𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 except Miss Hannigan, the woman who ran the boys home. It was ironic, really, and even more than that it was a red flag. Surely, no one would place children in a home with a woman who shared the name of notorious child hater. Those are just stories, Finnegan, he would be scolded. But no one knew that the pages of books, the words etched on pages, the characters dancing from line to line were more real to him than anything out there.
Whenever they misbehaved, or when she grew tired of looking at them, it was into The Closet they went. Finn, being the smallest of the bunch, the kindest, the easiest to pick on, spent the most time there. Often, he welcomed it more than having to spend time and effort to avoid the other kids. In the dim light, sometimes he could read one his favorite books. Once she found out what he was doing, she took the lightbulb out. There were hours, days even he spent in the closet with no concept of time, no one who cared he was there, just the stale air pressing on his chest. No sound but his shallow breathing and laughing of the other children.
Here, in this closet now, with the others laughing on the other side of it, he’s a kid again. It doesn’t matter that he could come out if he wanted to. It doesn’t matter that this is not Miss Hannigan’s home, it’s a party at a friend’s house. He’s not being punished, he’s being hazed, just another part of the joining the lacrosse team rituals. He may be older now, but he’s just as scared, just as cold, wondering what he did wrong. A familiar voice snaps him out of his spiral, eyes flicking up to the door, “ Scott? Scott, you gotta let me out of here, please. Please, I can’t take it anymore. ”
/ 🖊 , @turneds