Post by Astrit Zupan on Feb 17, 2016 19:19:28 GMT -8
It was cool out, not too terribly cold but a long way from warm, as Astrit trudged down the streets that led to his home. The school day he'd had today had felt pretty long, not because anything in particular had happened so much as just because it was that time of the year when things started to pile up. It was just one of those days... one of those birthdays.
Another year older. Astrit wasn't sure how to feel about that, really. When his sister had been alive, she had always made a point of marking their birthdays, some years celebrating separately when they'd had a little extra to spend on the small luxuries, other years together on the grounds that their birthdays were only two days apart anyway and they didn't really have the time or money for two "parties" in one week. But now he didn't have a sister anymore. It was only him left, out of their entire family. There was nobody to celebrate his birthday with, certainly nobody who knew that it was today, and he hadn't quite dared to tell the few friends he had made about any of that. Sometimes he wished he could, but he feared how they would react if they were aware of exactly how much he didn't have.
He missed his sister, he had to admit. If she had lived, she would have been another year older two days ago, and they would have celebrated together. If she had lived, she would have known it was his birthday today, and at the very least she would have said something about it this morning. If. In some ways, that was such a dreadful little word. Sure, there were good ways to use it, but right now it was the word for what he could never have again.
The boy sighed and adjusted the scarf, now showing mild signs of wear that certainly hadn't been there when he had gotten it, that was wrapped around his neck under his sweater. His luck had really been awful for a long time now. Every time he reached out to someone, looking for a family, something bad happened to them. The scarf had been a gift from a friend, a surrogate mother-figure (his first since Sestra had died), who had disappeared some time ago. Word on the street was that she had been identified as an illegal immigrant and deported back to Macedonia. Astrit hoped that Vesna had not suffered any worse fate, either here or once she returned home. More specifically, he hoped that his bad luck hadn't gotten her killed, like the birth mother he couldn't even remember, like the father he had only briefly known, like his sister. He was beginning to fear caring about people. He was beginning to worry that those he loved would always be doomed.
His thoughts wouldn't stop straying in these dark directions, as he made his way down the street he knew so well, heading home.
Another year older. Astrit wasn't sure how to feel about that, really. When his sister had been alive, she had always made a point of marking their birthdays, some years celebrating separately when they'd had a little extra to spend on the small luxuries, other years together on the grounds that their birthdays were only two days apart anyway and they didn't really have the time or money for two "parties" in one week. But now he didn't have a sister anymore. It was only him left, out of their entire family. There was nobody to celebrate his birthday with, certainly nobody who knew that it was today, and he hadn't quite dared to tell the few friends he had made about any of that. Sometimes he wished he could, but he feared how they would react if they were aware of exactly how much he didn't have.
He missed his sister, he had to admit. If she had lived, she would have been another year older two days ago, and they would have celebrated together. If she had lived, she would have known it was his birthday today, and at the very least she would have said something about it this morning. If. In some ways, that was such a dreadful little word. Sure, there were good ways to use it, but right now it was the word for what he could never have again.
The boy sighed and adjusted the scarf, now showing mild signs of wear that certainly hadn't been there when he had gotten it, that was wrapped around his neck under his sweater. His luck had really been awful for a long time now. Every time he reached out to someone, looking for a family, something bad happened to them. The scarf had been a gift from a friend, a surrogate mother-figure (his first since Sestra had died), who had disappeared some time ago. Word on the street was that she had been identified as an illegal immigrant and deported back to Macedonia. Astrit hoped that Vesna had not suffered any worse fate, either here or once she returned home. More specifically, he hoped that his bad luck hadn't gotten her killed, like the birth mother he couldn't even remember, like the father he had only briefly known, like his sister. He was beginning to fear caring about people. He was beginning to worry that those he loved would always be doomed.
His thoughts wouldn't stop straying in these dark directions, as he made his way down the street he knew so well, heading home.
