Broken Things [Kiku]

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

push forward and breathe, just breathe

tagged: kiku / notes: hopefully this works!

They will regret this. They will...

Angry thoughts were one thing, acting on them was completely different, and offered up quite a bit more pain in exchange for the insolence. According to the staff at the academy, Arthur didn’t seem to understand the connection between punishment and 'wrongdoing,' he didn’t have the proper filter and mindset that a mutant child should possess by this point in their education. Weeds children were expected to obey without question, to have very few independent thoughts of their own (at least thoughts that challenged what the government supporters attempted to shove down their throats), and to be as meek and subservient as their innocent, doll-like faces suggested. He would glare at the adults with those bright, brazen eyes of his, staring at them as if the jaded, sharp pieces of his regard could cut into them as viciously as all the times they’ve ever cut into him.

He knew their punishments as intimately as breathing, and they’ve tried nearly everything on him without causing any visible, permanent damage. His bones would remain unbroken and he had no noticeable scars or markings that would hurt his chances of receiving a contract when he was older, or so the adults explained—appearance was just as much of a selling point as usefulness or charm.

Today, he’d challenged a teacher in the middle of lecture in front of the entire class. Such a thing in front of other students was usually punished far more severely than others, to warn other children against such audacious behaviour. So, he was made an example before being sent to the administration office where he’d receive a much more thorough reprimand. And now, he had to make up for the time that they’d kept him away from his classes while the other students enjoyed an early break.

Arthur’s body hurt—he could already feel the tender swelling beneath the reddened skin in places that wouldn’t be easily revealed, covered by clothing and his stubborn facade, a face that refused to give the slightest indication that what had been done to him had damaged him in any way, damaged him in a way that went deeper than the fresh bruises strewn across his skin. Most others saw him as strong and resilient, with the way he consistently went against the current of the system, with how he began to retaliate against his childhood tormentors, and how he took every beating that was handed to him with only a grimace, with sharp insults and threats always ready at his tongue. Nobody could ever see the brokenness, just how frightened and vulnerable he truly felt, as vulnerable as any thirteen year old boy subjected to the same brand of misery.

And here he was, yet again, making up schoolwork for his trouble. The unforgiving desk was uncomfortable against his recently abused body and he couldn’t wait to leave it behind. The teacher was currently gone, only checking in on him at random intervals, leaving calm warnings that if he didn’t cooperate that he would be sent straight back to the admin’s office for more. Her cotton soft words carrying such a severe message sent miniscule chills up his spine and his pencil continued to scratch against the paper. The door remained open and Arthur could hear the occasional quiet shuffling of students walking past, some of them casting quick glances into the silent classroom. Those who hadn’t witnessed it, could only guess as to why he was the only one still working.

Time passed and the silence in the room almost became a presence, pressing closer, an overbearing pressure against things better left unspoken. He was halfway finished with his work, but the same ugly anger still coursed through his blood, every small movement in his chair reminding him exactly what had been done to him. A stone felt like it’d been lodged in his throat and he couldn’t hold the pressure any longer. With a small quiver passing through his body, fat, silent tears finally escaped from his iron grasp. He could feel them, quick, hot, and wet against his cheeks. All he could do was face away from the entrance, wrapping his arms around his torso—as if to keep himself from breaking at the seams— as he leaned forward in his desk, not minding the sharp pain from the pressure over the bruises, and tried to stifle as much of his anger and grief as he could. He knew that crying was unsuitable for a boy at thirteen, so he kept quiet, biting at his inner cheek to force himself to stay relatively calm. He could only hear the faint ticking of the classroom clock as the minutes passed and the wetness continued to silently dampen his cheeks.


As soon as the worst of it was over, he began to wipe away the evidence with the back of his sleeve, he focused once more on the assignments, the ink against the white of the paper still looking a bit blurry around the edges. Cursing quietly, he rubbed at his eyes again, wondering at just how blotchy the skin around his eyes must have looked by his attempts to appear as seemingly unaffected as the other Weeds students.

