Title: Composing Ink
Author: Silent Invictus
Warnings: Mentioning of rape, self mutilation, angst, yaoi (BL) (Don't worry... it's not to bad).
A/N: This is a story that I started a while ago, on Fictionpress there is the sequel, but I haven’t finished this one. I was in the middle of writing the other story when this one demanded to be written. Enjoy!
How did I ever end up here? Here… in this bloody truck so fucking far from the only place I had ever known as home? Thinking back on it, maybe I should have done things differently. Maybe I should have paid attention to the rules, or done things the way they were expected. Why oh why did I have to end up like this?
I miss my mother. I hope she’s all right. I wonder where my younger brother and sister are? Are they safe? Are they happy where they are? I may be 13 but they’re so young compared to me. Mother told me to keep them safe, but how can I do that if I don’t know where they are?
The rain that falls around us, pounding a tattoo on the windshield seems to me a mirror of what I feel inside. How depressed does that sound? I wish I could cry, but I have a reputation to uphold. Tough guy. Badass. Stone. Never changing, never anything but the same void emotion.
My name is Andrew Caliari. I’m an orphan. Well, I guess what I mean to say is that no one wants me. My mother is still alive, but gone from my life. Everyone that tried to take me in sent me back. Like an unwanted object. I know it’s because I was horrible… but I still did it. I pushed them away before I could get attached.
What can I say about myself other than I must be crazy for writing in this stupid journal? Sister Clair gave it to me… and I guess that I don’t want to upset her… I might as well write something it in before I burn it. There’s no point in keeping a journal that I’m never going to use.
What to say, what to say… I guess I like music and have been told by many people that I have a ‘true talent that is just waiting to be explored’, whatever the fuck that means. I have dark red hair and blue eyes. People accuse me of dying my hair, but I swear that’s its the natural color. Great… I might as well be schizophrenic the way I’m pleading with a book.
I was placed in an orphanage, after an incident with my father, with my two siblings. Five years have passed since I last saw my family. I mss them terribly, but there’s nothing I can do about it, so I don’t mention it much.
She never wanted to give us up, but she realized that, in her current state, even an orphanage would be an improvement of living for her only children. She told me to be strong and that she loved me. I cried that day, after she left, I cried where no one could see me. The nuns that took us in were kind. At least I was still in London.
These past five years my sister, Crysta and my brother, Joey (Joseph), have both been adopted leaving me behind. I myself have yet to be adopted, because I have a bit of a record with the fuzz. I’m a labeled troublemaker in the London slums I called my home. No one wanted me there, what makes them think I’ll be wanted here?
The world falls away and I realize that I’m asleep. In my dreams I am flying. Soaring high above the clouds, dancing through their wispy softness. The sun shines upon my face, warm, loving, and inviting. I glow in the radiance, and shine in tune with the dawn. I am loved, needed even, and I delight in the wind beneath me.
But then it all changes. The sky grows ominous, and the sun turns away leaving me in the dark and cold.
And then I am falling for I have been cast down from heavenly graces. Falling forever.
I startle away as the truck crunches over gravel and ruts in the road. I realize that I have been asleep for some time. I can see my new home off in the distance. Another dream exactly like the last. I look at my hands to assure myself that it was indeed a dream before glancing out of the rain-distorted window.
Why is it, that when I wake from that dream, I always believe that there is blood on my hands?