Status: slow progress :)
Take the Fight From the Kid
Chapter One
Snowflakes fell gracefully from the sky as if they were ballet dancers giving their final performance. The cobbled street was coated by a thin blanket of the pure powder. There wasn’t a single footprint or imperfection on the powder. The street lamps towered over the road spilling a pool of golden light over the pathways to lead people on their way home. The first footsteps were made in the snow by a young man who was transfixed by the sound of the crunching ice under his feet. His mind was all over; he couldn’t settle on a single thought. After shaking his hair like a wet mongrel to free it of the snow flakes, the teenager sat down on an icy bench to think about the past events that had left him so bewildered. The snowstorm surrounding him didn’t help him to gather his thoughts as the feeling of the cold on his face and neck that felt like an onslaught of pinpricks distracted him from his reminiscing.
Earlier that week the boy’s father had left his mother, and she’d never been the same since. Heartbroken, the mother had turned to alcohol and drug abuse whereas her son had became mute from the upset. The boy blamed himself completely for his Father leaving because in his mind he had been the reason his father had left their family. A matter of days before his Father had ran, the teen had come out as bisexual to him and he hadn’t taken it very well. It was the first time his parents had ever hit him and he’d been petrified to make his Mother react the same then hit him like his Father had.
With a sigh, the boy stood up from the bench and wiped down his skin-tight jeans from the snow. His black hair was littered with the tiny flakes but he ignored it as he shoved his ice cold hands into the pockets of his hoody and started to walk down the road. On his way back, a tall man with straight black hair bumped into him and knocked him to the floor. Gasping, the boy felt all the air being forced from his lungs. The man felt ashamed automatically and went to help the boy up, apologising profusely but he didn’t get a reply from the teen.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry I’m really clumsy… What’s your name? Mines Gerard,” The elder asked, starting to help the younger up but being curious when he didn’t get a spoken reply, just a shrug. “I’m sorry; did I make you loose your breath?” He asked again, but the younger shook his head. The man was starting to become quite worried about how this boy wouldn’t speak.
“Can you speak?” Gerard asked hesitantly to which the younger boy lowered his head and shook it. The elder felt really sorry for this boy and patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. “Most mutes get taken into care, why didn’t you? Didn’t your parents notice when you were little? Or is it recent…?” He questioned, knowing his curiosity must be annoying this kid. The boy wrote in the snow that was surrounding him, in handwriting that was barely readable, five days. The man felt his heart sink in pity for the boy; there was so much he would miss if he didn’t start to talk. Gerard was a psychiatrist and knew it wasn’t best to press into it to deep just yet, so he helped the boy to his feet and offered to take him to the hospital where he worked. Eventually, the teenager gave in and went with him to his workplace.
*****
When they arrived at the hospital, the boy was shaking helplessly with fear that showed through his eyes. Gerard helped the boy to his feet and led him into the entrance of the hospital. Inside the walls were painted a sickly shade of green and everything smelt of the same disinfectant. There was a white desk with a friendly looking woman sat behind it, who smiled and greeted Gerard upon entry. A nurse came over to Gerard pushing a wheelchair. The boy eyed it warily; he hadn’t been in a hospital for a lot of years and had never liked them. Gerard was handed a pile of forms before helping the boy into the wheelchair and taking him up to floor seven where he’d be checked over.
When they reached that floor they were lead into a small room where a friendly woman was sat behind a desk. The boy was helped up and sat opposite the woman who started asking questions, but he just stared at her blankly. She gave him a pencil which he held in a fist before writing down I IS FRANK on the paper she gave him. After that, no matter what she asked he neither wrote nor said anything. With a reluctant attitude, Frank was led up a floor to the psychiatric ward where he’d be staying. His room was number 3427 and was locked by an electronic lock which needed a six digit code to unlock it. Frank was led inside and asked to change into white slacks and a white shirt with the hospitals logo on it. The room was all white; white tiles, white walls, a small lumpy bed with no sheets and a hamper. Frank hoped he’d be allowed to make it more homely. Slowly, the teenager changed and sat down on the bed twiddling his thumbs.
Outside, Gerard was talking to the woman who’d be caring for him as they wrote up his notes. So far they had very little on the boy, all they had was: “Frank – mute – found on the streets early morning, estimated age is 14, very shy.” They were wondering what had happened to make him mute, and knew they couldn’t avoid pressing into the subject. The girl caring for him full time, Jasey, had put him on the urgent care list and Gerard was going to see him every other day for therapy. Gerard finished flicking through the file and spoke up “Can you get him an appointment at phoniatrics for tomorrow; I think I’ll do psychotherapy one day, then sign language then RT the next day. RT should give him a break from the hard stuff…” He decided before writing it down on the papers and filing them away. Jasey was fussing about how to make Frank feel more comfortable in his new arrangements.
Jasey set a batch of cookies off in the oven and started walking down the halls to find the boy she’d set Frank on the buddy system with Zacky Baker since he was really loud and could bring anyone out of their shell. Jasey opened his door and led him along to Frank’s room.
When both boys were in the same room Zacky started to talk at a million miles per hour. Frank stared at the teen like a rabbit in a truck’s headlights. Zacky stopped about twenty minutes in, stared at Frank and then caught onto the fact that he couldn’t talk. Straight after, Zacky rummaged through the hamper and pulled out a whiteboard and purple marker. He handed it to Frank so they could have a conversation.
“So you can’t speak?” Zacky asked curiously.