Looking over his papers, he noticed that he still had academic work to complete, although there was also a lone paper that he had yet to even touch regarding household chores and other such activities that would be pleasing to a future contract holder. It was the material that he had challenged. It was supposed to be the main focus of this year. Arthur felt the same prickling heat rise once more beneath his skin as he shoved that particular assignment to the bottom of his workload. Somewhat preoccupied, he failed to notice other sounds or movements in the room, a heavy frown forming over his mouth as he leafed through assigned readings he also had yet to complete.

CODED BY DUCKIE OF GS

[Deleted]

It was just another day. Same as every other. The Weeds routine of everyday living, schooling, sleeping, was something Kiku had grown numb to. At first things were hard. He knew what it was like outside, and that freedom was what he desired most in the world. To be normal, to one day be allowed to go home. However, as the years passed, it became apparent that it wasn't to be. His hope had faded into nothing more than an occasional ache as he realized that this was impossible. No matter how well he behaved, how high his marks were, he'd never go home or see his small family ever again. But just as playing by their rules offered no solution, resisting their re-education would yield no results, either. Kiku would watch as others were punished for insubordination, and though he knew how wrong it was, how inhumane, he remained silent every time. There was nothing he could do, he'd only receive the same treatment if he acted out, and so, he did nothing. His thoughts were replaced with static, ears filled with the hum of fluorescent lights. There was no point to any of this schooling but to prep and groom them to be used as tools and nothing more.

The tedium did make things simple, everything was decided for you, and expectations were always the same. The monotony would have been comforting had it not suffocated the student body with a thick oppressive atmosphere. Some teachers tried to make things easier, talking in saccharine sing-song, sugarcoating their collective fates with vague words and smiles. In an effort to ease into the place society had forced him into, Kiku's thoughts would often wax nihilistic. Nothing really mattered in the end, as far as he was concerned, their lives were already over. Going through the days on nothing but autopilot, he was sure that no one would really care as long as he stayed in line, but much to his chagrin, because he had performed so well in his academics previously, the sudden drop in his performance raised a red flag.

Approached by one of his teachers, they explained that his work ethic was a cause for concern, and he was to make it up or receive a failing grade and have to repeat the course on top of his normal work. It wouldn't have been a big deal had the teacher not said it in a manner that suggested that maybe Kiku was just stupid and it would be a waste of time regardless. The condescending attitude made the boy's blood boil, and he opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, quickly lowering his head obligingly. Sent to a different classroom with a written note in his pocket, an armful of books, and stapled packets of make-up work, Kiku took his time walking to his assigned study hall while the other kids were on break. Breathing a soft sigh, he figured that it could have been much worse and he was getting off rather easy. They could have not given him an option at all and just let him flunk out but, being so docile, he was liked well enough by his teachers. They probably felt like they were doing him a favor.

How generous.

Entering the classroom meant for younger students, there was no teacher in sight, but he did notice someone else in the room and paused in the doorway, his study materials held tightly against his chest. Tentative, he decided to pay them no mind, taking his seat a few desks away and setting his books down quietly. Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater that was much too big for him, Kiku took a long hard look at what he had been given to do. Flipping silently through his textbook, he scanned its glossy pages, looking at everything except what chapter he was supposed to be studying. What was the point? There was no point to any of this.

Less than a minute and Kiku had already moved on to something else. his textbook pushed aside, he shuffled through the assignments, looking for something easy that would require little thought, but something seemed amiss. Glancing up from his work, Kiku scanned the classroom, his dark eyes settling on the only other person there, drawn to the ashy blond hair that covered the other boy's head. The teen studied him for a moment, mentally guessing his age, wondering why he was here. He didn't move much save for a little writing here and there, but he was still much more interesting than anything on Kiku's desk. Perhaps he was there for the same reason as himself? Maybe he was in trouble for something else? His brow furrowed as the other student wiped his face a few times on his sleeve. Had he been crying? It was a common enough occurrence, and that would explain the odd heaviness in the air, and the Japanese boy's heart sank for him.

