Obituary

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Thomas

They told him it was selective mutism, but he didn't think it was true. It wasn't that he wouldn't scream when his dad tried to beat the voice out of him, but that he couldn't.

It was hard to find out he had a dead brother. From a neighbour no less. His mind blanked, and Thomas lost the words in his throat. The thing was, he had expected them to come back.

His parents probably beat his brother too. Exactly what had happened is a mystery to Thomas. He didn't even remember having a brother; he had been only three.

His favourite colour used to be violet, but now the colour burns through his eyes. No matter where he looked, the colour seemed to haunt him. Traces of violence on his skin, a split lip and swollen eye. It's been a long day.

He doesn't know how much longer he can stand it.

He can hear his father's footsteps in the attic. Thomas tries to hold in his breath. It's harsh, and shallow, but he knows his father can hear him. His father thought he ran up to hide in the attic. It wasn't something foreign to the boy after all, but Thomas was getting smarter.

Smarter but smaller. The stress had made him stop growing.

The only place he could think of to go from here was the window. He could hear his father's heavy footsteps bounding down the stairs. Leaping out from his small hiding space, Thomas darts over to the window.

Barely bracing himself, he crashes out the glass pane, tumbling down into the bushes in the yard.

Its dark out, and he can't see the scratches the thorns leave on his skin. The only thing he can make sense of is the sound of wooden pipes in the distance.

Not wasting a second, he dashes towards them.

James

The news had hit him like a ton of bricks. So much so, that he had to pull the car over and sit down next to the dumpster in the Walmart parking lot. If you had asked James if he had imagined himself dry-heaving in a parking lot at three A.M. on a Tuesday night, he'd have laughed in your face.

He knew he shouldn't have been driving that night. That's why he pulled over to vomit. He had learned his lesson, only it was too late. Tripping acid on a Friday six months prior, popping pills and running red lights. All to impress Jessica, who had apparently been cheating on him the whole time they were together.

It took all the strength he had to walk back to his house. His foster parents only lived half a mile away from him. He couldn't bear to look at the car.

Cars had been his undoing. His friend Mike, high as a kite, crashed his car straight into James's house, hitting his own parents in the process.

Now the news that the blood transfusion the hospital gave him did more harm than help. Apparently they don't test their donors for HIV before letting them give blood. And apparently now James had to suffer with it.

He couldn't even blame Mike. Mike had died. Jessica had left him, Mike and his parents had died, and now he was going to die too. A few years at most. What dumb luck.

He left the window open, leaning against the frame. He was going to die, and all he could do was exhale, and pray for something to take him away. Believe in something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So that was a doozy. Season 2 will premier a week to today in another book. If you are interested in making a cover, just shoot me a comment of a message and I'll give you the title in advance!

Let me know what you thought of season 1. Your favourite moments, favourite characters, favourite deaths. I love your feedback, and I love you all.

As always, stay tuned, and I'll see you in a week.

VOLATILE  (I) : peter pan ouatOnde as histórias ganham vida. Descobre agora