r i m s h o t }} sunny

Autumn Flinn --

He’d done it again last night. But then, I’d expected it, after all I’d waited for him. He’d come home late, past midnight eyes glassy, body swaying slightly from left to right. His steps were uneven his movements as uncoordinated as a dog walking on two legs. When he spoke to Autumn each word carried that familiar slur that glued itself to the words of a drunk person. At first Autumn had tried to snap, he’d tried to be angry at the drunk boy. After all he had forgotten to help that night, just like he’d promised. But once Ender had fallen face first onto the floor his anger had dissolved and he’d rushed over unwilling to let the older boy hurt himself more than he was. He’d dragged the boy to his feet, pulling him up before helping him stumble to his bed. It was something he always ended up doing, there were moments when he hated it, but in the end he was always happy. He cared for a group of boys that had become his family and as much as Ender annoyed him he couldn’t stay angry at him for more than a few fleeting moments. It was how it went.

Sleep had been a difficult fight that night after tucking Ender into bed, and in the end Autumn lay on his bed eyes wide and staring at the roof above him. Sleep was a commodity that seemed to be so very expensive, on the nights where he got more than one or two hours he was pestered by an onslaught of vivid dreams and nightmares that often ended with hallucinations. It was just one of the many side effects of the drug he kept hidden.

They don’t know about it. I’ll keep it that way, I’m the parent. I’m the carer. They can't know. I need to protect them.

Ender was an emotional and physical wreck, but then so was Autumn. The fine muscles that had once layered his arms, legs and torso were wasting away every day, it wasn’t that he was going to miss them; he just missed the strength that came with them. Ever since he had begun with the Valium he’d slowly lost more and more of his strength, the things he could once do becoming more and more difficult. He still had muscle enough, but it was fleeing him and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before it was gone forever. It was disturbing to know that one day he’d be just skin and bone. Most people in district one reached that resemblance when they were old and wrinkly, but Autumn could feel it creeping up in him like a disease. It would come for him in a few years’ time, maybe ten, maybe twenty, but it would be there before the wrinkles could set in, before his skin could age and before he could live a life he had never been able to live. It was a nightmare festering in his mind.

Today was different, though, his dark thoughts were unusually quiet. Today he sat beside his guitar, his hands fiddling numbly with the pick that lay clasp between two of his fingers. His eyes continuously travelled to the path in front of him -the stairs to the bedrooms upstairs just to his left- expecting at any moment that Ver might pop up. That boy was a mess, just like a large number of the boys in the house. Sometimes Autumn felt like it was his fault, as though he wasn’t doing enough to protect them. They all deserved better, none of them deserved what they had, and the boys like Ver who had the drug addictions were the most worrying, Autumn knew Ver's past was dark and sinister, and he knew that the boy relied heavily on his doses of heroin. It’s sad. I can’t stop them, though. Just like Ender never listens neither will they. He could hardly expect them to, it would be very hypocritical of him. Oh, but they don’t know about my little dependency on Valium.

Ver was late, but then in all honesty Autumn had never expected him to arrive on time. Stifling a yawn Autumn picked up his old guitar, drawing it into his hands and feeling the way it warmed to the touch of his skin. It’s not a cold touch, at least. I’m not dead yet. Pounding feet greeted him and his hands stiffened automatically around the guitar, before relaxing as he relaised who it was. He loved the way it felt in his hands and he loved the music that could come from it. Glancing upwards he watched as Ver raced down the stairs his hands clasped around two old, battered sticks. ”Autumn? You ready?” Ver called. Autumn gave him a small smile, suddenly he was eager to put aside his darker thoughts. ”Definitely. Where did you want to start, Ver?”

And Autumn tried. He tried desperately to not care that Ver was shaking ever so slightly, that his skin was paler than normal, and that his eyes craved their relief. Their my family. He thought. Yet he bit his tongue and awaited Ver’s reply.

