Ad Astra Per Aspera (To the stars through difficulties) ~SanderSides

Virgil Edwards

Soft tweeting filtered in through the closed windows of a small bedroom in an equally small town, the sun glimmering through the cracked curtains and wind rushing by. Along with the call of birds, a quiet, mechanical beeping bounced off of the thin walls. Virgil groaned and rolled over stiffly, his caramel bed sheets folding around his body and falling off of one of his shoulders. He slapped aimlessly at his bedside table to turn off the alarm on his phone that was far too loud for his very sensitive ears. The ringing stopped and Virgil was at peace for half a second until his mind was consumed by the sudden silence that covered the room.

Virgil gingerly grasped at his side and winced, the bruise that was slowly forming there felt much more tender than when he fell asleep last night. He sat up carefully and lifted his oversized shirt slightly, his fingers trembling. Virgil traced the purple and green marking across his stomach and pulled back every time it hurt too much. Which was every two seconds. He knew he should probably get it professionally looked at, but that opened the door for questions that Virgil didn't feel safe to answer at the moment.

The young boy let his shirt drop back down over his stomach and cautiously leaned over to pull his phone off of the table and pull the charging cable out of the phone. He stared blearily at its cracked and dull screen for a moment, getting lost in the black void. The second that Virgil pushed the on button he regretted it, squinting and moving his phone away from his face as he was hit with the bright glare that he was definitely not prepared for. Once his eyes had adjusted to the light intrusion, Virgil swiped the screen to unlock it and checked for any sign of.. anything, really.

No new messages. No missed calls. Nothing. The teen wasn't surprised, he didn't really have anyone that would need to contact him for any reason. Why would anyone want to call a loser like himself? Virgil struggled to read the time through the cracks in the screen and eventually saw that it was 6:42AM. Shit. Not good. Virgil still had to find clean clothes and get changed, get out of the house, and walk the 35 minute walk to school safely. He was definitely, without a doubt, going to be late.

The young man sighed and stood up on his shaky legs, his cover falling off of his body and landing in a heap on his bed. Virgil braced himself on the nightstand and placed his phone back down, opening the draw of the stand and routing around for his headphones that he was sure he was going to need. Once he had successfully found his headphones and placed them with his phone, Virgil quietly searched around for some clothes to wear that had been washed at least once this week. He rifled through a pile on the floor and checked the wardrobe, but in the end he chose his usual outfit that was thrown haphazardly over a chair.

His usual outfit consisted of a simple,plain, but faded, purple t-shirt that had little holes scattered around the neck. A pair of clean-ish, black and ripped, skinny jeans that were a struggle to pull up his thighs but hugged his hips comfortably when on. And of course, his trusted black hoodie that he had been wearing longer than he could remember. His thumb trailed over one of the many stitched on purple patches as he remember the day that he and his mother had sat down with the fabric and needles and sewn them on together. Virgil rarely took off this hoodie, he thought of it as his armour. A chest plate of protection that saved him from whatever comes his way. A part of his mother was stitched into his hoodie and in that way he knew he wasn't alone.

Realising that he wouldn't have time for a shower and that the running water would be too loud anyways, Virgil threw on his clothes and grasped his phone and headphones from the table. He gently opened the door to his bedroom, praying for It not to creek, and slipped out into the hallway. Virgil was painfully aware of which of the floorboards along the hallways and down the halls creaked, and were to step on the stairs so that he wouldn't make a single sound. When the young teen reached the bottom of the steps, he placed a hand over his own mouth, silencing his breath as he peaked his head around the door to the living room.