Hey friend-os!
One quick thing - I forgot to mention the year - It's 1994.
Secondly, I just want to clear up that I'm actually not using any OCs except for the adult figures in this story (except Dave, of course)... and I will be using all characters from the series in some way or another :) I know in the first chapter, it seemed like I was using OCs for his brothers because their names are different, but it's not what you think. ;) You shall see, my friends.
So anyway, here's Chapter 2. Hope you like it!
-Blythe
Chp 2: Up in Smoke
Alvin's Point of View:
Every night, I have the same reoccurring dream. In my dream, there are these lights. First, they're two glowing eyes a mile away. They're an arm-span width apart and a safe distance away - only floating orbs; Like fireflies.
Next, they collide with me... And after the lights pass, I can't hear anything. All I see is red and grey - and I hear screaming, I hear sirens, I hear sounds of broken glass and weak moans from voices I don't recognize. I feel nothing in my neck, arms, and back. I can't open my eyes and I pry my mouth open to scream, but my tongue tastes like iron and salt and I feel warmth turning into water and spilling over my lips. I hear people's voices and heat against my neck, but I don't know who these people are. After I try opening my eyes, I shut them again and keep them shut. Pain. Now there's nothing left for any of my senses to feel but pain. And it won't go away. My heartbeat sounds slowed, repeating over and over until I feel it stop. My lungs don't expand anymore. I fade into blackness.
Then suddenly, I feel light. I feel weightless and sewn together; fixed. I hear music and the sounds of breathing and creaking wood. No more pain, just music. I open my eyes - I'm in a room surrounded by stained glass windows, sitting in a wooden church pew. No wood panelling or wooden arches - nothing around me but stained glass windows. The stained glass windows on my left side have broken looking pictures of children playing together in a field and holding hands. I look to the right and I see animals of all species and shapes - even some I don't recognize. They all look like they're waiting. I look behind me and I see nothing but blue and black patterns of glass scattered. Then as I turn to see what's in front of me, I see stained glass mountains, rivers, oceans, deserts, meadows; the most remarkable stained glass creations I've ever seen.
I look back to my right and I suddenly notice someone. Sitting beside me is a small woman with bright eyes watching me - Mom. I smile at her. I say to her, "Mom...where are we? When are we leaving?" She shakes her head and puts a finger to my lips, silencing me.
"We're almost there, Alvin. Almost there," she says. Then she is gone like dust, and I am alone again.
Third person:
"Alvin."
No response.
"Alvin!"
Still nothing.
"ALVIN."
Alvin was staring at a spot on the wall for a couple minutes in deep thought. It was a small hole underneath the windowsill next to a small game cabinet and it was quite bothersome to him. He often wondered what might've made a home in that wall and why Dr. Callaway had chosen not to patch it up with plaster like Dave does when something in the house seems out of place.
"ALVIN!" Barked Dr. Callaway to the stony-faced teenager on the couch, "Hello? Hey!"
As soon as Alvin snapped out of his deep trance, he peered up at his therapist, "Hm? What?"
"Alvin, I've been trying to get you to pay attention for the past ten minutes! Where has your head been, huh?" Complained Dr. Callaway, clicking his pen and taking down some observational notes on his clipboard, "You're awfully pensive today."
"Right. Pensive," Repeated Alvin, not quite sure what to make of the word. He turned his attention back to the hole in the wall. It was now beginning to irritate him.
"So Alvin," began Dr. Callaway, "Your father seems to think that your eating problem is returning. Is there any reason why?"
He received no answer; just a blank stare. After a moment, he took note of Alvin's spacy behavior.
"Hey doc," pondered Alvin out loud, "ever think about patching up that hole in the wall over there? You don't have any lovely mouse neighbors in the walls that you feel sentimental for, do you?"
"You haven't answered my question yet, Alvin. Why aren't you eating?"
More silence.
"...Do you know how many species of bugs might be living in that hole? Probably thousands. Little bug families all scurrying everywhere and stuff... They'll get in your business big time, y'know?"
"Why have you chosen to purge your food after eating, Alvin?"
"What I'm sayin' is that if you like to eat in this room a lot, you should patch it up. Otherwise, you're gonna have unwanted visitors-"
"Alvin." Halted Dr. Callaway, "this will be over sooner if you just answer my question instead of avoiding it. I suggest you do it unless you'd like me to continue to prod you."
Alvin grumbled something under his breath and stood up, beginning to pace. This commonly happened whenever Alvin felt he was being forced into a corner or being pushed further than he was comfortable. He tugged at his hair anxiously.
"Why do you know to know so badly, huh? It's my body. I can do what I want with it."
"That true, Alvin, and your father and I understand that. We understand your sensitivity about your eating habits and I'm not trying to upset you, but your father is very concerned. Don't you remember the last time you had this problem?"
