protective_logic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
protective_logic) wrote2015-11-10 12:30 am
protective_logic) wrote2015-11-10 12:30 am
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They say there is a time in your life to do away with childish things. Once Delta had decided they meant toys and sleeping in on weekends and anything that got in the way of adult responsibilities. He'd done it too. Given up hobbies, put aside the things he enjoyed so he could be a better parent to his youngest siblings. But now he has to wonder. What if the childish things are the idea of love? The hope of a good life? The simple idea that they are safe in their own home?
Those he's got to get rid of, and with them, a whole lot more.
He waits until he's calmed down a bit. Until the tears have stopped and he can breathe regularly. That doesn't mean he opens his aching hand. Once he's composed himself, though, he heads home, tries to figure out how to deal with this. But he chose the time he did because people will be resting, winding down, not really paying attention to him.
Which is what he needs. It's what is necessary to tiptoe around the house with the shoebox from Theta's most recent pair of shoes. Into it goes the things he has to do away with. The scarf Maine made him, as well as his own knitting work. The remains of the anniversary chocolates. His shirt and pants from the club, their material such that he can actually ball them up and force them in. Every little gift he got. Every little thing that reminded him too much of what he had... No, lost was not the right word. Given up. An end given to childish things. And not the only one. Not the only person...
The last things to go in are the most important. Both sets of his own earrings. He got them to mark a change in his life, a change he's going back on. And, of course, one other set. Green tourmaline triangles, stained the littlest bit red with the blood from where one had punched through his skin from squeezing too hard.
The lid goes on and, after a liberal application of tape, the whole thing goes onto the top shelf of his closet. Out of sight. Hopefully soon to be out of mind enough that he can finally truly be done with them all.
Task done he switches into a clean shirt and heads downstairs. He did this for them. Only right to give them the time he has.
Those he's got to get rid of, and with them, a whole lot more.
He waits until he's calmed down a bit. Until the tears have stopped and he can breathe regularly. That doesn't mean he opens his aching hand. Once he's composed himself, though, he heads home, tries to figure out how to deal with this. But he chose the time he did because people will be resting, winding down, not really paying attention to him.
Which is what he needs. It's what is necessary to tiptoe around the house with the shoebox from Theta's most recent pair of shoes. Into it goes the things he has to do away with. The scarf Maine made him, as well as his own knitting work. The remains of the anniversary chocolates. His shirt and pants from the club, their material such that he can actually ball them up and force them in. Every little gift he got. Every little thing that reminded him too much of what he had... No, lost was not the right word. Given up. An end given to childish things. And not the only one. Not the only person...
The last things to go in are the most important. Both sets of his own earrings. He got them to mark a change in his life, a change he's going back on. And, of course, one other set. Green tourmaline triangles, stained the littlest bit red with the blood from where one had punched through his skin from squeezing too hard.
The lid goes on and, after a liberal application of tape, the whole thing goes onto the top shelf of his closet. Out of sight. Hopefully soon to be out of mind enough that he can finally truly be done with them all.
Task done he switches into a clean shirt and heads downstairs. He did this for them. Only right to give them the time he has.