at the best of times : tom

[Raseri]

I am, very often, an idiot.

It doesn’t matter that I’ve gotten exceptional grades in school for my entire life. It doesn’t matter that I’m the only seventeen-year-old architect I know, or that I can solve complicated math problems within seconds. It doesn’t matter that my intelligence is considered to be high above average, or that I can build a bird house with my eyes closed, or that I’m such a perfectionist that I have to take exactly five steps to the refrigerator before I allow myself to open it. Because in reality, having an IQ of 145 only counts for something when you use those 145 points to make intelligent life decisions, such as whether or not to go walking outside on an overcast afternoon with a screwed-up leg and no umbrella. Hmm, that sounds like a spectacular idea, Tony! Let’s do that!

My cast had been off for almost week now, but the one thing the doctors don’t tell you about losing those things is that you don’t lose all the pain along with them; it sticks around to haunt you for a little while longer. That’s why I went out that afternoon, trying to get back into the walking routine that I had allowed to falter after I’d broken my leg—because no one had cared to warn me that every time my foot hit the sidewalk, it was going to hurt like a bitch from the knee down. Of course, this didn’t start happening until about twenty minutes into my afternoon stroll, after I was far enough away from my house to know that the sweet salvation of my living room couch was twenty minutes away. For a while, I’d tried to endure the throbbing pain in my leg and finish my route, thinking that it would get better if I walked it out; however, this was no common bruise, nothing like getting kicked in the shin during a childhood game of street soccer. Eventually, I had to turn around and walk back home.

I took a shortcut down one of those back roads people always forget about, thinking it would make things easier, because I am, very often, an idiot. I thought that I would have at least the slightest idea of where I was going, since I had taken various shortcuts multiple times before, but I was wrong (Did I mention that I’m an idiot?). Needless to say, I became hopelessly lost, and my only hope of finding my way back home appeared to be a boy that was holy shit getting beat up by four giants holy shit.

I should have kept to myself. I should have ignored the entire scene and kept walking, deciding to trust myself enough to find my way home. But something about seeing that boy on the ground, being kicked and surrounded by four bigger guys, awakened a sort of empathetic anger in me, a part of me that still burned in silent hatred of the once-forgotten bullies that had tainted the memories of my early teenage years. I had been that kid before, I reflected as I continued to walk down the road like the imbecile I was, the pain in my leg momentarily forgotten. Honestly, I had no idea what I was going to do once I got closer; I was definitely not a fighter. I thought about throwing a rock at one of those brutes' heads, but that probably wouldn't accomplish much, unless I wanted my head smashed in. Then my hand strayed to my pocket, to the reason that I didn't have to deal with those sorts of kids anymore, and I could have slapped myself for not thinking about it sooner.

My heart was beating like a hummingbird's wings by the time my good knee connected with the first boy's crotch--this was one of the only methods of self-defense I was good at, and I wanted to get the group's attention. Immediately, he buckled over, and the look of confusion on his face was soon replaced with one of pain as I squeezed the trigger on the small can of pepper spray in front of his eyes and then the others'. "A woman's weapon," my father called it--and maybe he was right, but regardless it seemed to be working, as all four boys were howling and clutching their faces. The nice thing about pepper spray is that once it has come into contact with your skin, the only thing you can think about is the fire that is slowly slipping into every opening there is to offer. I hope it hurts as much as he probably does, I thought spitefully, holding out my hand and hurriedly helping the poor, bruised boy off the ground. "Come on," I hissed at him, almost whispering although we were outdoors and I had every right to use my outside voice.

I assumed we didn't have much time before those assholes would be able to see us again, so I pulled the boy behind me at a hurried pace that was almost a jog and ducked into some alley so they wouldn't know which way we'd gone. Once I felt more confident that they weren't gonna come after us, I allowed myself to slow down. There weren't any park benches in sight, so I plopped down on the edge of the sidewalk so I could catch my breath, letting go of the boy's hand (which I hadn't realized I was holding). My leg was throbbing with pain, but since I was in the presence of another human being, I made a conscious decision not to clutch it in pain like a wuss. All in all, though, things could have been worse. At least it wasn't raining yet.