I built my life like my bike on a rigid frame
So nothing bends it only breaks into pieces and pieces
I waited for hope to arrive but it never came
Leaving me with only pain inside
I'm going off the deep end

Autumn Flinn --

As always he took upon himself the position of caring for the younger people around him. Back at home it had become a task he had hated. His younger siblings had rejected any form of nurturing, any form of care that he might offer them. They saw themselves as heroes, brave little soldiers that didn’t need no help from anyone, not even their parents. And maybe that independence was a good thing, but for children so young he could only see it as a way of them getting lost, slipping off of the track and making mistakes that lead them to the inevitable end that he had suffered. Even when he had reached endpoint his parents had not even noticed, instead they had become fixated on the next best thing, his younger siblings, but then they were all gone, ended and battered, bruised and bleeding would they finally notice that they had lost three children all because they wanted victors – children to fight and kill others? Maybe that was why he always found a way back to the house. He always walked back up that sinister driveway, to the front door and into the confines of a nightmare. Autumn’s parents never seemed to notice his disappearance and re-appearance, after all they had their two dawning superstars to take up all their time.

He didn’t care anymore.

There was no reason to give a damn; he had gotten, in the end, what he wanted. He had independence, he had freedom, he had no one telling him how to live his life. No gruelling, painful training sessions to end the day, no ruthless, hard, cruel coaches to tell him how much of a failure he was. He had his Valium, his guitar and his life and in the end he was happy with that. The reason he strode back into that house had first come down to the fact that his Lost Boy’s and Ender needed food and they needed money. None of them came from good, charming homes that would just toss coins at them, except for Autumn.

He’d go in grab lots of money before dashing out. It became a routine, every fortnight he’d run back in, trying his best to ignore the ache in his chest as he ran past everything he had wanted in a life. Some nights he’d hear his parent’s laugh, others he’d stop and listen as they praised their two sons, telling them just how proud they would make the family one day. It sickened him, and slowly his stys became a tad bit longer as he watched, waiting for that day that one of his siblings would break. They’d get lost eventually and he’d catch them and take them in as soon as they did. But even without his brother’s to worry about he had another group of kids he had to care for. As Ver dragged Autumn’s attention back to the guitar in hand he couldn’t help, but give a small sad smile. He was destined to fail it this job. He knew it, he was sure everybody knew it. He couldn’t even prevent Ver from taking heroine; he couldn’t stop Ender from taking Cocaine, let alone halt his need on Valium. This job was just turning more impossible by the day, the signs of the drugs was so clear on the boy’s face, it was impossible to miss and yet Autumn continued to ignore it, finger’s lightly tapping the strings on his guitar.

”Whichever one you want to start with is fine with me.”

Smiling he gripped his guitar tighter, before drawing it up and to his side, angling it so that Ver could see it. “Alright then, I guess we’ll start with the guitar.” He gently tapped each string, pausing after each one, listening to the sound it made. As he hit the fourth one he frowned, placing the pick in his mouth, he motioned with a hand for Ver to come closer. “Hear that? Compared to the other sounds this one seems out of place. It means that the cord has stretched – it is why you tune a guitar before you use it, because sometimes the strings move.” He mumbled the words out past the pick in his mouth. He then pulled the guitar down, finger running along the string, before ending at the tip of the guitar. Pointing to the head, he indicated a small knob on the left side, right at the bottom. “See this here, we turn it this way, each time checking that the adjustment gives you the right sound. It isn’t real hard, it mainly focuses on the fact that you need to be able to hear if it sounds correct.” After he finished adjusting it, he tugged the pic out of his mouth. He pushed the guitar over to Ver, the last few strings still needed to be tuned. ”You have an ear for music, so give it a go.”

I built my life like my bike on a rigid frame
So nothing bends it only breaks into pieces and pieces
I waited for hope to arrive but it never came
Leaving me with only pain inside
I'm going off the deep end