Post by Macy Deltine on Apr 21, 2008 18:51:07 GMT
((Okay, this is set a few years ago, when Steve was around 12 and still lived in Yonkers. I want to right more about his past, so here we go...))
Sunny Mount Home, New Jersey, 13th May, 2004
A young boy walked up the steps of a large building that was hidden away from a main road by lots of trees. A hat was pulled down over his face, covering his hair, and parts of his eyes, but he seemed to know where he was going. He entered the building and walked up to the front desk where a woman in her mid-thirties sat, with her blond hair tied back and wearing too much eye shadow. She looked up the boy as he entered.
"I'm here to see Olivia Ritzski, please." He asked. The woman looked at him, up and down, and blow a bubble of the gum she was chewing.
"What relation are you to her?" she asked, in a very bored voice.
"I'm her son. Where's Virginia?" He asked, looking around her.
"She's on lunch. Can I see some ID, please?"
"Where's Virginia? I want to talk to her." He said, tapping his finger on the desk.
"I already told ya! She's on lunch. Who are you here for?" She asked, making him slightly angry at her.
"I already told ya! Olivia Ritzski. I'm her son, and I'd like to talk to Virginia." He said again, and finally the woman turned around and leaned her head around the open door behind her and called for Virginia. A few minutes another woman came out and saw him.
"Steve! Your mom's in the art and crafts room. Do you want to see her?" She asked, in a nice voice. Steve nodded and then followed her though another door, down a corridor into a small room, with a few people sitting at tables, wearing hospital gowns and cutting out paper, with a tanned man directing them, holding up a ready made card.
He immediately saw his mother sitting in the corner, on the floor, wearing an apron splatted in paint. She was leaning over a large canvas, while painting an abstract picture. Steve quietly sat down beside her, and watched her for a minute. She glanced up at him, and handed him a paintbrush. He began to follow his mother in painting the large portrait.
They had both seemed to have been lost in time, while a nurse came over to them, and tapped Steve on his shoulder saying that he had to go. He looked at his mother desperately, but she looked at him and smiled softly. He stood up, and she stood with him, and before he could go, she took him and hugged him tightly, holding him close to her body. Finally he was let go, and was made to leave her.
When he arrived back at his dad's apartment, after the two train rides to get back from Jersey, he entered to an empty house. He took off his hat, and threw it on the couch , and shook his head so his short hair could get some air though it. He glanced into the mirror, at his black hair, and horrible dark circles around his eyes. He didn't want to look at his reflection any longer, and collapsed on the couch, and lay down. He felt awful. He was hungry, but he dad had spent all the grocery money on more drugs, he felt dirty, but the water was always cold, as they hadn't paid the gas bill, he felt so alone, but he didn't have anyone to go to.
He didn't have anyone.
He had no friends. No-one in his school liked him. He had no family. All he had was some people who were related to him, who would shout at him, and hit him. He held his stomach, the bruises that he had received when his uncles had come around to watch the Yankees vs. The Texas Rangers, and the Yankees lost.
He felt like nothing. He was nothing. He had nothing, and did nothing, and was nothing.
The pain from it all was too much for him, and he wanted to just slid of the couch and fall into oblivion. Infact he did slid off, but when he opened his sore eyes, he was staring at the dirty ceiling of the same apartment. His head hurt from all of his thoughts, and he felt like he was going to explode. Instead of him, though, he felt some of his energy being released by exploding something, probably an empty beer bottle, near his feet. A shard of glass sliced though his leg, and he swore bitterly. He swore because he deserved it. He was cut because he didn't deserve to live. To drain the world of it's resources that better people needed. He stood up, feeling dizzy, and staggered into the dirty bathroom.
He looked in the mirror at the person staring at him. At the horrible, skinny, dirty boy. His eyes that were bloodshot after never sleeping, and black and red rims, from when he was crying there. And his stupid freakish hair that kept changing to his mood. Freakin' mood hair!
He was a freak.
He was a freak.
He was a freak who didn't deserve to live. Who didn't need to live.
He would never be loved and he could never love.
Steve opened the cupboard above the sink, and took everything that was in there. His own medication, his mother's, aspirin, cough medicine, anything. He took a deep breath, trying to think about anything to live for. Part of him wanted to live, and was trying to fight.
School? No. Friends? No way. Family? Uh-uh. Mom. Would she be okay without him? He didn't know. But then again, he would never know.
Things will get better.. No they won't. Yes, they will. Just wait.. I'm done waiting, I'm going to go now.
He poured out the pills onto the counter, and picked up a handful and swallowed, washing them down with a can of stale Root Beer. His stomach clenched as it was overloaded with all of it. His body tried to fight back, making him sick in the toilet. When he knew he could handle no more, Steve collapsed on the cold, dirty floor, covered in his sick. He felt his body ache, as it began to go crazy with the overdose of all the pills.
Maybe someone will find me. He thought, and heard in the distance, someone opening the door of the bathroom and screaming. He felt himself being shaken, but his body wouldn't respond.
