Toys in the Attic - ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
scifi_muses
2008-09-18 20:29![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thewatchmaker
thewatchmakerCharacters: Sylar
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: PG
Word Count: 672
Prompt: Toys in the Atticscifi_muses
Notes: Kid Gabe
Toys in the Attic
The house smelled wrong. It smelled like puke and lilac. It smelled like my grandmother. I hated coming to her house, but it was better than going to the hospital where I could see the machines making her breathe and keep her heart beating. Mom didn’t think I understood what was going on. Sometimes it makes me mad that she thinks I’m so special and so smart one minute but a complete retard the next. Either I’m one or the other. Sometimes I wish I was retarded, so she’d stop pushing me so hard.
“Gabriel!” her strident voice broke the eerie silence. “Are you coming or not?”
“Not,” I whispered too low for anyone to hear. I didn’t want to go up there not into the attic. Of all the places in grandmother’s house I hated, the attic was the worst. There were ghosts up there, and I knew they wanted to steal my soul.
“Gabriel!”
“Coming.” I swallowed hard and gripped the banister as tightly as I could. My feet felt like they were made of bricks as I trudged up the three flights of stairs. My heart was pounding as I reached for the railing that ran up through the narrow steps behind the closet door.
“I need your help with this, Gabriel,” my mother said. She was shoving a box of Christmas ornaments into a steamer trunk. The sunlight was filled with fairies from all the dust she was stirring up. It should have been pretty, but it made me want to sneeze. “We need to get these out of here tonight.”
“Before Aunt Esme gets here from Boston?” I asked. From the dirty look she cast me; I should have kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t supposed to know that we were clearing out all we could from the house before my mother had to share it with her sister.
“I’m taking this box down now. Your father will have to help me with the trunk.” She pointed at a crate of old plates. “Put those in that toy chest.”
“But what about the toys?” I asked, trying to keep her from leaving me alone up there.
“Leave them. Esme can have them. Most of them are hers or your Uncle Matthew’s anyway.” The door that lead up to the attic slammed behind her. I didn’t know if she closed it, if it was a draft or if the ghosts did it.
“Suck it up, Gabe. You big dork.” Wiping my hands on my pants, I crept over to the toy chest. Bright red cotton candy hair from a clown doll with the white eyes of a dead fish stared up at me. “You first. Time for you to go away.”
With my eyes tightly closed, because the monsters can’t hurt you if they can’t see you, I grabbed the clown and threw it across the attic. It landed with a clatter in the far corner with a squeak and a grinding sound as it tried to laugh, the machine inside of it too broken work.
The clown doll was the worst of all. I knew the rest of the toys wouldn’t hurt me. Really I did. I pulled the rest of them out in a pile and shoved them out of the way. But I wanted out of there. The dust was making my eyes water, and every now and then the clown would wheeze and chuckle from the corner.
I wanted out of there. It had been too long since my mom left me alone. I knew she’d be mad if I didn’t get the dishes into the chest. I had half a dozen dinner plates tucked under my chin.
“Hey it’s Gabey the Baby!” My cousin Tony shouted as he grabbed my sides, scaring me out of my skin. The plates flew out of my hands and landed with a crash. “You’re going to be in so much trouble. Auntie Virginia is going to lock you up in here for the rest of your life.”
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: PG
Word Count: 672
Prompt: Toys in the Attic
scifi_musesNotes: Kid Gabe
Toys in the Attic
The house smelled wrong. It smelled like puke and lilac. It smelled like my grandmother. I hated coming to her house, but it was better than going to the hospital where I could see the machines making her breathe and keep her heart beating. Mom didn’t think I understood what was going on. Sometimes it makes me mad that she thinks I’m so special and so smart one minute but a complete retard the next. Either I’m one or the other. Sometimes I wish I was retarded, so she’d stop pushing me so hard.
“Gabriel!” her strident voice broke the eerie silence. “Are you coming or not?”
“Not,” I whispered too low for anyone to hear. I didn’t want to go up there not into the attic. Of all the places in grandmother’s house I hated, the attic was the worst. There were ghosts up there, and I knew they wanted to steal my soul.
“Gabriel!”
“Coming.” I swallowed hard and gripped the banister as tightly as I could. My feet felt like they were made of bricks as I trudged up the three flights of stairs. My heart was pounding as I reached for the railing that ran up through the narrow steps behind the closet door.
“I need your help with this, Gabriel,” my mother said. She was shoving a box of Christmas ornaments into a steamer trunk. The sunlight was filled with fairies from all the dust she was stirring up. It should have been pretty, but it made me want to sneeze. “We need to get these out of here tonight.”
“Before Aunt Esme gets here from Boston?” I asked. From the dirty look she cast me; I should have kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t supposed to know that we were clearing out all we could from the house before my mother had to share it with her sister.
“I’m taking this box down now. Your father will have to help me with the trunk.” She pointed at a crate of old plates. “Put those in that toy chest.”
“But what about the toys?” I asked, trying to keep her from leaving me alone up there.
“Leave them. Esme can have them. Most of them are hers or your Uncle Matthew’s anyway.” The door that lead up to the attic slammed behind her. I didn’t know if she closed it, if it was a draft or if the ghosts did it.
“Suck it up, Gabe. You big dork.” Wiping my hands on my pants, I crept over to the toy chest. Bright red cotton candy hair from a clown doll with the white eyes of a dead fish stared up at me. “You first. Time for you to go away.”
With my eyes tightly closed, because the monsters can’t hurt you if they can’t see you, I grabbed the clown and threw it across the attic. It landed with a clatter in the far corner with a squeak and a grinding sound as it tried to laugh, the machine inside of it too broken work.
The clown doll was the worst of all. I knew the rest of the toys wouldn’t hurt me. Really I did. I pulled the rest of them out in a pile and shoved them out of the way. But I wanted out of there. The dust was making my eyes water, and every now and then the clown would wheeze and chuckle from the corner.
I wanted out of there. It had been too long since my mom left me alone. I knew she’d be mad if I didn’t get the dishes into the chest. I had half a dozen dinner plates tucked under my chin.
“Hey it’s Gabey the Baby!” My cousin Tony shouted as he grabbed my sides, scaring me out of my skin. The plates flew out of my hands and landed with a crash. “You’re going to be in so much trouble. Auntie Virginia is going to lock you up in here for the rest of your life.”
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