//take these broken wings// {Belle <3}

Crutches, leg, crutches, leg, crutches, leg.

Tony's thoughts became this rhythm as he walked- or, more appropriately, hobbled- down the sidewalk. His foot throbbed in pain with each awkward step he took.Though he'd been walking with these things for two days now, he was still unaccustomed to the movement. In all of his seventeen years, he'd never broken or sprained or maimed anything below his waist before- a result of an overprotective mother and of his reluctance to go outside with the other kids as a child. This was his first time using crutches, and for once he almost wished that he'd hurt himself before. At least then he'd have more experience with these stupid, cheap wooden sticks.

Man, he was so stupid. Tony could have made a perfectly nice birdhouse, or a coat rack, or a modest bread box. But instead, he had to be all fancy and build another treehouse. His brother had one already, but there was a strong-looking oak right next to it that inspired Tony to connect the two trees with one big tree fort. He'd spent days working on the plans, perfecting every measurement and detail, and five days ago he'd started construction. The foundation for the floor was put up, and everything seemed to be going perfectly. But then on the second day he slipped while trying to climb up to the next branch. It had rained the previous night, and the branches were still slick from the water.

Tony could remember clearly how the ground had rushed up to meet him, how it had been so soft and wet and yet so painful at the same time. He remembered how his ankle had hit the mud first, and how it had crumpled and cracked under the weight of his body, turning in a direction that he knew was unnatural. He remembered the bone, how it had protruded from the side of his foot as the wound oozed fresh warm blood. All movement in his foot had left him until the only thing remaining was the sharp, throbbing pain that seemed to immobilize his entire leg.

Tony hated himself for not deciding to build something small, like he usually did. In this plaster cast, he felt trapped, like a bird in a cage with its wings clipped- even if the cage was opened, he couldn't fly away. He couldn't escape or do anything about his situation. All Tony could do was hobble around pitifully, waiting for his foot to heal. And that's all he would be able to do for three more weeks, according to the doctor. He had cracked some kind of bone in his leg and sprained his ankle.

Usually, at this time in the evening, he'd go jogging or ride his bike, but now he couldn't. Tony was the type of guy who didn't like a big change in his schedule. He got up, ate breakfast, went to school, went out for a walk/jog, and then came home and usually built something small before dinner. Now there was this big open space in his evening where he was just supposed to do whatever the heck he wanted (besides walking, of course), and he didn't know what to do to pass the time. He only had two really good friends, and they seemed to have become very busy right when he was injured. It was so frustrating, not being able to walk. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered to get up in the morning if he wasn't able to do anything except limp around. There were so many things that he couldn't do now that he used to take for granted- riding his bike, walking to school, brushing his teeth without having to lean on anything for support. God, it made him want to hit something.

But this evening, he decided- if all he could do was limp around, then that was exactly what he would do. Despite the searing pain in his leg which increased with each step, he was still mobile, right? Tony wasn't going to let his injury ruin three weeks of his life. He was going to get out there and take a walk instead of moping around on his sofa. Tony was a man, and men didn't let petty things like broken legs hold them back.

Once the man had stepped out of the house and started walking, though, he decided maybe he wasn't all that masculine after all (you know, besides the fact that he was gay). His ankle began hurting worse than he'd thought it would, and it put him in a crappy mood again. Well, he wasn't moping around on the sofa, if that counted for anything. Instead, he found a rather inviting bench to mope around on, in the upper part of the district. Assuming his routine sulking postion, (shoulders hunched, dark curly hair in his eyes) he began his moping session.

Sighing dramatically, Tony reached into the pocket of his green hoodie and pulled out a small sketchbook. It seemed like he always carried it with him- sketching was something he did often, because he liked to have something to keep his hands busy. Usually he'd draw something that he wanted to build, but sadly, today wasn't like other days. Instead, Tony sketched a bird in flight before drawing a tight metal cage around it. It was rather depressing, really, but it matched his mood perfectly at the moment and it made him feel a little better to have an outlet for his anger. When he had finished his doodle, Tony turned the page and drew a birdhouse that looked like a castle. If only he lived in one... Then he wouldn't be bored like this.



OOC: Sorry, all my starters suck >.>

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