Alvin remembered alright - it was hard for him to forget. He had the same eating problems a year and a half ago, but it was much worse. He was admitted into a hospital after having a nervous breakdown triggered by the anniversary of his mother's death and his lack of nutrition. He had tried to set fire to his school's auditorium, causing collateral damage to the electrical equipment and several rows of seating and faced the possibility of juvenile incarceration. After going to court for his act of rebellion, it was determined that he was to be checked into a psychiatric hospital and wasn't allowed to leave until his weight had returned to normal and was officially declared mentally stable to interact in a normal environment again. Alvin began to pick at his fingernails, trying to push away the memories he had of the psychiatric institution.
"You don't want that to happen again, do you?"
"No."
"Good. Now please sit, Alvin."
Alvin sat begrudgingly on the arm of the couch, avoiding eye contact with Dr. Callaway. Flipping through pages on his clipboard, the psychiatrist finally began his evaluation.
"Okay. Now tell me, Alvin. Why don't you want to eat? What is your problem with food?"
Alvin just sat, silently plucking his fingernails. Dr. Callaway continued to prod him.
"Do you feel remorse stemming from anxiety in your environment? Are you ashamed with the way you look?"
"No," replied Alvin reluctantly, "It's just... I... I lose my appetite and feel full when I eat anything. Anything at all. Even when I drink water."
"I see..." mumbled Callaway as he jotted down notes, "And does it give you a sense of release when you force yourself to vomit?"
Alvin glanced up from the spot he was staring at on the wall, becoming more direct with his answers, "No. Actually, I feel awful when I do that. Like I gave up on myself."
There was a pause as the doctor wrote that down. The red-clad chipmunk was beginning to feel more exposed than what he was comfortable with. If it had been seven years previous, he would've had no problem talking about himself for a full hour. One could say that he had slight egotistical tendencies at that age. He was the confident one; the cool one. In fact, he was the go-to guy when his brothers were around. He was popular with the ladies and enjoyed sports, things that a boy would usually enjoy at that age. But when the accident happened, it turned his world around 180 degrees.
"Alvin, how have you been sleeping?"
The boy didn't answer this. He hated to discuss his sleeping more than he hated discussing his eating disorder. The reason was because lack of sleep ment lack of developmental normalcy, which means he had a bigger chance of being medicated due to sleep problems than his food problems. He hated medication significantly more than he hated therapy. It never worked and it caused him to feel unstable and ill all the time.
"Please answer my question, Alvin."
"Sleep? What's sleep?" Answered Alvin in a joking way, feeling his confidence decline with every ticking second, "sure as hell haven't had that in a while..."
"On average, how much sleep do you get a day?"
Honestly, Alvin hadn't had a good night's rest since he was released from the institution. However, if he told Dr. Callaway that, he'd have the possibility of being put back in that place again. He couldn't risk that happening again.
"Um... maybe four or five hours," he lied. If there was anything Alvin was good at these days, it was lying.
"Okay, good. That's an improvement! And what do you dream about? Can you recall any of your dreams?"
Of course he could. He had the same terrifying dream every time he fell asleep. That's why he'd avoid sleeping at all costs; he was sick of the nightmare that plagued his unconscious mind. He was tired of waking up in cold sweats. He was tired of remembering the accident. Remembering the stained glass. Remembering his lost family members.
"Nope. Don't remember a thing," he lied, pasting on a false smile. He pretended to glance at his watch, "Oh dear! Look at the time! Dave will probably be worried sick by the time I get back home!" He sprung up and grabbed his coat, rushing to the door and pulling it open, "I'm glad we had this time, doc! See ya next week!"
"Alvin, we still have twenty minutes left! Sit d-"
"See ya!" With that, Alvin quickly shut the door and raced down the hall to the staircase, desperate to get outside. When he got outside, he immediately trekked through the alleyway, afraid of being caught and brought back in. The chipmunk wanted to go home to his life of silent solitude.
On the way back to his house, Alvin stopped by the corner store to buy some cigarettes. He knew Dave wouldn't approve of him walking home by himself, so that gave him very little time to run his errand.
"One pack of Marlboros, please," said Alvin to the cashier. Just as he pulled out his wallet, something caught his eye: sitting on a sale rack at the front register was a rack of brand new packaged Zippo cigarette lighters. There was one in particular that caught his eye - it was a red with an ace of spades symbol in the corner. It was rectangular and meant for long-time use; the collector's item type. The yellow "A" in the corner reminded him of how he used to wear the first initial of his name on the front of everything he wore as a child; back in the day when vanity was his signature and life was easier. He also remembered the damage he caused the last time he'd bought a lighter, the way one simple little flame managed to light up and obliterate half of an entire auditorium. Astounding. What a feeling it was watching everything go up in smoke and flames! It gave him chills recalling the memory. Every time he was in possession of a lighter, he'd always have unconventional ways of using them and for most of the time, it was destructive.
He took the lighter in his hands and looked at it carefully before placing it next to his pack of cigarettes, "This too, please."
Okay, guys! Thank you again for the support and for continuing to read my stories! It means a lot to me :)
So what did you think? What's Alvin gonna do with that lighter? What will come next? The plot thickens!
Reviews are helpful and greatly appreciated!
Until next time, over and out!
-Blythe