Post by Bailey Allison on Jun 3, 2012 15:16:00 GMT -5
It was just an envelope. It was an inanimate object that couldn't help or hurt him. It was just a folded piece of heavy paper lined with a glossy film of glue.
Bailey swallowed again, staring the envelope down. It looked back at him harmlessly. Correction: it didn't look back up at him. Envelopes couldn't look. He still didn't want to open the envelope. Hell, he didn't even want to touch the envelope, but the damn thing beckoned him, calling with its inky fingers. Biting his lip, the teenager fought the urge to reach over, pick it up, and slit the thing open.
No, he couldn't do it. He didn't want to do it.
As if it were a flaming ember, he quickly grabbed the sheet and shoved it under his mattress, crinkling the corner as he did so. Did he care? Of course not. It was out of sight and out of mind. The last thing Bailey needed was bad news. And despite there being a possibility that the envelope concealed something good, he didn't want to risk it. No news was good news... right?
While Bailey was more than ready to forget about the envelope and whatever lay hidden in its folds, the envelope wasn't ready to be forgotten. Usually a sound sleeper, Bailey tossed and turned, wincing as the springs in his ancient bunk squealed.
"Shut up!"
"Dude, I'm trying to sleep, dammit!"
"The hell are you doing?"
The hissed whispers attacked from both sides.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"SHHHHH!"
Bailey shut up, and gingerly turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse out of the window. He was lucky in that he slept right under one of the filthy windows, and if he moved the musty fabric just so, he could stare out at the stars. Or the cerulean sky. Just concentrate on the stars he told himself. Think of something else... But he couldn't. In the skies, he found endless pictures among the twinkling stars. There were envelopes, pens, a dark patch that looked suspiciously like a bloodstain, and more. And then there were the faces. Oh gods, the faces. He could see everyone he had ever met.
Enough! The teen squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the images. But it was too late. Tiny pinpricks of light had imprinted on his retinas, and he saw afterimages and explosions. Clutching the sheets in one hand and twisting them into a sweaty bunch, Bailey turned over yet again. If the springs' shriek was heard, it wasn't mentioned. Finally, a bit of fortune. By now, most were sleeping deeply.
Squeezing the fabric between his fingers, Bailey wondered what had happened this time. After all, he had only ever received a letter from his parents twice before. They usually preferred to call the Big House, annoying Chiron and Mr. D to no end. These calls were usually to check up on Bailey, making sure that he still brushed his teeth, took showers regularly, and in short, was still acting civilized. But letters? That was a whole different story.
The first time he had received one, it was the week before Christmas. Thinking it would contain money and a greeting card, Bailey eagerly ripped it open, only to find a hastily scrawled letter informing him that his grandfather had died of a heart attack.
That had been tragedy number one.
The second time, Bailey didn't tear into it as eagerly. It came in January, a little after the New Year. Fireworks were still imprinted in his mind when he opened that second envelope. This time, there were holiday greetings. But those cheery sentences were just put in to soften the blow that came next.
His dad had broken his leg and quite possibly needed surgery. Money was tight in the faltering economy, and they weren't quite sure how they would manage. One thing was for sure. Plane tickets for a visit home were out of the question. How long this would last? They didn't know.
And in this letter, there was a lingering accusation that Bailey thought he could decipher, an accusation that rang in his ears. "All our money went towards your surgery. Your physical therapy. This is your fault." Bailey wasn't able to forgive himself.
That was tragedy number two.
Bailey wasn't sure he wanted to know about tragedy number three. Perhaps if he ignored it long enough, it would magically disappear and vanish into the night. Or maybe this was some perverse nightmare. He pinched himself. It wasn't.
Still, Bailey refused to do the obvious, to open that awful envelope and read it. No, he had to avoid them at all costs. Afraid that he might unconsciously reach out to grab it, Bailey shoved his hands beneath his back. They pressed against him uncomfortably, but he felt safer like this.
Now just go to sleep, Bailey. Go to sleep. He repeated this mantra over and over, silently mouthing it when thinking it didn't work.
He wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.
Slowly, the dark room faded to a dull grey, and Bailey anxiously awaited the time when it would be acceptable to "wake up" and roam the camp. He needed to surf or something. Anything to get his mind off of the damn envelope. The neon numbers on one of his sibling's battery-powered clocks flashed 5:07. That was good enough. By now, the harpies should've been long gone.
Silently, he rose, avoiding the impulse to look at his mattress, which hid what had to be tragedy number three. Bailey quickly changed before slipping out. His fingertips lightly traced the wooden slats that made up the cabin's walls as he strolled down the length. Bailey was pretty sure that by now, a thin strip of wood had been worn away from his countless trips to get his board. As the cool, moist grass bit the soles of his feet, the Hermes camper breathed a sigh of relief. Just getting out of that crowded cabin had done him some good.
