~What Are Bro's For?//[OPEN]
Feb 19, 2012 18:51:27 GMT -5
Post by kiah on Feb 19, 2012 18:51:27 GMT -5
[/color][/blockquote]The lie swirled up in him. Strong. Willing. This time it was going to be set free. The truth was going to stay hidden. He could feel it. But then he thought carefully. What was different about this lie? This feeling it always resulted in the same way. The truth being revealed. Hadn’t people learn yet not to trust Boston with the truth? With their valued secrets? They surely knew that he couldn’t hold it back. They surely knew that no matter how hard he tried that there secret would no longer become a secret, but gossip, or the newspaper headline. But they still insisted that he knew. There was nothing he could do about it. He just stood there and took it in. took it in like a man not that many people told him their secrets. He was a loner. But the occasional, emotionally unstable, might walk up to him, pop a squat, and gesture for him to come in close. He would, to ate to realise that they were just about to spill their most valued secret to him. Like they knew that he would keep it. When if was asked about it…
Standing in the shadows of a large tree, excluding himself from the socialising people, Boston sunk to the ground. sometimes he wished that he could just walk up to someone and say hello, without them giving him foul looks, or looks that they would usually give his brother. Sometimes, before they realised who he was, they would slap him on the back and welcome him in with open arms, like he was part of the family… but when they realised Boston was the loner brother , the animal, they would bash him, shout abuse, then walk away, screaming that the morron over there thought he could impersonate his brother. Thought he could just walk into the group and make himself at home.
“What the devils teeth do you think you’re playing at? Little loner! You should go runaway and play with someone your own size!”
“Shoo! off you wanna be! We don’t want you here! Dung head!”
The word would echo through his head. He hated his life. Not even his parents would pay any attention to him. If they even remembered they had another son. Sometimes he just wished he was never born. He wished that he could just go dig a hole and bury himself alive. Sometimes he was so tempted. He knew no one would realise. No one would at all. They would probably be happier with him gone. With him gone forever.
He felt the cool grass under him. Cool. Spongy. It was anice feeling. Boston loved this spot. Under the treen that loomed over him. In the summer he would climb it to the top. Just to get as far away from his life as he could. To escape. Even just for a couple of hours. In winter. In winter he would just sit at the base, like he is now, and watch, jealous, as the people around him went on with their lives. Lives tat he would give his own for.