The realization of what I had just accomplished eventually hit me. "What," I breathed, my eyes as wide as they could go, "the hell just..." I trailed off as my eyes drifted to to boy beside me, scanning him for any bad injuries. "Are you okay?"

thinking, speaking, doing, hearing, other

[/size][/center][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

Speaking , Thinking , Hearing , Writing

Jasper had went on his own like any other morning. He had made his way to the shop that sold cheap parts for most things. He searched through and could not find the one part he needed for the damn watch. He sighed and made his way back down the alley. The alley was the only buffer zone that gave anyone a chance to talk to him, but rarely anyone ends up in the alley that leads to the orphanage. He took a turn and ended up on the street heading towards the orphanage, that he would soon have to leave. He would be homeless when he had to leave there. He would be alone and no one would want him at his age now anyways. He was supposed to be out of there already, but he had worked there, so they allowed him to stay, but soon he was going to have to leave.

That's when they came. The pricks. They always beat on Jasper because they are bored or that they like to hurt orphans. Jasper tried avoiding them, but they had walked faster to catch up with him. Jasper threw his fist at one, but they easily dodged it. That's when they pummeled him.

It was always like this. He was always getting himself into trouble with these boys. They would beat him until he had so many bruises on himself. He had it coming though. He was the worst twin. He was the twin the parents didn't need. No one wanted him. It hurt that no one has ever wanted him. He was alone in the cruel world. The only company he had was his tools and parts. He still needed a part for the watch. He was unlucky though. He had been walking back when the boys jumped him. His eyes stare at the street as blow after blow hit his stomach, back, chest, and anywhere else the guys can hit.

Jasper held his hands out trying to soften the blows, but it was not working. The pain exhausted him. Then he noticed the feeling of them stopping. Jasper stared up and saw a boy or a man. Jasper couldn't really tell who it was. The man had a spray that had a label, but Jasper couldn't read it. That's when he realized it was pepper spray. Jasper smiled at the can as the man sprayed it into the teenagers that were kicking him. Jasper smiled happily that the teenagers were getting what they deserved. Jasper got up. That's when the man who was helping Jasper kicked one in the balls. Jasper enjoyed watching the pricks get what they deserved. He had fallen though, but the man helped him up off the ground. Jasper smiled at the guy. That's when the man's voice filled the air. "Come on,"

Jasper felt the man grab his hand and jog around a corner here and there back into the alley Jasper had just came from. Jasper's head and body throbbed as they ran, once they stopped Jasper began to pant a bit from not being as fast as the guy who had helped him out of that mess. Jasper sat down next to the guy who had saved him from being beaten until he was black and blue. Jasper finally let go of the guy's hand. He watched as the guy's eyes wandered over his body making Jasper feel self conscious now. The man's voice said something, but Jasper wasn't paying attention. He was looking at the an watching him. He had curly brown hair and some stubble. Jasper couldn't look away. Then he looked at the guy's eyes. Jasper saw pain shroud them and Jasper knew the man was in pain somewhere. He couldn't tell where, but the man was hurt. The man then asked Jasper a question.

"Are you okay?"

Jasper chuckled, but stopped. Of course he wasn't ok. He had just been kicked until he was black and blue, but he was used to it by now. He stared at the man who had stopped the fighting. The man seemed worried for Jasper. Jasper frowned at the guy, no one should feel bad for him. He was the twin no one wanted. He was the one everyone disliked. So why would this guy help him. Jasper snapped out of his trance. He lied in a calm and assuring voice.

"I'm Fine. Are you ok? Thank you by the way..... I'm Jasper. Jasper Veeder."

Jasper smiled at the man. He reached his hand out to shake the man's hand. He watched the man would had saved him from being beaten to a pulp. He respected the man now for helping a kid in trouble.


(Sorry that its shorter than your post D:)

[Raseri]

“I’m fine. Are you ok? Thank you by the way… I’m Jasper. Jasper Veeder.” Jasper, I repeated in my head. I liked the name; it had a bit of a snap to it. He held out a long, bony hand, and I shook it. It was a surprisingly firm handshake considering most people in District 3 weren’t that strong, and it made me wonder why he hadn’t tried to hit one of those boys back. Then again, he might have tried before I had found him, not to mention he had been outnumbered four to one.

”I’m Tony,” I replied. ”Nice to meet you, Jasper.”

