eyes pass no judgment . ele

eyes pass no judgment . ele Oct 10, 2020 13:24:40 GMT -5

Post by mat on Oct 10, 2020 13:24:40 GMT -5

Brennan Fitzgerald

They told us to dress nice today for the field trip down to the orchestra's performance. Of course, the moment I told Mom and Dad about this, they were the ones rummaging through my dresser drawers trying to pick out some of my fanciest attire. My eyes roll and arms cross whenever they look away from me after pulling a shirt out and showing it to me. I am seventeen years old, can't they trust me to pick out my own fucking clothes? They talk about their only way 'do overs' in life come from living vicariously through their children. But they only see one story, the illuminated part of the moon and all its craters. They struggle, though, to see the dark side of my life, chill to the bone and deliberately hidden away because it would hurt them too much to know the whole truth.

Mom ties my tie for me, saying that if I did it on my own, it would look messy and lopsided. But by the time I step out the door, I loosen the chokehold and throw it into the bushes in the sidewalk and trade it out for just a plain dress shirt with the top button left unbuttoned. I already gasp for a breath of life and humanity wherever I go, I don't need polyester wrapping around my throat as well.

Most kids at school seem to hate the idea of going to sit in front of an orchestra and listen to music for a few hours. To them, it is a waste of time when they could be doing more practical things that will prepare them for the workforce in a couple of years. And for others, they despise it because they'll be yelled at for talking or disrupting the performance in any way. I'm not sure I mind it, though. Dimming lights, soothing sounds, and most importantly, the only rumors floating through the air are sounds of violins gossiping through their strings as they try to upstage the first chair.

By the time our class makes it to the orchestra, we're instructed to sit wherever we would like, so long as we won't be tempted to cause a ruckus with those around us. I take a seat furthest down in the row. I wait patiently as everyone goes to sit down. One by one, the seats fill, two rows down, about five seats over, and a few kids make their way as far from the stage as possible. The closest person to me, though, is at least two seats away in any direction. Nerves perspire on my forehead. Nobody wants to be that kid, who sits alone for two hours. Even if we weren't supposed to talk (that rule has been broken a million times already,) having the aura of humanity by my side would at least be nice.

A few more minutes pass before one of the seats beside me creaks open and a person takes its place. I'm hesitant to say anything. It's not someone that I know, and barely anyone knows me. Somehow, someone sitting beside me forces the sweat on my forehead to grow. I'm such a fucking hypocrite. Anxious when people reject me, anxious when people get within inches of me. Which one is it, Brennan? Do you want social interaction, or do you just want more reasons to feel poorly about yourself?

"Hey," my words are barely a whisper. I typically follow the rules, so whenever I don't follow them, people tend to notice more than the regular rulebreakers. Instantly, though, I feel regret in saying anything at all. Maybe he just won't hear me, then I can turn my head and listen to the performance, falling into the background once again.

eyes pass no judgment . ele Oct 16, 2020 1:32:35 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Oct 16, 2020 1:32:35 GMT -5

w i l l o w .

"Ultimately I don't understand a thing
I try to do the best I can
I know you try to do the same"

He'd been to the orchestra a couple of times.

It was a favoured family outing, mainly because it was easier to look like the perfect family when they didn't have to talk to each other. Willow had loved it as a kid, all the sounds had woven stories in his head and he'd found himself lost in them. He'd always sat beside King because then his brother could lead him by the hand.

King wasn't on the school trip though and Willow was alone. That was alright, he knew the amount of steps it took to get from the lobby to seat twenty-one in row D at least. It helped that his teacher had morecare for him than his parents in that sense and when they reached the theatre, he found himself being pushed gently down the rows as his teacher called out groundrules. She deposited him beside a row and tapped on his right shoulder to signify which direction to move in. Willow was grateful, he always had been for her.

In a world where no one seemed to care about him, she'd been good enough to offer the bare minimum.

Willow decided to make it easy for himself and stepped forward carefully as the large auditorium began to go quiet, signifying the start of the performance. He moved in a few seats and then hesitated, he'd yet to hit anyone sitting already but his luck was bound to run out. It was hard to tell if anyone was nearby, Willow strained his ears to hear if there was anyone in the next seat but if there was, they were silent.

The last thing he wanted to do was make a fool of himself, if he did then he would definitely hear about it later from his parents. It seemed that the only time they had time for him was when they were telling him off.

He settled back and waited for the music to start. It was rare that his class be treated to something like this. Everyone in Three was either focused on earning the district a place among the careers or on their future career. No one had time for the arts. Willow wondered how many of his classmates would be sleeping through it all.

"Hey."

Hell, he hadn't been expecting that.

Willow blinked slowly, collecting himself, he'd missed the usual sounds of a person beside him. Usually, his spatial awareness was a bit better but maybe the large room and the sounds of the orchestra preparing had thrown him off.

"Hello," he said and turned his head towards where the greeting had come from, "I hope you don't mind me sitting beside you." Willow ran through his classmate's names in his head quickly, trying to figure out who had spoken but the hushed tone and the background noise didn't help the situation.

He offered a smile instead, hoping that would do, "I'm Willow," he said.

As if the kid didn't know his name when they'd probably been attending the same school for years.