ғᴀᴅᴇ ᴀᴡᴀʏ

❝   You——— don’t have much experiencing talking to people, do you?  ❞  Had it not been for the nod, Lydia might have thought him merely REPEATING her words rather than agreeing. At least he seemed perfectly capable of understand despite a clear limited speech; or maybe his terror and paranoia were strong enough to limit that capability to speaking like a child. She gave a gentle tug, leading him in the desired direction. Scott’s house, he would be far more willing to help than Stiles or the others given their penchant for distrust.  ❝   C’mon. My friend Scott can help and I’m sure he’d let you stay however long you need it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s offered a room to someone in need.  ❞ Thoughts of Isaac staying there came to mind but the other wolf was long since gone. 

                     –––––––––––   A  look  of  complete  confusion  as  feet  tap  on  the  solid  concrete  ground  from  the  mushy  leaf  covered  grass  of  the  woods.  Jeans  ripped  from  running,  wet  from  the  mud,  cold  from  the  weather.  Hunger  consumes  him,  he  doesn’t  know  the  last  time  he  actually  had  a  decent  meal.  Oh  that’s  right,  the  night  before  Margret  died.  Though  alone,  he  starts  walking  against  the  traffic,  still  closer  to   the  woods  just  in  case  he  needs  to  disappear.  Time  slows  as  he  nears  a  building.  It  looks  like  a  gas  station.  The  sun  is  high  in  the  sky,  masking  the  fact  that  winter  is  slowly  approaching  with  the  heat  of  its  harmful  rays.  He  sees  a  car,  a  woman  who  leans  against  it  with  that  familiar  white  stick  in  her  mouth.  The  day  Margret  bought  his  red  jacket,  it  had  been  bright  fabric,  but  now  its  full  of  dirt  and  no  longer  holds   that  happiness  he  had  when  she  gave  it  to  him. 

                   –––––––––––  Eyes  follow  the  curly  brown  locks  that  barely  touch  her  cheeks,  though  there’s  a  mix  of  confusion  that  overwhelms  him.  Her  face,  her  eyes;  there’s  something  about  her  that  Iggy  can’t  quite  place.  A  moment  of  hesitation  washes  over  him,  could  she  be  ONE  OF  THEM?  Though,  she’s  younger  than  he  is,  maybe  by  a  couple  of  years.  Could  Margret’s  stories  of  the  bad  men  are  done  be  LIES?  A  quick  glance  down  at  his  wrist,  where  the  brand  marking  stood  out  in  plain  sight  on  fair  skin.  010.  He’s  all  alone  now,  no  one  for  him  to  look  after  him  as  he  attempts  stupid  things.  He  walks  forward,  taking  the  sudden  rush  of  adrenaline  as  a  moment  of  strange  out  of  character  sequence  to  grab  the  arm  of  the  familiar  girl.    ❝    Who are you ?    ❞    He  immediately  asks.  There’s  a  hint  of  FEAR  in  his voice;  why? 

                   –––––––––– The  building  with  the  flashing  lights  and  the  weird  noises,  Iggy  was  intrigued.  Though  never  being  allowed  out  of  the  house  to  some  place  like  that,  he  finally  found  the  courage  to  journey  deeper  into  the  meaning  of  life.  He  learned  not  to  use  his  ability  around  people,  they  could  be  watching  his  every  move;  it’s  terrifying.  Yet,  as  his  hand  was  placed  on  the  cold  plastic  of  the  large  box  that  sang  weird  songs,  there  was  something  about  this  place  that  made  him  feel  LESS  anxious.  A  voice  startled  him  as  he  turns  around,  looking  upon  the  curly  hair  and  dimpled  cheeks  that  was  the  new  boy.    ❝    W - what ?    ❞  

     He’s fumbling with a cigarette, relieved that the ungodly hours of the school day were finally over. Feet shuffling in the gravel lot while Jonathan stood at his car. He lighter has hardly left back to his pockets before eyes seem to make contact with him. That newer kid, giving Jonathan a look over from across the parking lot. He wasn’t about to say anything, but a raised brow and cheek, a questioning, wary look toward him.

                 ––––––––––  Iggy  has  never  ridden  a  bicycle.  Never  taught,  never  tried.  Though,  it’s  obvious  he  wants  to  be  A  NORMAL  KID.  Yet,  the  normality  of  it  comes  with  maybe  talking  like  one.  Margret  would  never  let  him  out  of  the  house,  though  she  isn’t  here  anymore,  so  who  is  to  tell  him  what.    ❝    I like  .  .  .    ❞    What’s  the  word,  he  points  at  the  metal  bars  the  boy  holds  onto  so  tightly.

@boyfading

❝ hey kid – ❞ there’s a pause in her voice, and she raises her hands in defense slowly. sarah almost doesn’t notice the gun in the very same palm, so her gaze shifts to the handle, slowly inching it down to place it on the ground between them. ❝ what’re you doin’ all the way out here? ❞ it’s dark and the only light illuminating the two of them is the full moon above them. he shouldn’t be alone, not with all the god damn runners out and about - and then you take out the dead, account for the living? it’s a fuckin’ mess of shit that could go wrong. ❝ i ain’t gonna’ hurt ya’. ❞