Parker Preston Whitley | Aziraphale (parkerpwhitley) wrote in ourtrueselves, @ 2009-06-13 11:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | dominic jude, parker preston whitley |
[Narrative]
Who: Parker P Whitley, possibly Dominic Jude since it's his house too, and he's likely to come home...
What: Parker has a history of mental/psychotic breaks
Where: Parker and Dom's home, in London
When: Today. Saturday, June 13, 2009
Warnings: None.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the house. It felt like forever, felt like the walls were moving in on him and he was trapped. Frozen, there, in the corner, unable to move. Like the magic cupboard under the stairs. He'd been sent away, locked in the cupboard for spilling his milk. He hadn't spilled it on purpose, no one ever spilt their milk on purpose.
The cupboard was so warm, so hot, in the summer. He thought he was going to explode, surely he was going to explode from the heat. He took off his shirt, and used it under his head like a pillow. He couldn't see in the dark, but he kept his eyes open. He made friends with the bugs on the floor, and told them his stories. Sometimes, he recalled the stories he'd read in the light, sitting outside in the bright sunshine, wind blowing softly in his hair. Sometimes he made up his own stories about bad little boys who were thrown in the dungeons under the castle.
After a while, his eyes closed, and he fell silent. His mind took over telling the story, and the bad little boy was rescued from the dungeon. He ws whisked away on the wings of a pure white dove, and sent to live in the kingdom with other children, where sadness and fear were banished, and only laughter and fun was allowed. That was the magic, of the magic cupboard, but the magic was gone now.
The cupboard under the stairs was used for storage. In his frenzy to find the magic again, he pulled everything out. Boxes and boxes of papers, books. He didn't pay any mind what or where, he tugged the boxes out one by one, and filled the kitchen with them. The kitchen was where the milk was spilt. When the boxes were all out, and the kitchen wasn't filled, he brought books from his book shelves, to block the kitchen.
And finally, finally when he'd opened the magic cupboard and sealed off the kitchen with boxes and books, he fell to his knees, to his face on the floor. He crawled to the cupboard, and pulled himself into the cramped, damp, dirty space. He smiled at a spider creeping across the floor. "Do you hear that?" he asked, putting a hand out as if to pet the spider. "Do you hear the wings of the butterflies? There's going to be a hurricane, because of the flapping of the wings."