At least he wouldn't die alone.
Sunny Mount Home, New Jersey, 13th May, 2004
A young boy walked up the steps of a large building that was hidden away from a main road by lots of trees. A hat was pulled down over his face, covering his hair, and parts of his eyes, but he seemed to know where he was going. He entered the building and walked up to the front desk where a woman in her mid-thirties sat, with her blond hair tied back and wearing too much eye shadow. She looked up the boy as he entered.
"I'm here to see Olivia Ritzski, please." He asked. The woman looked at him, up and down, and blow a bubble of the gum she was chewing.
"What relation are you to her?" she asked, in a very bored voice.
"I'm her son. Where's Virginia?" He asked, looking around her.
"She's on lunch. Can I see some ID, please?"
"Where's Virginia? I want to talk to her." He said, tapping his finger on the desk.
"I already told ya! She's on lunch. Who are you here for?" She asked, making him slightly angry at her.
"I already told ya! Olivia Ritzski. I'm her son, and I'd like to talk to Virginia." He said again, and finally the woman turned around and leaned her head around the open door behind her and called for Virginia. A few minutes another woman came out and saw him.
"Steve! Your mom's in the art and crafts room. Do you want to see her?" She asked, in a nice voice. Steve nodded and then followed her though another door, down a corridor into a small room, with a few people sitting at tables, wearing hospital gowns and cutting out paper, with a tanned man directing them, holding up a ready made card.
He immediately saw his mother sitting in the corner, on the floor, wearing an apron splatted in paint. She was leaning over a large canvas, while painting an abstract picture. Steve quietly sat down beside her, and watched her for a minute. She glanced up at him, and handed him a paintbrush. He began to follow his mother in painting the large portrait.
They had both seemed to have been lost in time, while a nurse came over to them, and tapped Steve on his shoulder saying that he had to go. He looked at his mother desperately, but she looked at him and smiled softly. He stood up, and she stood with him, and before he could go, she took him and hugged him tightly, holding him close to her body. Finally he was let go, and was made to leave her.
When he arrived back at his dad's apartment, after the two train rides to get back from Jersey, he entered to an empty house. He took off his hat, and threw it on the couch , and shook his head so his short hair could get some air though it. He glanced into the mirror, at his black hair, and horrible dark circles around his eyes. He didn't want to look at his reflection any longer, and collapsed on the couch, and lay down. He felt awful. He was hungry, but he dad had spent all the grocery money on more drugs, he felt dirty, but the water was always cold, as they hadn't paid the gas bill, he felt so alone, but he didn't have anyone to go to.
He didn't have anyone.
He had no friends. No-one in his school liked him. He had no family. All he had was some people who were related to him, who would shout at him, and hit him. He held his stomach, the bruises that he had received when his uncles had come around to watch the Yankees vs. The Texas Rangers, and the Yankees lost.
He felt like nothing. He was nothing. He had nothing, and did nothing, and was nothing.
The pain from it all was too much for him, and he wanted to just slid of the couch and fall into oblivion. Infact he did slid off, but when he opened his sore eyes, he was staring at the dirty ceiling of the same apartment. His head hurt from all of his thoughts, and he felt like he was going to explode. Instead of him, though, he felt some of his energy being released by exploding something, probably an empty beer bottle, near his feet. A shard of glass sliced though his leg, and he swore bitterly. He swore because he deserved it. He was cut because he didn't deserve to live. To drain the world of it's resources that better people needed. He stood up, feeling dizzy, and staggered into the dirty bathroom.
He looked in the mirror at the person staring at him. At the horrible, skinny, dirty boy. His eyes that were bloodshot after never sleeping, and black and red rims, from when he was crying there. And his stupid freakish hair that kept changing to his mood. Freakin' mood hair!
He was a freak.
He was a freak.
He was a freak who didn't deserve to live. Who didn't need to live.
He would never be loved and he could never love.
Steve opened the cupboard above the sink, and took everything that was in there. His own medication, his mother's, aspirin, cough medicine, anything. He took a deep breath, trying to think about anything to live for. Part of him wanted to live, and was trying to fight.
School? No. Friends? No way. Family? Uh-uh. Mom. Would she be okay without him? He didn't know. But then again, he would never know.
Things will get better.. No they won't. Yes, they will. Just wait.. I'm done waiting, I'm going to go now.
He poured out the pills onto the counter, and picked up a handful and swallowed, washing them down with a can of stale Root Beer. His stomach clenched as it was overloaded with all of it. His body tried to fight back, making him sick in the toilet. When he knew he could handle no more, Steve collapsed on the cold, dirty floor, covered in his sick. He felt his body ache, as it began to go crazy with the overdose of all the pills.
Maybe someone will find me. He thought, and heard in the distance, someone opening the door of the bathroom and screaming. He felt himself being shaken, but his body wouldn't respond.
At least he wouldn't die alone.