Unsure of what to do, if anything, Kiku sat back in his seat and wrung his hands a bit. Would it be okay to approach them? Would that be unacceptable? Biting his lower lip, he got an idea. Whether or not it was a good idea, he wasn't sure, but he wanted to try. Taking a sheet of paper from his stack of schoolwork at random, he began to fold. With each practiced crease, he gave the paper form. The movements came with ease, the ritual itself taking little time or effort, his fingers having memorized the proper steps years ago. He granted it a slim body, sturdy wings, and once complete, with a soft breath, he gave it life. What only moments ago was a plain sheet of notes, decorated with tiny handwriting and horizontal rule, was now a delicate butterfly, twitching and alive. From the edge of his desk, it took flight, flitting lazily through the stale air before alighting gently upon the corner of the other boy's desk, fanning its wings slowly. It wasn't much, but Kiku hoped that the gesture would cheer the blond boy up, even if it was just a little bit.

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

push forward and breathe, just breathe

tagged: kiku / notes: hopefully this works!

Academics had never been a point of struggle for Arthur, at least nothing that he’d been presented with so far. There were moments where he yearned for something more, for something beyond what the administration staff were willing to give them. At best they were taught the basics and yet, even when the smallest hint of something interesting were presented, the lesson would end, far too soon to learn anything worthwhile or useful. Depending on the subject matter, Arthur may find himself in the library, searching for topics he yearned to study as opposed to the bollocks they were deemed suited to study.

And yet here he was, sitting at a desk and doing what he’d been told to do before and after the punishment. What they were doing was basic behavioural conditioning; that much was easy to see. However, knowing what they were attempting to do and how they did it didn’t make his body or even his insides hurt that much less. He was still sitting at the desk with fresh bruises and leaning over the Academy approved textbooks and assignments.

The glum thoughts were interrupted with a small, delicate movement from the corner of his eye—something white and almost airy. Arthur’s eyes turned to focus on what he could now tell was a paper creation, no less delicate and charming than his first glimpse. The interest grew the more he was able to pick out the attention to detail, such as the miniscule folds and creases. He stayed silent, emotionally drained and oddly transfixed as the paper butterfly landed on the corner of his desk, slowly fanning its wings, as if lazily displaying its splendour, the motion just as lifelike as the inspiration.

Arthur’s fingers twitched, still resting alongside his opened textbook, whispers away from the paper creation. Slowly, he moved them forward, very softly trailing his finger along the edge of the closest wing, still the same smooth, dry, familiar texture of paper. He felt the creature flutter just as he withdrew. Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder before looking over to his side, only then able to see the dark-haired student that he was sure hadn’t been there minutes before... or at least, he hoped. His cheeks darkened slightly, the warmth spreading along his skin at the thought of being caught blubbering like a small child.

From the looks of it, the boy also had some kind of work to finish if the books and stapled folder on his desk were any indication. He seemed young, maybe even about the same age as him, he couldn’t tell. Or perhaps he just appeared young. A small, softened smile formed over Arthur’s mouth when their eyes connected, a small delight amidst the heavier emotions that he’d rather not touch upon. Every bit can be appreciated, even if it’s but a small amount. ”Hello... is this yours?” Arthur’s eyes trailed briefly once more along the papered butterfly to indicate what he’d meant. His quiet voice sounded worn and low, as if he hadn’t used it in quite some time.

Turning back to his work, his sight once more flooded with the splay of textbooks that had antagonised why he was even here in the first place, Arthur closed his books and neatly began to stack everything together. Once everything was it order, he picked them up, holding the heavy array close to his chest, as if hiding the embarrassing evidence of disobedience beneath, before leaving his seat. He moved a row over, drawing closer to where the boy sat. Although contented with the thought of having company, or at least with someone who looked to be about his age, the light nerves still fluttered and his grip over his books tightened.

Looking toward the boy once more when he was closer, he gave him another small smile that he hoped looked approachable enough, warm with that ever wandering, grasping hope whenever he’d met someone new who seemed kind enough, and less of the worries that still flitted about his mind. ”Would you mind if I sat next to you?” Arthur asked, indicating the nearest desk. He noticed the unfinished work on the boy’s area as well, hardly even touched. ”Looks like we’ll be here for a while and no one else is here. Can’t hurt?” The corners of Arthur’s mouth rose just a tad with the thought that he apparently had very little idea which actions were riddled with painful consequences and which weren’t at the Academy. This; however, seemed like a safe bet to make.

CODED BY DUCKIE OF GS