It's so touch and go
Feb. 3rd, 2015 10:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
azuredistraughtArguably you could all say it started when Landon was born, but really, what set his life into motion came eight years after that. He had been living a comfortable life with his mother and father. Mom was a go-getter and a bitch in business, while his dad was a substitute teacher, but mainly the stay at home parent. They provided Landon with everything he needed, and they were happy. A wonderful upper-middle class picture perfect family.
Eight years into his young life and Landon was already a rebel. He loved his parents, and wouldn't do anything to hurt them, but the world was his oyster. Prime for the taking. His dad told him he could be anything he wanted to be, and on this particular night he wanted to be a master thief. Oceans 1 or something like that.
He stole away from his bedroom around 10pm, when his parents attentions would be wrapped in their shows, and slowly made his way to the stairs leading to the main floor of the house. His goal? Make it to the kitchen, acquire the prize, and be back in bed before the commercials. The perfect crime. Cookies prime for the taking just mere rooms away. And they were all his.
That is, until there came a knock on the door. Panicked, Landon edged himself back into the hall at the top of the stairs, eyes still kept on the door. No one came over late. Was it one of his friends playing ding-dong-ditch again? He'd clobber them if they got him caught so late into his success story.
His parents opened the door and a police officer was waiting there with a smile. They made small talk, and they let the smiling man in. It certainly put a wrench in his plans. How did the cops know he was sneaking out of bed? He underestimated his enemy.
Just as he was coming up with a new scenario on how to get his prize, the mans eyes laid on him. Drat. How had he been spotted? His parents never saw him and he wasn't making a sound. Either way, the jig was up and the man invited him downstairs. When his parents didn't seem mad at him he joined his family at the landing, and told the officer why he was wake. Landon didn't know why he felt compelled to tell the man when asked, but he figured if he was honest he probably wouldn't get sent to jail.
There were still no disapproving looks from his parents, and the officer just smiled at him, so the boy figured he was in the clear. Then the officer invited him into the kitchen to go and get cookies. It was better than he dreamed. He was up late having a treat with his family! Well, they stood but the oven, and he sat at the table, but maybe they weren't hungry. The police man seemed really nice, maybe he smoothed it over with his parents. Explained to them that he was old enough to stay up this late, to have cookies whenever he wanted. What a good man.
Landon's first hint something was wrong was when he smiled at his parents and they didn't smile back. They could have just been tired, that makes sense. Then Landon was told to stay in the chair, and for some reason he was stuck. Since when could the police give you an order and you HAVE to obey? He wiggled and tried to get down, but there was no use.
The man kept on smiling.
He smiled and Landon squirmed. He smiled as his parents picked up the knives. He smiled as the cookie hit the floor. He chuckled as he silenced Landon's voice. He laughed as his parents went at each other slowly. He grinned as the tears rolled down the boy's face.
As his world came crashing down around Landon, so did the ceiling. He felt so helpless, he couldn't even scream. Mommy and Daddy were hurting each other and they wouldn't stop smiling. There was so much blood. It was everywhere. Why wouldn't they stop? Why wouldn't the police man stop them? They loved each other, they would never...
The world came tumbling down as Landon's gut wrenched. The room was entirely decimated as everything in the room crashed to the ground. Pots, pans, cupboards, counters, lights, anything you name it, it hit the ground. Everything, except the chair Landon was sitting on.
Slipping down from the chair, he heard a crunch at his feet. The kitchen was a mess. It would take forever to clean. His mom and dad... they were just sleeping on the floor. So was the smiling police man. He was still smiling.
Tears mingled with the glass on the floor and Landon crept forward. He'd tell his mom and dad sorry for sneaking out. Sorry he made a mess. Sorry he didn't listen to them, but they had to wake up. They didn't rise at the sound of his voice, even though it was back. He tripped, fell, and scraped himself so now his blood was mixing with everyone else's, but they still didn't get up to check on him.
He crawled to them and sat next to them. There was so much blood he didn't know where to touch them that wouldn't hurt. "Mama?" The only thing that stirred was some black smoke came out of the officer like his lungs were on fire. Just for a brief moment, then it was gone. "Papa?" They had to wake up. They needed to get up. The kitchen was a big mess and they all needed band-aids.