“I’m not sure anymore… I won’t try.” Frank wrote down in his messy script. Zacky sighed and patted Frank on the back comfortingly. Frank closed his eyes for a moment and cleaned up the board before shooing Zacky out so he could sleep. He didn’t really like it here but the people were nice so he wouldn’t fight it half as much. After climbing into bed, Frank wrapped his arms around himself to keep warm and tried his best to fall asleep, despite how scared he was. He’d never felt so alone.
Earlier that week the boy’s father had left his mother, and she’d never been the same since. Heartbroken, the mother had turned to alcohol and drug abuse whereas her son had became mute from the upset. The boy blamed himself completely for his Father leaving because in his mind he had been the reason his father had left their family. A matter of days before his Father had ran, the teen had come out as bisexual to him and he hadn’t taken it very well. It was the first time his parents had ever hit him and he’d been petrified to make his Mother react the same then hit him like his Father had.
With a sigh, the boy stood up from the bench and wiped down his skin-tight jeans from the snow. His black hair was littered with the tiny flakes but he ignored it as he shoved his ice cold hands into the pockets of his hoody and started to walk down the road. On his way back, a tall man with straight black hair bumped into him and knocked him to the floor. Gasping, the boy felt all the air being forced from his lungs. The man felt ashamed automatically and went to help the boy up, apologising profusely but he didn’t get a reply from the teen.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry I’m really clumsy… What’s your name? Mines Gerard,” The elder asked, starting to help the younger up but being curious when he didn’t get a spoken reply, just a shrug. “I’m sorry; did I make you loose your breath?” He asked again, but the younger shook his head. The man was starting to become quite worried about how this boy wouldn’t speak.
“Can you speak?” Gerard asked hesitantly to which the younger boy lowered his head and shook it. The elder felt really sorry for this boy and patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. “Most mutes get taken into care, why didn’t you? Didn’t your parents notice when you were little? Or is it recent…?” He questioned, knowing his curiosity must be annoying this kid. The boy wrote in the snow that was surrounding him, in handwriting that was barely readable, five days. The man felt his heart sink in pity for the boy; there was so much he would miss if he didn’t start to talk. Gerard was a psychiatrist and knew it wasn’t best to press into it to deep just yet, so he helped the boy to his feet and offered to take him to the hospital where he worked. Eventually, the teenager gave in and went with him to his workplace.
*****
When they arrived at the hospital, the boy was shaking helplessly with fear that showed through his eyes. Gerard helped the boy to his feet and led him into the entrance of the hospital. Inside the walls were painted a sickly shade of green and everything smelt of the same disinfectant. There was a white desk with a friendly looking woman sat behind it, who smiled and greeted Gerard upon entry. A nurse came over to Gerard pushing a wheelchair. The boy eyed it warily; he hadn’t been in a hospital for a lot of years and had never liked them. Gerard was handed a pile of forms before helping the boy into the wheelchair and taking him up to floor seven where he’d be checked over.
When they reached that floor they were lead into a small room where a friendly woman was sat behind a desk. The boy was helped up and sat opposite the woman who started asking questions, but he just stared at her blankly. She gave him a pencil which he held in a fist before writing down I IS FRANK on the paper she gave him. After that, no matter what she asked he neither wrote nor said anything. With a reluctant attitude, Frank was led up a floor to the psychiatric ward where he’d be staying. His room was number 3427 and was locked by an electronic lock which needed a six digit code to unlock it. Frank was led inside and asked to change into white slacks and a white shirt with the hospitals logo on it. The room was all white; white tiles, white walls, a small lumpy bed with no sheets and a hamper. Frank hoped he’d be allowed to make it more homely. Slowly, the teenager changed and sat down on the bed twiddling his thumbs.
Outside, Gerard was talking to the woman who’d be caring for him as they wrote up his notes. So far they had very little on the boy, all they had was: “Frank – mute – found on the streets early morning, estimated age is 14, very shy.” They were wondering what had happened to make him mute, and knew they couldn’t avoid pressing into the subject. The girl caring for him full time, Jasey, had put him on the urgent care list and Gerard was going to see him every other day for therapy. Gerard finished flicking through the file and spoke up “Can you get him an appointment at phoniatrics for tomorrow; I think I’ll do psychotherapy one day, then sign language then RT the next day. RT should give him a break from the hard stuff…” He decided before writing it down on the papers and filing them away. Jasey was fussing about how to make Frank feel more comfortable in his new arrangements.
Jasey set a batch of cookies off in the oven and started walking down the halls to find the boy she’d set Frank on the buddy system with Zacky Baker since he was really loud and could bring anyone out of their shell. Jasey opened his door and led him along to Frank’s room.
When both boys were in the same room Zacky started to talk at a million miles per hour. Frank stared at the teen like a rabbit in a truck’s headlights. Zacky stopped about twenty minutes in, stared at Frank and then caught onto the fact that he couldn’t talk. Straight after, Zacky rummaged through the hamper and pulled out a whiteboard and purple marker. He handed it to Frank so they could have a conversation.
“So you can’t speak?” Zacky asked curiously.
“I’m not sure anymore… I won’t try.” Frank wrote down in his messy script. Zacky sighed and patted Frank on the back comfortingly. Frank closed his eyes for a moment and cleaned up the board before shooing Zacky out so he could sleep. He didn’t really like it here but the people were nice so he wouldn’t fight it half as much. After climbing into bed, Frank wrapped his arms around himself to keep warm and tried his best to fall asleep, despite how scared he was. He’d never felt so alone.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hi! :) New story, Duckie x