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This diary entry is written by ‹defineMANIAC›. ( View all entries )
Previous entry: treize in category 50 Scenes Gareth/Lyn

quatreCategory: 50 Scenes Gareth/Lyn
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
06:55:08 PM (GMT)

There was small boy sitting on the beach, indifferently reaching out at his sides,
his chunky hands contracting into the sadly familiar shape of fists before he brought
them back to his lap again, loosening his grip as the warm granules trickled from his
palms with liquid-like quality.  He repeated the actions, drawing comfort from the
monotony.  So much of his life was left to chance... Already he'd lost his mother to
causes that his father kept hidden, and he'd as good as lost his father with the
amount they travelled.
He was a distant man at the best of times, and since Diane had passed away, his
fatherlike tendancies had all but vanished.  He became more of a personal trainer to
Gareth.  At age four, he was taught how to handle a pistol, and was rewarded with
extra rounds when he hit the target.  At age six, he made his very own sawn-off and
learned how to shoot that.  His prizes had moved on, too.  The offer of a beer, or a
cigarette.  Gareth would always shake his head, politely declining.  At six, he was
no longer a child.
The boy's timeline moved on as quickly as the sand draining through his fingers and
before he knew it, Gareth's appearance had caught up with his mentalities.  Light
brown eyes, light brown hair, a childhood in American summers had given him a natural
tan that would bring many (graciously accepted) girls his way, and a lifetime of
running- from demons, from ghosts, from his past- had left him fit, and certainly not
Despite all this, though, he still had certain childish aspects.  Maybe that made up
for his backwards method of growing up.  Maybe at fifty, he'd finally figure out the
appeal of lego.  He was a brother without someone younger to protect.  A child
without parents.  A child without a childhood.

Gareth, the boy who wasn't quite whole.

Certainly, he'd tried.  Various girls filled whatever time he wasn't hunting, and
apart from that, he'd eat and sleep.
So that was his life.  Hunting.  Food.  Sleep.  Girls.  Even he felt it was somewhat
Something was missing.  Ever since the beginning, and for once it was nothing to do
with his mother, or his father, or his Lego-building abilities.  It was something
small.  Small, but immensely important, and it wasn't until five years before his
death that he met her.

Some might call that bad luck.

‹mÿlö xÿlötö› says:   6 November 2012   126314  
‹defineMANIAC› says :   6 November 2012   713924  


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