They never got up.
The police arrived shortly after, as their neighbor had woken up to a loud shattering noise, followed by a child's scream, and wailing. The only survivor of the night was the little boy the police found sobbing on the broken kitchen table, hugging his knees as his legs and palms bled everywhere.
Landon was patched up at the hospital, but several of the cuts from the glass required stitches, and they were afraid the boy would be left with a constant reminder of the night engraved on his palms, knees, shins, and feet.
This wasn't what came to pass however, as quickly in intensive therapy Landon showed no signs that he recognized what the adults were trying to work him through. They worked with him until he turned ten, trying to get the boy to cope with what happened, but to no avail. He had repressed it completely.
The police had lost their only witness of the night, and Landon had lost his family. Not exactly an even trade.
After being unresponsive to the in-treatment therapy for two years, they finally put Landon back in to the world, but mandated it that he needs to see his therapist regularly. He was placed in the foster care system, but it didn't take too long to be step up with a family.
For a fourth grader he was pretty despondent and distant. Landon didn't understand why it seemed like all the adults were walking on glass around him. His teachers and his parents. Not to mention his therapist. He also didn't understand why he was the only one with a therapist. It was annoying and took up a lot of his free time. Adults would also offer to talk to him whenever he needed them to. What kind of stupid sentence was that? Shouldn't that be a given? And shouldn't they be saying it to the kids that cry themselves to sleep, and not him?
Drifting through the rest of his elementary school days, he didn't make any long lasting impressions or connections. Landon had friends, but now he had a hard time recalling his entire fourth grade, and the fifth seemed pretty hazy too. His foster parents had tried to get him to open up, but to be fair the medically trained professionals had failed to do so, and continue to as well.
Yeah, I know this assignment was to be written in third person limited, however, whoever the fuck is writing it is getting everything wrong so far, so lets cut the crap and skip to the skinny of it. Facts.
My parents died when I was a baby, tragic I know, but since I don't remember anything about them I can't say I have been missing em much. Hard to miss what isn't there, you know? I don't know anything about the murders, why they happened, who did it, and how I survived. I don't really care, honestly. I'm alive, and that's what counts. Why focus on the past, when I'm in the present? I have enough problems as is.
For as long as I can remember I have been in the foster care system. I can agree that the couple that took care of me in Elementary school were really nice, if a bit over bearing. Definitely kind, but not kind enough to keep up with me. I don't really mind though, they probably wanted a "happy" kid, and I didn't exactly fit that bill. Would I go back? In a heart beat. They were one of the nicest couples that took care of me.
After that one I was sent to a different city and started at a new Middle School. Fresh beginnings all around, I suppose. I was taken into a fuller house. A bigger house mind you, but a lot more kids running around. I wasn't as closely paid attention to, which you won't catch me complaining about. I started getting out more. I made friends, ones that lasted outside of the classroom. Sixth grade was also the grade I really started getting into music. The teachers were happy for my enthusiasm, and my therapist even said I seemed to be doing better. Not surprising since she was new too.
And things were good. I had a best friend. I had a group of people I could hang out and laugh with. My "family" wasn't overbearing. School didn't suck quite as bad. And I was, you know, happy.
"This too shall pass." I am pretty sure is a phrase used to make you feel better about the shitty things in life being less than permanent, however, what they don't tell you, is that happiness passes too.
People kept smiling at me. I know, that's a weird thing to say, but they were complete strangers. They'd give me a look like I was their nearest and dearest grandchild that just made them a present for their birthday. It was weird. Like, it happened every so often, like nothing to be written home to, but for a week it happened a lot. A lot a lot.
Then Cedric moved away. Just like that, bam, gone. Something about his dad's job, I dunno. It was shitty. Extremely shitty. A little consistency would have been nice. Someone who cared could stick around for more than two years.
But whatever. People come and people go. Touch and go, as they say.
I got into a lot more fights after Cedric left. Maybe made friends with the "wrong people" and foster Dad kept saying. Never really considered why I did that, but hey, he had plenty of other people he had to give a shit about, so who cares.
That's when I first started dying my hair black. I didn't want to be a golden boy. It didn't suit me. As stupid as it was, people look at you different when you're a blonde haired blue-eyed child. Clearly you gotta be an angel. Well, I was tired of disappointing everyone.