Soon, the familiar shape of his board appeared. Bailey had tried to store it inside the cabin for some time, but it was nearly impossible with the amount of campers that called the Hermes cabin home. The next best thing was to leave it outside. It wasn't really in danger of being stolen. After all, it would take an expert Hermes camper to steal a 10 ft longboard. And if someone else messed with it? It was a well-known fact that pissing off a Hermes camper could mean that the rest of your life at camp was hell.
Bailey slipped the board under his arm and made his way down to the beach. It occurred to him that putting on a wet suit, or at the very least, a rash guard, would've been a good idea. But he wasn't sure he could survive a trip back to the cabin. He was almost sure to open that envelope. No, he was fine now. Besides, he almost never got sick, and the idea that a little cold water could hurt him was laughable.
"You sure you don't want to put that board up?" asked Phillip.
"Nah, I'm good," laughed Bailey. He had been carrying his board around the whole day, earning him strange looks.
"Well, I'm not going to the mess hall with some idiot who insists on lugging his stupid board around like his life depends on it."
Bailey opened his mouth to protest but was met with the sight of his friend walking away. Sighing, the Hermes camper made his way back to his cabin. Bailey supposed Phillip had been right... Carrying around the board was a bit strange, even for him. Plus, he really needed a shower after all that surfing. It certainly didn't help that some of the campers seemed to enjoy dumping their trash in the ocean... And the nymphs liked to get revenge on unsuspecting campers who came to swim.
After leaning his board against the cabin, Bailey strode in, making his way for the showers. However, a flash of white caught his eye. Turning slowly, he soon found himself eyeing the envelope that lay on his sheets. The hell? Bailey's eyes widened. Hadn't he shoved it under his mattress? Had someone else tried to read it? No, that couldn't be it. It wasn't open. Whatever the reason, he couldn't avoid it now; he had to read it.
Slowly, he slid a fingernail under the flap and slit pried the top off before slipping out a single sheet of paper. He immediately recognized his dad's messy handwriting. Bailey's eyes scanned the page.
Bailey,
Your mom got a bonus, and we have just enough for a one-way plane ticket. Interested?
Love,
Dad
Bailey froze and reread the note, which didn't take very long, as thoughts swirled in his mind.
Word Count: 1478
Muse: Bleh
Notes: Yes, this is a oneshot, so no posting. AND THIS POST SUCKED, so no judging Ana's writing by this monster. xP
Tagged: CLOSED
Bailey swallowed again, staring the envelope down. It looked back at him harmlessly. Correction: it didn't look back up at him. Envelopes couldn't look. He still didn't want to open the envelope. Hell, he didn't even want to touch the envelope, but the damn thing beckoned him, calling with its inky fingers. Biting his lip, the teenager fought the urge to reach over, pick it up, and slit the thing open.
No, he couldn't do it. He didn't want to do it.
As if it were a flaming ember, he quickly grabbed the sheet and shoved it under his mattress, crinkling the corner as he did so. Did he care? Of course not. It was out of sight and out of mind. The last thing Bailey needed was bad news. And despite there being a possibility that the envelope concealed something good, he didn't want to risk it. No news was good news... right?
***
While Bailey was more than ready to forget about the envelope and whatever lay hidden in its folds, the envelope wasn't ready to be forgotten. Usually a sound sleeper, Bailey tossed and turned, wincing as the springs in his ancient bunk squealed.
"Shut up!"
"Dude, I'm trying to sleep, dammit!"
"The hell are you doing?"
The hissed whispers attacked from both sides.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"SHHHHH!"
Bailey shut up, and gingerly turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse out of the window. He was lucky in that he slept right under one of the filthy windows, and if he moved the musty fabric just so, he could stare out at the stars. Or the cerulean sky. Just concentrate on the stars he told himself. Think of something else... But he couldn't. In the skies, he found endless pictures among the twinkling stars. There were envelopes, pens, a dark patch that looked suspiciously like a bloodstain, and more. And then there were the faces. Oh gods, the faces. He could see everyone he had ever met.
Enough! The teen squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the images. But it was too late. Tiny pinpricks of light had imprinted on his retinas, and he saw afterimages and explosions. Clutching the sheets in one hand and twisting them into a sweaty bunch, Bailey turned over yet again. If the springs' shriek was heard, it wasn't mentioned. Finally, a bit of fortune. By now, most were sleeping deeply.
Squeezing the fabric between his fingers, Bailey wondered what had happened this time. After all, he had only ever received a letter from his parents twice before. They usually preferred to call the Big House, annoying Chiron and Mr. D to no end. These calls were usually to check up on Bailey, making sure that he still brushed his teeth, took showers regularly, and in short, was still acting civilized. But letters? That was a whole different story.
