Post by Oliver on Aug 31, 2008 14:05:52 GMT -5
The journal was open, resting on Vadin’s lap as he stared down at the pages. His name was scrawled in the neat handwritten letters that once spilled from Mia’s pen when he was still a baby. Despite not being exceptionally well at reading just yet, he knew it was his name and his alone. He was afraid to read what was written about him, unsure if he really wanted to know.
The bright gaze of intellectual blue eyes stared down at the paper, scanning over each word, but he only stared at the writing, never attempting to actually read. Mia’s writing slanted to the right a bit and she used a mixture of cursive and print which would have made it harder for Vadin to read if he had been putting effort into it. It was clear she put great time into her writing, however, and Vadin admired the slender letters and the open circled dots of each ‘I’.
There were some areas of the page that adorned a few wrinkles where the page had gotten wet. Each area was no more than several centimeters wide but it stood out to the black haired boy gazing down upon the paper. At some spots the ink had smeared just a little. Vadin came to the realization very quickly that the woman who’d written in the book had been crying as she scribbled down her thoughts. Vadin’s chest grew tight at the realization, making it hard to breathe as his eyes grew a bit damp.
Why had she been crying? It was his fault. He’d done something to upset her and she’d written about it as she cried. An entire story based on assumptions formed in his head. He couldn’t read the words but he knew he had something do with it; therefore he had to have done something wrong. The gentle face he’d seen in the pictures in Awshe’s bedroom had been brought to tears by a worthless child.
There was an aching sensation growing in the center of his chest as he kept his head bent over the immortalized words of his mother. The stream of tears became to streak down his face but before any moisture could damage the pages of the journal more, he’d slammed the book shut and thrown it.
THUD!
CRASH!
Vadin’s head snapped up, his hues darting to the direction he’d thrown the book as the sound of shattering glass pierced through the room that was silent just moments before. The book was on the ground, open but lying so that the pages were creased and pressed against the floor while the cover was visible to anyone looking down. Glass shards sprinkled the top of the book and sparkled from the floor around it. When thrown, the book had hit the picture frames sitting on a small table.
Wide eyed, Vadin stared at the mess a moment before quickly getting up and running to the sea of glass. Were the pictures alright!? He swept his hand across the floor in a thoughtless attempt to get the glass to the side so he could pick up the pictures. The jagged edges sliced his palm but he hardly winced as he desperately tried to make sure he hadn’t damaged the picture.
The images on the photo’s seemed fine upon flipping them over and making sure they were still in one piece. One was a picture of Awshe and a couple dogs, another was of someone Vadin didn’t even recognize, and then a third looked like the woman he knew to be his mother standing by Awshe, their arms around each other. Vadin had taken all three frames out with the book, but the pictures hadn’t been harmed, although now there was blood from his cut hand at the edges of some. Vadin put the pictures back on the floor and stood up, hurriedly running from the room.
He slipped out the back door as quietly as he could, though left behind bloody evidence that he’d been there, and scanned the yard and its many canine inhabitants. Several came to meet him but he pushed them away, not interested in them. There was only one he wanted to be near and he could see the old St. Bernard lying by the side of the house asleep in the shade.
“D-Dev-lin!” He called out in his raspy cracking voice. It hurt his throat a bit to yell but it got the job done. The St. Bernard’s ears moved slightly from the sound and his head rose, eyes turning towards Vadin. His tail began to thump against the ground some and he let out a low growl to warn the other dogs to stay away, allowing Vadin to come in peace.
The dog was a little older then Vadin himself, making the dog over 12 years old which was pushing it for his breed. He showed signs of bad arthritis and hardly moved around much anymore but Devlin loved his late master’s son greatly and showed it by licking the boys face with an energy he could hardly ever show anymore. The scent of blood soon caught his attention and he licked at Vadin’s wounded palms as he let out a soft whine. Vadin let the dog licked at the cuts, putting his head down gently on the St. Bernard’s back, and crying quietly into his thick fur.
The bright gaze of intellectual blue eyes stared down at the paper, scanning over each word, but he only stared at the writing, never attempting to actually read. Mia’s writing slanted to the right a bit and she used a mixture of cursive and print which would have made it harder for Vadin to read if he had been putting effort into it. It was clear she put great time into her writing, however, and Vadin admired the slender letters and the open circled dots of each ‘I’.
There were some areas of the page that adorned a few wrinkles where the page had gotten wet. Each area was no more than several centimeters wide but it stood out to the black haired boy gazing down upon the paper. At some spots the ink had smeared just a little. Vadin came to the realization very quickly that the woman who’d written in the book had been crying as she scribbled down her thoughts. Vadin’s chest grew tight at the realization, making it hard to breathe as his eyes grew a bit damp.
Why had she been crying? It was his fault. He’d done something to upset her and she’d written about it as she cried. An entire story based on assumptions formed in his head. He couldn’t read the words but he knew he had something do with it; therefore he had to have done something wrong. The gentle face he’d seen in the pictures in Awshe’s bedroom had been brought to tears by a worthless child.
There was an aching sensation growing in the center of his chest as he kept his head bent over the immortalized words of his mother. The stream of tears became to streak down his face but before any moisture could damage the pages of the journal more, he’d slammed the book shut and thrown it.
THUD!
CRASH!
Vadin’s head snapped up, his hues darting to the direction he’d thrown the book as the sound of shattering glass pierced through the room that was silent just moments before. The book was on the ground, open but lying so that the pages were creased and pressed against the floor while the cover was visible to anyone looking down. Glass shards sprinkled the top of the book and sparkled from the floor around it. When thrown, the book had hit the picture frames sitting on a small table.
Wide eyed, Vadin stared at the mess a moment before quickly getting up and running to the sea of glass. Were the pictures alright!? He swept his hand across the floor in a thoughtless attempt to get the glass to the side so he could pick up the pictures. The jagged edges sliced his palm but he hardly winced as he desperately tried to make sure he hadn’t damaged the picture.
The images on the photo’s seemed fine upon flipping them over and making sure they were still in one piece. One was a picture of Awshe and a couple dogs, another was of someone Vadin didn’t even recognize, and then a third looked like the woman he knew to be his mother standing by Awshe, their arms around each other. Vadin had taken all three frames out with the book, but the pictures hadn’t been harmed, although now there was blood from his cut hand at the edges of some. Vadin put the pictures back on the floor and stood up, hurriedly running from the room.
He slipped out the back door as quietly as he could, though left behind bloody evidence that he’d been there, and scanned the yard and its many canine inhabitants. Several came to meet him but he pushed them away, not interested in them. There was only one he wanted to be near and he could see the old St. Bernard lying by the side of the house asleep in the shade.
“D-Dev-lin!” He called out in his raspy cracking voice. It hurt his throat a bit to yell but it got the job done. The St. Bernard’s ears moved slightly from the sound and his head rose, eyes turning towards Vadin. His tail began to thump against the ground some and he let out a low growl to warn the other dogs to stay away, allowing Vadin to come in peace.
The dog was a little older then Vadin himself, making the dog over 12 years old which was pushing it for his breed. He showed signs of bad arthritis and hardly moved around much anymore but Devlin loved his late master’s son greatly and showed it by licking the boys face with an energy he could hardly ever show anymore. The scent of blood soon caught his attention and he licked at Vadin’s wounded palms as he let out a soft whine. Vadin let the dog licked at the cuts, putting his head down gently on the St. Bernard’s back, and crying quietly into his thick fur.