The home after that, wasn't the best either. Eighth grade is full of a lot of shitty people too. I managed to make some friends though. Probably still constituted as "not the best crowd" even if the crowd wasn't that big and wasn't that bad. So what if I was friends with the schools biggest most intimidating dude? He was actually pretty nice and fun. Books, covers, fuck em.
I didn't last too long their either though, I didn't get a long with the family, and we fought more often than not. I think I slept more times at my friends' houses than my foster home.
Ninth and tenth grade was a lot of me being shoved and shuffled between families. I mostly stuck to one school that year at least. The commute was difficult, but I was determined when I was a sophomore. Probably because I had a girl friend. I mean, I had dated people before, but this one was the one that had lasted the longest.
Imagine my surprise when I found out I was the guy she was two-timing with against her two-timing boyfriend. Talk about soap opera bullshit. Needless to say my motivation to stick to one area disappeared, and I got shuffled again.
Junior year, been to too many homes and too many schools. This time I was sent to North Salem High, and as a cruel twist of fate, I was rooming with one of my friends from eighth grade. Trevese. Notice the 'cruel' bit. Take note.
Just because you feel like you haven't changed, doesn't mean the world around you hasn't. Trevese had changed. Significantly. Or maybe I just never realized what an asshole he actually was? Or maybe it was just never directed at me.
No, who am I kidding. I can't spit on his memory. He was a good kid. Don't really know what happened to him to make him change. We still seem like we're friends. Kinda. And I suppose we are. Sorta. We're also shitty roommates. Who have another shitty roommate plus Trevese's shitty parents.
But who gives a fuck, it's a roof over my head. Food in my stomach. I can't complain too fiercely.
There aren't too many shining moments to highlight this year. I'm back to hanging out with Trevese and Tommy. Exclusively. I chat with some other people at the school, but really, I wouldn't consider them friends.
I still go to therapy as much as it takes to keep them satisfied. Running away has proven that to be more hassle than it's worth. No where close to any 'break throughs' though. Although there was one time where I had a mental break down in class. That was not the best way I have ever skipped a class before. I don't even know what triggered that lapse in sanity. That happened two months ago now. I don't want to say I need therapy, but... fuck that was weird.
Eight years into his young life and Landon was already a rebel. He loved his parents, and wouldn't do anything to hurt them, but the world was his oyster. Prime for the taking. His dad told him he could be anything he wanted to be, and on this particular night he wanted to be a master thief. Oceans 1 or something like that.
He stole away from his bedroom around 10pm, when his parents attentions would be wrapped in their shows, and slowly made his way to the stairs leading to the main floor of the house. His goal? Make it to the kitchen, acquire the prize, and be back in bed before the commercials. The perfect crime. Cookies prime for the taking just mere rooms away. And they were all his.
That is, until there came a knock on the door. Panicked, Landon edged himself back into the hall at the top of the stairs, eyes still kept on the door. No one came over late. Was it one of his friends playing ding-dong-ditch again? He'd clobber them if they got him caught so late into his success story.
His parents opened the door and a police officer was waiting there with a smile. They made small talk, and they let the smiling man in. It certainly put a wrench in his plans. How did the cops know he was sneaking out of bed? He underestimated his enemy.
Just as he was coming up with a new scenario on how to get his prize, the mans eyes laid on him. Drat. How had he been spotted? His parents never saw him and he wasn't making a sound. Either way, the jig was up and the man invited him downstairs. When his parents didn't seem mad at him he joined his family at the landing, and told the officer why he was wake. Landon didn't know why he felt compelled to tell the man when asked, but he figured if he was honest he probably wouldn't get sent to jail.
There were still no disapproving looks from his parents, and the officer just smiled at him, so the boy figured he was in the clear. Then the officer invited him into the kitchen to go and get cookies. It was better than he dreamed. He was up late having a treat with his family! Well, they stood but the oven, and he sat at the table, but maybe they weren't hungry. The police man seemed really nice, maybe he smoothed it over with his parents. Explained to them that he was old enough to stay up this late, to have cookies whenever he wanted. What a good man.
