The five important numbers of my life.
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
807
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
807
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
The five important numbers of my life.
Title: The five important numbers of my life.
Chapter Title: 12.
Author: Darkling Willow
Pairing: Non
Rating: NC – 17. I'm giving it such a high rating, just because of language, and to cover my own behind.
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes thank you very much. An author can only improve with criticism.
Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Authors Notes: This is just a long "stream of conscience" type of story, where a young man reflects over his life, and the one thing he misses the most.
Summary: There were brothers, then there were heroes.
**************************************************************************************************
12.
Staring up at you, the sun behind your head, a halo of strawberry blonde around suntanned skin, the schoolyard bullies shouting at you, telling you to step down, telling you not to make friends with the little kids.
Lying on my back, scared and bleeding, wondering where my older brothers are, wondering why there is only you there to defend me, you who haven’t seen me for the four years I’ve been sitting behind you in class, the little kid in your class, the whiz-kid who’s two years younger than everyone else and still aces every test, the whiz-kid that everyone hates and the bullies love to beat up.
Your hand reaching out, helping me to my feet, two older brothers come running, I tell them I’m fine as they slap you on your back, thanking you for helping me, and I have a new hero, one more big hero to look up to, like four brothers aren’t enough.
You dust me off, straighten my jacket, tell me I’m fine, finding it funny that I’ve got older brothers who are the same age as you, but are both a year ahead of their class.
It’s not so much fun explaining that we’re a family of whiz-kids, because our mum started teaching us the basics so early.
Later you come and sit with me at lunch, noone asking you to, noone forcing you to be nice to the little kid, and noone teasing you about it. You just sit there, looking at me like I’m fourteen like you, talking to me like I’m just like you.
I think I want to be your friend, but this trick has been played on me before, so I’m wary, not wanting to be hurt.
It takes you almost four months to break through my shell.
It isn’t until my birthday, the day I actually turn twelve, that you prove that you are my friend, a friend for real, not just trying to get close to my famous parents, or make friends with my older brothers.
You show up dressed up in your Sunday best, with your hair nicely combed, with a smile and a small silver bracelet for a present, you whisper in my ear you’ve got one of your own, and that they’re really cool.
You are so polite and at ease with everyone, be it my pre-teen Scandinavian cousins, who hardly speak any English, or my older cousins, aunts or uncles, famous or not, you are even comfortable talking with my parents, all three of them, despite having torn apart my stepfather’s last movie at school on Thursday, and then yelled at my American father through the TV the Friday before, because he couldn’t see the monster sneaking up behind him.
We sit by the little pond in the backgarden, hiding behind one of the weeping willows, while you tell me that you envy me of my family, having six brothers and three sister, while you only have two brothers who are much older than you, that you are an armybrat, your father’s been in the armed forces since he was eighteen, and you’ve lived all over the world.
We laugh at the people calling for us, hiding like little kids, I show you the dog kennel and tell you which dog belongs to which of us, and you like my Husky the best of them all.
I tell you one of my many secrets, I don’t like being the middle brother because they tend to forget me, and I hate being younger than the rest of my class, because all the kids think I’m stuck up, a show off.
You promise me you’ll make them change their minds.
As my mother hits a high note, and my dad yells out that there’s cake, we decide to got back to the party, as we walk down the path, I can’t help my own insecurities and ask you straight out whether this makes us friends, you drape your arm over my shoulders and giving me a little squeeze you answer, in your deep, changing voice, a smile in your eyes that warms my heart,
“Yeah, I think so, yeah, we’re friends.”
Chapter Title: 12.
Author: Darkling Willow
Pairing: Non
Rating: NC – 17. I'm giving it such a high rating, just because of language, and to cover my own behind.
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes thank you very much. An author can only improve with criticism.
Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Authors Notes: This is just a long "stream of conscience" type of story, where a young man reflects over his life, and the one thing he misses the most.
Summary: There were brothers, then there were heroes.
**************************************************************************************************
12.
Staring up at you, the sun behind your head, a halo of strawberry blonde around suntanned skin, the schoolyard bullies shouting at you, telling you to step down, telling you not to make friends with the little kids.
Lying on my back, scared and bleeding, wondering where my older brothers are, wondering why there is only you there to defend me, you who haven’t seen me for the four years I’ve been sitting behind you in class, the little kid in your class, the whiz-kid who’s two years younger than everyone else and still aces every test, the whiz-kid that everyone hates and the bullies love to beat up.
Your hand reaching out, helping me to my feet, two older brothers come running, I tell them I’m fine as they slap you on your back, thanking you for helping me, and I have a new hero, one more big hero to look up to, like four brothers aren’t enough.
You dust me off, straighten my jacket, tell me I’m fine, finding it funny that I’ve got older brothers who are the same age as you, but are both a year ahead of their class.
It’s not so much fun explaining that we’re a family of whiz-kids, because our mum started teaching us the basics so early.
Later you come and sit with me at lunch, noone asking you to, noone forcing you to be nice to the little kid, and noone teasing you about it. You just sit there, looking at me like I’m fourteen like you, talking to me like I’m just like you.
I think I want to be your friend, but this trick has been played on me before, so I’m wary, not wanting to be hurt.
It takes you almost four months to break through my shell.
It isn’t until my birthday, the day I actually turn twelve, that you prove that you are my friend, a friend for real, not just trying to get close to my famous parents, or make friends with my older brothers.
You show up dressed up in your Sunday best, with your hair nicely combed, with a smile and a small silver bracelet for a present, you whisper in my ear you’ve got one of your own, and that they’re really cool.
You are so polite and at ease with everyone, be it my pre-teen Scandinavian cousins, who hardly speak any English, or my older cousins, aunts or uncles, famous or not, you are even comfortable talking with my parents, all three of them, despite having torn apart my stepfather’s last movie at school on Thursday, and then yelled at my American father through the TV the Friday before, because he couldn’t see the monster sneaking up behind him.
We sit by the little pond in the backgarden, hiding behind one of the weeping willows, while you tell me that you envy me of my family, having six brothers and three sister, while you only have two brothers who are much older than you, that you are an armybrat, your father’s been in the armed forces since he was eighteen, and you’ve lived all over the world.
We laugh at the people calling for us, hiding like little kids, I show you the dog kennel and tell you which dog belongs to which of us, and you like my Husky the best of them all.
I tell you one of my many secrets, I don’t like being the middle brother because they tend to forget me, and I hate being younger than the rest of my class, because all the kids think I’m stuck up, a show off.
You promise me you’ll make them change their minds.
As my mother hits a high note, and my dad yells out that there’s cake, we decide to got back to the party, as we walk down the path, I can’t help my own insecurities and ask you straight out whether this makes us friends, you drape your arm over my shoulders and giving me a little squeeze you answer, in your deep, changing voice, a smile in your eyes that warms my heart,
“Yeah, I think so, yeah, we’re friends.”