Status: in progress
Throwing Punches
Prologue
October 12th, 2017.
Hello journal.
I found out finding out isn’t the worst part.
Lucy kept biting her lip this morning over breakfast. She gnawed on it rather than piece of what I assumed was supposed to be toast on her plate. But truth be told even though I didn’t care, I couldn’t stop from staring. She caught me eye eventually sending me one of her famous glares and tossing her wavy red hair out of her face. She’d been here longer than any of us. I guess that meant she was allowed to be a little off sometimes. It was just impossible to be perfect in a place like this.
This is Haven Yard, a small institution on the coast of Florida, down at the bottom of the peninsula in some town I’ve never known the name of. The brochure will tell you about how it’s a lovely, well-run place. It’ll tell about how you can and should send your ‘mentally troubled’ children there until they reach the mature age of 18. Haven Yard promises that if you just sign the liability release and ship your kid off they’ll be a perfect adult. Things like lawyers and doctors and even as far as one day being the president of the United States. Things that are so blatantly lies that even the said ‘troubled child’ could understand it was false advertisement. So I never blamed the convincing papers for me being here. I blamed my parents, because they had to know it wasn’t at all what it seemed.
I’d arrived at Haven when I was 7, having been starting fights in school. It wasn’t my fault really, if Billy could’ve just fucked off and found his own crayon there wouldn’t have been a damn problem. I was ushered in the door by the security, then handed to the director and put straight into what they called ‘friendship circles.’ They aren’t all that friendly. It basically just means that they’re going to put a bunch of people with different problems in one dorm in the hopes that they won’t conflict with each other. You get about, say, ten people per room usually. I was extra apparently so they just shoved me in the closest one to the end of the hall. The floors are carpeted, so I suppose that why they put words like ‘nice’ and ‘comfortable’ in the brochure. The beds had sheets too.
The walls though were made of a cold stone material that someone had painted this sickening shade of sky blue on one side, and lilac on the other. I think they were trying to use happy colors, but what retard thinks happy colors are going to help hormonal and angry teenagers? I mean lets be real, it was really dumb. Luckily you could only really pay attention to the color if you looked past the scribbles and graffiti from kids in the past who had used the art hour to be productive. Then if you were lucky enough to get your eyes away from that in the first ten minutes (because the scribbles literally went everywhere rather than just having a home in the corner) you were visually harassed by the maroon chairs and lady bug rug. Lets not miss the [most likely] unstable bunk bed either shall we? They had to bring in an extra single just to shove me in there and I didn’t even get to keep it. Jade stole it and gave me his almost the day I got there.
The entire building actually was decorated much this way, with haphazard designs and colors that made you want to rip your eyes out. Aside from the bathrooms that thankfully were tile all around. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve just hid in the shower stalls with a notebook and a pencil. That was my one strong point, art. It was easy to get lost in my mind and just sketch. I didn’t need fancy paints or markers like Gerard liked, I just needed a pencil and a piece of paper. Anyhow, there was the mess hall too, which could be interpreted pretty well just by its name. Not to mention the fact that Lucy’s dead lip skin is probably scattered on the floor now from where her teeth managed to pull it off during a nervous chew session.
Maybe if I wasn’t used to it here, that sort of thing would have bugged me, but I didn’t care. I just wouldn’t sit there tomorrow. The janitors only worked Mondays and when somebody died (because sadly [I guess] that was a common occurrence). More than once a kid had just plain gone mad. Even the hired teachers did sometimes. I remember when I was 11 my math teacher had lost it during a lesson and slapped a kid. She was fired for it, but on her way out she took down this six year old. Poor kid. Six year olds weren’t usually sent here, but the family couldn’t handle him I guess.
I wasn’t like that, hopefully. My story was just a little different. But I don’t like my story, I’ve never liked it, and I probably never will either. I think that’s why when I walked into my circle’s room that first day, I didn’t give my roomies a name; I let them come up with one. At first I had hated them, resented them. I wanted nothing to do with any of them except this girl named Jen, who died a few years back. But after about a year I think you just sort of realize that these people are the closest thing to a family you’re going to get for a long time, and that you’re best just to accept them. I even accepted the new kid when Jen died and was replaced by a redhead named Hayley (as if we really needed another redhead).
I just sat there staring at her as she looked around before inviting her onto my bunk and becoming her first, but not only friend. Hayley was really easy to get along with. She could be stubborn and she stood up for herself and her beliefs but that was part of the reason she wasn’t trampled easily. She was definitely an individual, and you’d have to have been stupid to mess with her. She wasn’t strong no, though she was in for socking a girl in the face during gym or something, but she’d easily befriended one certain Jade. Yes, the one who took my single. I mean everyone in our circle was friends, but it wasn’t inner circle bullying that Hayley would have to worry about. It was the other kids at lunch and break.
But we all had our secrets; even within the walls of Haven Yard. I can’t say anymore yet though. I can’t just get straight to the point and tell you of my last two years at Haven. I can’t just tell you about how the institute was shut down after a particularly gruesome murder and how I live now that I’m free. I can’t tell you yet how this whole thing has shaped me or anyone else yet because you need to know us. You need to understand what we went through; all of us. You need to understand why perfection is never the answer.