The formalities had been established, and now I found myself at a loss for words. I occupied myself by scanning Jasper for injuries again—he was bruised pretty badly, but at least nothing seemed to be broken. I noticed that he was really muscular, with toned biceps and strong legs, and I wondered if he worked out. My eyes drifted to his face—his strong jaw line, his high cheekbones, his thick eyebrows, and those sparkling eyes that seemed to almost pierce right through me. Dark brown, like Dragan’s.

Like Dragan’s were, I corrected myself, tearing my eyes away from the boy's face--it looked too much like his face. A lump had formed in my throat, and I coughed, trying to get rid of it. It almost worked.

I patted the patch of sidewalk next to me, gesturing for him to sit there. It made me uncomfortable when people stood over me, and I wasn't about to stand up just yet. My leg hurt too much for that.

”So, um…” I begin when he sits down, my voice cracking slightly. I clear my throat. ”Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”

thinking, speaking, doing, hearing, other

[/size][/center][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

Speaking , Thinking , Hearing , Writing

”I’m Tony, Nice to meet you, Jasper.”

Jasper smiled at Tony who sat on the curb not getting up. Jasper stared at the guy as he shook his hand. Jasper felt something weird in his stomach. He had no clue what it was. He pulled his hand away quite swiftly and smiled trying not to upset Tony. The feeling just disappeared after that. Jasper smiled at Tony.

Tony is still a stranger though. Strangers were always bad, but Jasper's mother had always said that one day a stranger may take him away and that's when she had left him at the orphanage. Tony was a nice stranger, one who helps people, but some are evil and beat people until they're black and blue.

Jasper saw Tony pat the spot next to him offering him to sit down. Jasper followed instantly wanting to know more about Tony. Tony seemed to be an interesting person. Jasper moved slowly downwards, but slipped and fell flat on his butt. He sighed in pain a bit, but turned towards Tony. That's when Tony decided to speak.

”So, um… Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”

Jasper's heart sank a bit. He was always kicked around and pushed. Jasper was a freak. A loser. No one ever really cared about him and most people laughed when he was getting hit. No one stood up for him, well except Tony now. Most people walked by without caring.

Jasper took a deep breath so his voice wouldn't crack or break on him. He spoke in a sad voice with a frown on his face.

"Yeah... it does happen a lot. It started after I said I was.... well a orphan.... Plus I am a tinkerer... I am useless anyways. It doesn't matter. Thanks for helping though.... No one has ever helped me. I mean why help someone as pathetic as me...."

[Raseri]

When Jasper took a deep breath, the corners of his mouth tilting downwards, I could tell he was trying not to cry. I knew the feeling--trying to look strong when all you wanted to do was let the tears go. But when things like that happened, when you felt that helpless and weak, you began to look for things you could control. Like the lump in your throat, and the tears threatening at your eyes. You blink and you breathe and you swallow real hard, and you're okay.

"Yeah... it does happen a lot," he said, afterwards proceeding to tell me he was an orphan, and a tinkerer. It made me feel kind of selfish, honestly. Because here was this kid being beaten black and blue by four hulking dudes just because he was an orphan, and I had been worrying about a stupid broken leg--a clean break too, something that would heal and go away and be fine. At least I wasn't bruised all over. At least I had parents, and a home of my own.

"I am useless anyways. It doesn't matter. Thanks for helping, though... No one has ever helped me. I mean, why help someone as pathetic as me..." he asked, trailing off.

"Stop it," I cut him off suddenly, surprising myself. The silence that followed seemed to last an hour, although it really couldn't have been longer than a few seconds. I cleared my throat and elaborated. "I mean, don't say that. You're not useless, and you're not pathetic." I paused, realizing the words sounded empty, like I was reading them from a script. In a way, I suppose I was, right? Isn't that what anyone would say to a kid that was talking about how he was useless and pathetic? I couldn't justify what I had said; I couldn't tell him how I knew he wasn't worthless, because I barely knew the guy. But I did know how he felt, and I wanted to help.

"When I was little," I began, "My mom used to say the world was like a big machine, and every person was a part that the machine needed in order to work." Yeah, that sounded like a good thing to say. "So you've got to have some kind of use, or you wouldn't be alive, right?" I put a hand on his shoulder, and then took it off after a few seconds, afraid Jasper might be uncomfortable.

thinking, speaking, doing, hearing, other

[/size][/center][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]