Landon's first hint something was wrong was when he smiled at his parents and they didn't smile back. They could have just been tired, that makes sense. Then Landon was told to stay in the chair, and for some reason he was stuck. Since when could the police give you an order and you HAVE to obey? He wiggled and tried to get down, but there was no use.
The man kept on smiling.
He smiled and Landon squirmed. He smiled as his parents picked up the knives. He smiled as the cookie hit the floor. He chuckled as he silenced Landon's voice. He laughed as his parents went at each other slowly. He grinned as the tears rolled down the boy's face.
As his world came crashing down around Landon, so did the ceiling. He felt so helpless, he couldn't even scream. Mommy and Daddy were hurting each other and they wouldn't stop smiling. There was so much blood. It was everywhere. Why wouldn't they stop? Why wouldn't the police man stop them? They loved each other, they would never...
The world came tumbling down as Landon's gut wrenched. The room was entirely decimated as everything in the room crashed to the ground. Pots, pans, cupboards, counters, lights, anything you name it, it hit the ground. Everything, except the chair Landon was sitting on.
Slipping down from the chair, he heard a crunch at his feet. The kitchen was a mess. It would take forever to clean. His mom and dad... they were just sleeping on the floor. So was the smiling police man. He was still smiling.
Tears mingled with the glass on the floor and Landon crept forward. He'd tell his mom and dad sorry for sneaking out. Sorry he made a mess. Sorry he didn't listen to them, but they had to wake up. They didn't rise at the sound of his voice, even though it was back. He tripped, fell, and scraped himself so now his blood was mixing with everyone else's, but they still didn't get up to check on him.
He crawled to them and sat next to them. There was so much blood he didn't know where to touch them that wouldn't hurt. "Mama?" The only thing that stirred was some black smoke came out of the officer like his lungs were on fire. Just for a brief moment, then it was gone. "Papa?" They had to wake up. They needed to get up. The kitchen was a big mess and they all needed band-aids.
They never got up.
The police arrived shortly after, as their neighbor had woken up to a loud shattering noise, followed by a child's scream, and wailing. The only survivor of the night was the little boy the police found sobbing on the broken kitchen table, hugging his knees as his legs and palms bled everywhere.
Landon was patched up at the hospital, but several of the cuts from the glass required stitches, and they were afraid the boy would be left with a constant reminder of the night engraved on his palms, knees, shins, and feet.
This wasn't what came to pass however, as quickly in intensive therapy Landon showed no signs that he recognized what the adults were trying to work him through. They worked with him until he turned ten, trying to get the boy to cope with what happened, but to no avail. He had repressed it completely.
The police had lost their only witness of the night, and Landon had lost his family. Not exactly an even trade.
After being unresponsive to the in-treatment therapy for two years, they finally put Landon back in to the world, but mandated it that he needs to see his therapist regularly. He was placed in the foster care system, but it didn't take too long to be step up with a family.
For a fourth grader he was pretty despondent and distant. Landon didn't understand why it seemed like all the adults were walking on glass around him. His teachers and his parents. Not to mention his therapist. He also didn't understand why he was the only one with a therapist. It was annoying and took up a lot of his free time. Adults would also offer to talk to him whenever he needed them to. What kind of stupid sentence was that? Shouldn't that be a given? And shouldn't they be saying it to the kids that cry themselves to sleep, and not him?
Drifting through the rest of his elementary school days, he didn't make any long lasting impressions or connections. Landon had friends, but now he had a hard time recalling his entire fourth grade, and the fifth seemed pretty hazy too. His foster parents had tried to get him to open up, but to be fair the medically trained professionals had failed to do so, and continue to as well.
Yeah, I know this assignment was to be written in third person limited, however, whoever the fuck is writing it is getting everything wrong so far, so lets cut the crap and skip to the skinny of it. Facts.
My parents died when I was a baby, tragic I know, but since I don't remember anything about them I can't say I have been missing em much. Hard to miss what isn't there, you know? I don't know anything about the murders, why they happened, who did it, and how I survived. I don't really care, honestly. I'm alive, and that's what counts. Why focus on the past, when I'm in the present? I have enough problems as is.