Hello journal.
I found out finding out isn’t the worst part.
Lucy kept biting her lip this morning over breakfast. She gnawed on it rather than piece of what I assumed was supposed to be toast on her plate. But truth be told even though I didn’t care, I couldn’t stop from staring. She caught me eye eventually sending me one of her famous glares and tossing her wavy red hair out of her face. She’d been here longer than any of us. I guess that meant she was allowed to be a little off sometimes. It was just impossible to be perfect in a place like this.
This is Haven Yard, a small institution on the coast of Florida, down at the bottom of the peninsula in some town I’ve never known the name of. The brochure will tell you about how it’s a lovely, well-run place. It’ll tell about how you can and should send your ‘mentally troubled’ children there until they reach the mature age of 18. Haven Yard promises that if you just sign the liability release and ship your kid off they’ll be a perfect adult. Things like lawyers and doctors and even as far as one day being the president of the United States. Things that are so blatantly lies that even the said ‘troubled child’ could understand it was false advertisement. So I never blamed the convincing papers for me being here. I blamed my parents, because they had to know it wasn’t at all what it seemed.
I’d arrived at Haven when I was 7, having been starting fights in school. It wasn’t my fault really, if Billy could’ve just fucked off and found his own crayon there wouldn’t have been a damn problem. I was ushered in the door by the security, then handed to the director and put straight into what they called ‘friendship circles.’ They aren’t all that friendly. It basically just means that they’re going to put a bunch of people with different problems in one dorm in the hopes that they won’t conflict with each other. You get about, say, ten people per room usually. I was extra apparently so they just shoved me in the closest one to the end of the hall. The floors are carpeted, so I suppose that why they put words like ‘nice’ and ‘comfortable’ in the brochure. The beds had sheets too.
The walls though were made of a cold stone material that someone had painted this sickening shade of sky blue on one side, and lilac on the other. I think they were trying to use happy colors, but what retard thinks happy colors are going to help hormonal and angry teenagers? I mean lets be real, it was really dumb. Luckily you could only really pay attention to the color if you looked past the scribbles and graffiti from kids in the past who had used the art hour to be productive. Then if you were lucky enough to get your eyes away from that in the first ten minutes (because the scribbles literally went everywhere rather than just having a home in the corner) you were visually harassed by the maroon chairs and lady bug rug. Lets not miss the [most likely] unstable bunk bed either shall we? They had to bring in an extra single just to shove me in there and I didn’t even get to keep it. Jade stole it and gave me his almost the day I got there.
The entire building actually was decorated much this way, with haphazard designs and colors that made you want to rip your eyes out. Aside from the bathrooms that thankfully were tile all around. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve just hid in the shower stalls with a notebook and a pencil. That was my one strong point, art. It was easy to get lost in my mind and just sketch. I didn’t need fancy paints or markers like Gerard liked, I just needed a pencil and a piece of paper. Anyhow, there was the mess hall too, which could be interpreted pretty well just by its name. Not to mention the fact that Lucy’s dead lip skin is probably scattered on the floor now from where her teeth managed to pull it off during a nervous chew session.
Maybe if I wasn’t used to it here, that sort of thing would have bugged me, but I didn’t care. I just wouldn’t sit there tomorrow. The janitors only worked Mondays and when somebody died (because sadly [I guess] that was a common occurrence). More than once a kid had just plain gone mad. Even the hired teachers did sometimes. I remember when I was 11 my math teacher had lost it during a lesson and slapped a kid. She was fired for it, but on her way out she took down this six year old. Poor kid. Six year olds weren’t usually sent here, but the family couldn’t handle him I guess.
I wasn’t like that, hopefully. My story was just a little different. But I don’t like my story, I’ve never liked it, and I probably never will either. I think that’s why when I walked into my circle’s room that first day, I didn’t give my roomies a name; I let them come up with one. At first I had hated them, resented them. I wanted nothing to do with any of them except this girl named Jen, who died a few years back. But after about a year I think you just sort of realize that these people are the closest thing to a family you’re going to get for a long time, and that you’re best just to accept them. I even accepted the new kid when Jen died and was replaced by a redhead named Hayley (as if we really needed another redhead).
I just sat there staring at her as she looked around before inviting her onto my bunk and becoming her first, but not only friend. Hayley was really easy to get along with. She could be stubborn and she stood up for herself and her beliefs but that was part of the reason she wasn’t trampled easily. She was definitely an individual, and you’d have to have been stupid to mess with her. She wasn’t strong no, though she was in for socking a girl in the face during gym or something, but she’d easily befriended one certain Jade. Yes, the one who took my single. I mean everyone in our circle was friends, but it wasn’t inner circle bullying that Hayley would have to worry about. It was the other kids at lunch and break.
But we all had our secrets; even within the walls of Haven Yard. I can’t say anymore yet though. I can’t just get straight to the point and tell you of my last two years at Haven. I can’t just tell you about how the institute was shut down after a particularly gruesome murder and how I live now that I’m free. I can’t tell you yet how this whole thing has shaped me or anyone else yet because you need to know us. You need to understand what we went through; all of us. You need to understand why perfection is never the answer.
♠ ♠ ♠
the one line is from Both Sides of the Story by We Are The In Crowd