basic necessities of human life (food, water and clothing). Not many people were willing to leave the - just barely - safer city walls for the forest. The fights were worse near The Divide. But Blaine's father believed it was more protected there.
He'd downed a bottle of whiskey before he said it.
So Blaine Anderson spent the nights alone, where nobody could hear him as he sung into the moonlight.
He was leaving when the Testing Days arrived. He was never coming home.