For as long as I can remember I have been in the foster care system. I can agree that the couple that took care of me in Elementary school were really nice, if a bit over bearing. Definitely kind, but not kind enough to keep up with me. I don't really mind though, they probably wanted a "happy" kid, and I didn't exactly fit that bill. Would I go back? In a heart beat. They were one of the nicest couples that took care of me.
After that one I was sent to a different city and started at a new Middle School. Fresh beginnings all around, I suppose. I was taken into a fuller house. A bigger house mind you, but a lot more kids running around. I wasn't as closely paid attention to, which you won't catch me complaining about. I started getting out more. I made friends, ones that lasted outside of the classroom. Sixth grade was also the grade I really started getting into music. The teachers were happy for my enthusiasm, and my therapist even said I seemed to be doing better. Not surprising since she was new too.
And things were good. I had a best friend. I had a group of people I could hang out and laugh with. My "family" wasn't overbearing. School didn't suck quite as bad. And I was, you know, happy.
"This too shall pass." I am pretty sure is a phrase used to make you feel better about the shitty things in life being less than permanent, however, what they don't tell you, is that happiness passes too.
People kept smiling at me. I know, that's a weird thing to say, but they were complete strangers. They'd give me a look like I was their nearest and dearest grandchild that just made them a present for their birthday. It was weird. Like, it happened every so often, like nothing to be written home to, but for a week it happened a lot. A lot a lot.
Then Cedric moved away. Just like that, bam, gone. Something about his dad's job, I dunno. It was shitty. Extremely shitty. A little consistency would have been nice. Someone who cared could stick around for more than two years.
But whatever. People come and people go. Touch and go, as they say.
I got into a lot more fights after Cedric left. Maybe made friends with the "wrong people" and foster Dad kept saying. Never really considered why I did that, but hey, he had plenty of other people he had to give a shit about, so who cares.
That's when I first started dying my hair black. I didn't want to be a golden boy. It didn't suit me. As stupid as it was, people look at you different when you're a blonde haired blue-eyed child. Clearly you gotta be an angel. Well, I was tired of disappointing everyone.
The home after that, wasn't the best either. Eighth grade is full of a lot of shitty people too. I managed to make some friends though. Probably still constituted as "not the best crowd" even if the crowd wasn't that big and wasn't that bad. So what if I was friends with the schools biggest most intimidating dude? He was actually pretty nice and fun. Books, covers, fuck em.
I didn't last too long their either though, I didn't get a long with the family, and we fought more often than not. I think I slept more times at my friends' houses than my foster home.
Ninth and tenth grade was a lot of me being shoved and shuffled between families. I mostly stuck to one school that year at least. The commute was difficult, but I was determined when I was a sophomore. Probably because I had a girl friend. I mean, I had dated people before, but this one was the one that had lasted the longest.
Imagine my surprise when I found out I was the guy she was two-timing with against her two-timing boyfriend. Talk about soap opera bullshit. Needless to say my motivation to stick to one area disappeared, and I got shuffled again.
Junior year, been to too many homes and too many schools. This time I was sent to North Salem High, and as a cruel twist of fate, I was rooming with one of my friends from eighth grade. Trevese. Notice the 'cruel' bit. Take note.
Just because you feel like you haven't changed, doesn't mean the world around you hasn't. Trevese had changed. Significantly. Or maybe I just never realized what an asshole he actually was? Or maybe it was just never directed at me.
No, who am I kidding. I can't spit on his memory. He was a good kid. Don't really know what happened to him to make him change. We still seem like we're friends. Kinda. And I suppose we are. Sorta. We're also shitty roommates. Who have another shitty roommate plus Trevese's shitty parents.
But who gives a fuck, it's a roof over my head. Food in my stomach. I can't complain too fiercely.
There aren't too many shining moments to highlight this year. I'm back to hanging out with Trevese and Tommy. Exclusively. I chat with some other people at the school, but really, I wouldn't consider them friends.
I still go to therapy as much as it takes to keep them satisfied. Running away has proven that to be more hassle than it's worth. No where close to any 'break throughs' though. Although there was one time where I had a mental break down in class. That was not the best way I have ever skipped a class before. I don't even know what triggered that lapse in sanity. That happened two months ago now. I don't want to say I need therapy, but... fuck that was weird.
