Pyro (controlledburn) wrote in genome_project, @ 2010-05-01 22:47:00 |
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Current mood: | crappy |
Entry tags: | may 2010 |
Who: Sam (Solo)
When: Saturday evening.
What: Certain lines are crossed
Rating: R
Warnings: This solo contains references to self harming and hints at emotional abuse so please do not click if you are in any way sensitive to such subjects or simply don't want to read this sort of thing!
OOC Note: Black eye is a result of another fight that Sam got into, he's good at that.
It was about one in the morning and whilst the rest of the town slept a restless soul in the form of one Samuel Young did what he did best: broke and entered the now empty grounds of the island’s high school, feet finding his way to the bleachers he inhabited on a semi-daily basis.
His weight was rested and then hunched forward, hood up, face barely visible and hands curled in on themselves before the long lengths unfurled and sought out his Zippo.
There had been another unsuccessful conversation between Sam and his supposed parents about his report card and how it just wasn’t good enough, like they cared. Apparently they had when they’d clasped eyes on his card and the littering of poor grades and despairing remarks of his teachers.
It had started as normal and then escalated as tempers frayed and then everything changed, the dynamic shifted, it wasn’t the same. The words were stronger, hit harder, went deeper.
The sharp metallic click of a lighter opening seemed to echo around the empty bleachers, the only light source being the orange of the flame, flickering in the cool night breeze. Sam watched it for the longest time possible before he ran the very tip of the flame over the pad of an index finger to start with.
It hurt, burned to be more exact, but there was a certain… rush, a feeling of accomplishment, a sense of right and there was no stopping the flame’s movement. It wasn’t until every fingertip was burned a sickening shade of red that the flame ceased, the grip around it far more shaky than it had been at the start.
Sam’s breaths were short and shallow and his eyes may or may not have been burning with tears he absolutely refused to let fall. One hand was a mess, but oddly enough he just didn’t care, not when it felt like a release, a way to get all those mixed up feelings of hurt, self loathing, pain and rejection out of his system and into the physical world.
All he could hear were their words around his head, taunting him to the point of homicidal rage, only not, they were his parents and there were some lines you just didn’t cross.
It was only as Sam lifted his head and the light of the flame caught his face that the first traces of a bruise around his right eye could be seen.
Some lines weren’t meant to be crossed, but sometimes it happened.