***
The first time he had received one, it was the week before Christmas. Thinking it would contain money and a greeting card, Bailey eagerly ripped it open, only to find a hastily scrawled letter informing him that his grandfather had died of a heart attack.
That had been tragedy number one.
The second time, Bailey didn't tear into it as eagerly. It came in January, a little after the New Year. Fireworks were still imprinted in his mind when he opened that second envelope. This time, there were holiday greetings. But those cheery sentences were just put in to soften the blow that came next.
His dad had broken his leg and quite possibly needed surgery. Money was tight in the faltering economy, and they weren't quite sure how they would manage. One thing was for sure. Plane tickets for a visit home were out of the question. How long this would last? They didn't know.
And in this letter, there was a lingering accusation that Bailey thought he could decipher, an accusation that rang in his ears. "All our money went towards your surgery. Your physical therapy. This is your fault." Bailey wasn't able to forgive himself.
That was tragedy number two.
***
Bailey wasn't sure he wanted to know about tragedy number three. Perhaps if he ignored it long enough, it would magically disappear and vanish into the night. Or maybe this was some perverse nightmare. He pinched himself. It wasn't.
Still, Bailey refused to do the obvious, to open that awful envelope and read it. No, he had to avoid them at all costs. Afraid that he might unconsciously reach out to grab it, Bailey shoved his hands beneath his back. They pressed against him uncomfortably, but he felt safer like this.
Now just go to sleep, Bailey. Go to sleep. He repeated this mantra over and over, silently mouthing it when thinking it didn't work.
He wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.
***
Slowly, the dark room faded to a dull grey, and Bailey anxiously awaited the time when it would be acceptable to "wake up" and roam the camp. He needed to surf or something. Anything to get his mind off of the damn envelope. The neon numbers on one of his sibling's battery-powered clocks flashed 5:07. That was good enough. By now, the harpies should've been long gone.
Silently, he rose, avoiding the impulse to look at his mattress, which hid what had to be tragedy number three. Bailey quickly changed before slipping out. His fingertips lightly traced the wooden slats that made up the cabin's walls as he strolled down the length. Bailey was pretty sure that by now, a thin strip of wood had been worn away from his countless trips to get his board. As the cool, moist grass bit the soles of his feet, the Hermes camper breathed a sigh of relief. Just getting out of that crowded cabin had done him some good.
Soon, the familiar shape of his board appeared. Bailey had tried to store it inside the cabin for some time, but it was nearly impossible with the amount of campers that called the Hermes cabin home. The next best thing was to leave it outside. It wasn't really in danger of being stolen. After all, it would take an expert Hermes camper to steal a 10 ft longboard. And if someone else messed with it? It was a well-known fact that pissing off a Hermes camper could mean that the rest of your life at camp was hell.
Bailey slipped the board under his arm and made his way down to the beach. It occurred to him that putting on a wet suit, or at the very least, a rash guard, would've been a good idea. But he wasn't sure he could survive a trip back to the cabin. He was almost sure to open that envelope. No, he was fine now. Besides, he almost never got sick, and the idea that a little cold water could hurt him was laughable.
***
"You sure you don't want to put that board up?" asked Phillip.
"Nah, I'm good," laughed Bailey. He had been carrying his board around the whole day, earning him strange looks.
"Well, I'm not going to the mess hall with some idiot who insists on lugging his stupid board around like his life depends on it."
Bailey opened his mouth to protest but was met with the sight of his friend walking away. Sighing, the Hermes camper made his way back to his cabin. Bailey supposed Phillip had been right... Carrying around the board was a bit strange, even for him. Plus, he really needed a shower after all that surfing. It certainly didn't help that some of the campers seemed to enjoy dumping their trash in the ocean... And the nymphs liked to get revenge on unsuspecting campers who came to swim.
After leaning his board against the cabin, Bailey strode in, making his way for the showers. However, a flash of white caught his eye. Turning slowly, he soon found himself eyeing the envelope that lay on his sheets. The hell? Bailey's eyes widened. Hadn't he shoved it under his mattress? Had someone else tried to read it? No, that couldn't be it. It wasn't open. Whatever the reason, he couldn't avoid it now; he had to read it.
Slowly, he slid a fingernail under the flap and slit pried the top off before slipping out a single sheet of paper. He immediately recognized his dad's messy handwriting. Bailey's eyes scanned the page.
Bailey,
Your mom got a bonus, and we have just enough for a one-way plane ticket. Interested?
Love,
Dad
Bailey froze and reread the note, which didn't take very long, as thoughts swirled in his mind.
Word Count: 1478
Muse: Bleh
Notes: Yes, this is a oneshot, so no posting. AND THIS POST SUCKED, so no judging Ana's writing by this monster. xP
Tagged: CLOSED
