07-12-2020, 06:05 AM
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—❝ SLATER ZYREK ,❞
slater did not have anxiety. he never had to deal with it. sure, he got butterflies in his stomach and overthought things sometimes, but he did not have it conditionally. he went through things with a shrug and barely a spared glance. but this? this was something new. the orphanage, both the one he knew all his life and the one he was sent to, were not like this. he was used to a controlled household, where he would be forced to do chores and all that gross stuff.
even in that holding cell.
it was not all that different from the orphanages, was it? it was controlled. he had a room. a bed. he was fed every meal. it was nothing different, but one was more scary for the traumatized boy. he was facing a serious problem that he did not cause. the punishments he'd get at the orphanages were nothing on this. they were a little slap on the wrist or a grounding, but nothing like being behind bars with cuffs on his wrists.
this was so, so much different. he was a man now, and he had a place to stay. he could make his own rules under his own roof. he still had to follow faustus and josiah, but with what he had faced, it was almost nothing to him. they were just some basic rules. he could follow basic, especially if he agreed with them.
so he stood in the doorway of the small shack he put claim on, bag on his shoulder, staring into the somewhat empty place. this was different. this was new. he wasn't sure he liked this yet. he was not used to being able to do whatever he pleased under his own roof. he could lay on the floor and no one could say no, you get up and you work.
he was sure he had to pull his own weight around here -- this wasn't exactly somewhere he could hole up in, but he was fine with working in the field with the animals. he was perfectly okay with that. he would rather clean stalls and feed animals then to clean the bathroom for the umpteenth time in that day any time someone used it. he liked this.
but it did not stop his anxiety he had never faced before to crash around him. he felt the weight on his shoulders. the bag he had slung on his right shoulder felt heavier than usual. his knees felt like jelly. he had to make it to the stairs to sit, but when he moved his leg to walk, he felt not the rush of moving forward, but the rush of moving down.
very quickly, the floor met him in an embrace he distantly recalled to the feeling of his friends' attacker's punches.
slater did not have anxiety. he never had to deal with it. sure, he got butterflies in his stomach and overthought things sometimes, but he did not have it conditionally. he went through things with a shrug and barely a spared glance. but this? this was something new. the orphanage, both the one he knew all his life and the one he was sent to, were not like this. he was used to a controlled household, where he would be forced to do chores and all that gross stuff.
even in that holding cell.
it was not all that different from the orphanages, was it? it was controlled. he had a room. a bed. he was fed every meal. it was nothing different, but one was more scary for the traumatized boy. he was facing a serious problem that he did not cause. the punishments he'd get at the orphanages were nothing on this. they were a little slap on the wrist or a grounding, but nothing like being behind bars with cuffs on his wrists.
this was so, so much different. he was a man now, and he had a place to stay. he could make his own rules under his own roof. he still had to follow faustus and josiah, but with what he had faced, it was almost nothing to him. they were just some basic rules. he could follow basic, especially if he agreed with them.
so he stood in the doorway of the small shack he put claim on, bag on his shoulder, staring into the somewhat empty place. this was different. this was new. he wasn't sure he liked this yet. he was not used to being able to do whatever he pleased under his own roof. he could lay on the floor and no one could say no, you get up and you work.
he was sure he had to pull his own weight around here -- this wasn't exactly somewhere he could hole up in, but he was fine with working in the field with the animals. he was perfectly okay with that. he would rather clean stalls and feed animals then to clean the bathroom for the umpteenth time in that day any time someone used it. he liked this.
but it did not stop his anxiety he had never faced before to crash around him. he felt the weight on his shoulders. the bag he had slung on his right shoulder felt heavier than usual. his knees felt like jelly. he had to make it to the stairs to sit, but when he moved his leg to walk, he felt not the rush of moving forward, but the rush of moving down.
very quickly, the floor met him in an embrace he distantly recalled to the feeling of his friends' attacker's punches.
TIMOTHY'S DEAD CHARACTERS