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15 August 2009 @ 01:30 pm
Drabble Dump.  
Because I needed a first entry,
and this was as good as any, zing? Zing.
(These are drabble prompt I've collected from around LJ, Deviantart, and my friends' minds. And I aint gonna lie, some of them? Are just words that I thought might be interesting.)

2 a.m.
Sleep doesn’t come as easy as it used to anymore – guilt’s got a way of doing that to a guy. And now that his mornings come late, and his nights are too
too quiet, Kariya will never get any sleep.

Half the time, with his hands speaking patterns across the room and his eyes hidden beneath too-loud hair, (and a voice that he never really grew into) even Kariya can’t understand what the hell he’s talking about, anymore.

“Sky’s the limit” momma used to say, tucking them between quilted squares of blue and gold – and it seemed so damned far away, back then. And sometimes when he couldn’t sleep, she’d take Kariya outside and they’d count stars.
But she took that quilt with her when she died, and the sky? Aint no closer now with them gone.

Five minutes
He always had the strangest friends, back then – all body odor, bright hair, and holes in the walls wide enough so that nobody was ever alone. Ever. And the best times they ever had were always when they didn’t have to handle each other sober. They were loud, obnoxious, and clingy enough to be cute, even though they probably made him sick, deep down. Deep down. Which is why Kariya only smoked pot, those days – the shortest highs he’d ever had; because it just wasn’t worth missing the people he was closest to,
tripping all over their damned selves like morons.

Leaving October behind
They buried her in October, weeks before Cloe’s ninth birthday, and just a few days before Halloween.
He buried them in November, because she would have wanted them with her, anyway – he couldn’t take care of all of them. All of them.
And they didn’t find his body until late December, curled up behind Jon’s bed holding a bottle of pain killers, and a bag of potato chips.
Because he couldn’t live without all of them. All of them.

They used to buy those industrial sized boxes of donuts – usually glazed, since they were cheaper. It was the best shit to have around, after a long hard day of substance abuse.
But he had a hard time eating them after half a bottle of apple vodka and a hit sent Jeremy tumbling backwards into his mom’s coffee table. The police report read that the poor kid had choked to death,
while they played monopoly in the back room.

His mom painted the house green one summer – a really light shade of sage – to brighten everyone’s mood. But with seven children, a mother addicted to everything, and her oldest son well on his way, it didn’t seem likely that a new coat of paint
Would help, very much.

Kariya wasted no time his first day.
After all, how many times had he already lost the game?
But the player's face is all too familiar once Kariya has taken care of her partner - all horrified eyes and waving limbs and a gaping mouth that's saying everything and
It's easier than the figured it would be - and the players line up like dominos over the next week.
And he pretends to be someone else every week; someone else's death, someone else's fears, someone else's life, someone else's
Not because he can't remember,
but because he doesn't want to think about the player that almost didn't make it, and maybe never did.
"It's anyone's game now - someone's gotta' lose."
Current Music: Round Here - Counting Crows