[ Carefully tapes them all back together and puts them with the note.
Then finds a clean sheet and writes a note:
You're the only one who can decide who is your 'family'. Biological or those you find yourself. Who you are is defined by yourself. Don't forget those who surround you and decide for yourself. ]
[ As soon as you touch the car, a memory hits you:
Your mom is dropping you off at the front of the building, giving you a kiss on the forehead. You don't understand why you have to live here, now. Why can't you just keep living at home? It's like she's getting rid of you... ]
[ ...Another frown. Um. He can understand the sentiment only too well and so he doesn't fight it. He's still mad at his own father even though he was asked not to put fault on him. But he thinks and reaches in his pocket to pull out the map.
He makes it into a paper airplane and leaves it on the seat before walking away, to the back this time. ]
[ The path takes you around to the back of the building. There’s a large gazebo sitting in the courtyard there. There are several pieces of rope hanging from the gazebo’s railing, and a bucket of wet concrete sitting beside it. ]
[ The rope is tied like a noose, but you get the sense that it's meant to be more of a tether. The rope is frayed in places, and it looks like there's some dried blood as well. Maybe from something rubbing against it? ]
[ It hits you all at once, and even though you know it's only a memory, it feels like it's happening... and happening... and happening.
You're tied to this rope, tied by the neck like an animal. There are other kids with you, some crying, some begging, some silent. Hours pass, days. Food comes less and less often. Sometimes the boy who comes to feed you mocks and taunts you; sometimes he hits you; sometimes he just throws the food down in front of you.
Eventually food stops coming altogether. You wait, and wait... You're so hungry... Eventually you resort to eating some of the weeds that are growing up between cracks in the concrete. You think you'll probably die here.
[ You turn and see a teenage boy walking toward you, maybe fifteen years old. He's got blondish hair and a shark's grin (and a shark's dead eyes, for that matter), but the most striking thing about him is that one of his arms isn't an arm at all. It's a ten foot long tentacle. You instinctively know that this is the same guy from the memory you saw. ]
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Re: coates academy
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Then finds a clean sheet and writes a note:
You're the only one who can decide who is your 'family'. Biological or those you find yourself. Who you are is defined by yourself. Don't forget those who surround you and decide for yourself. ]
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I am just going to pull them out! The stuffed animals go to the bed and the board games/video games get neatly snacked nearby...
But he'll pull out a game at random and set it up >|
There. ]
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He'll give it another glance over to see if there's anything else, but he seems content for now. ]
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Your mom is dropping you off at the front of the building, giving you a kiss on the forehead. You don't understand why you have to live here, now. Why can't you just keep living at home? It's like she's getting rid of you... ]
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He makes it into a paper airplane and leaves it on the seat before walking away, to the back this time. ]
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[ The path takes you around to the back of the building. There’s a large gazebo sitting in the courtyard there. There are several pieces of rope hanging from the gazebo’s railing, and a bucket of wet concrete sitting beside it. ]
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You're tied to this rope, tied by the neck like an animal. There are other kids with you, some crying, some begging, some silent. Hours pass, days. Food comes less and less often. Sometimes the boy who comes to feed you mocks and taunts you; sometimes he hits you; sometimes he just throws the food down in front of you.
Eventually food stops coming altogether. You wait, and wait... You're so hungry... Eventually you resort to eating some of the weeds that are growing up between cracks in the concrete. You think you'll probably die here.
You hate them. You hate all of them. ]
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That makes him pause for one horrified second before he just as angrily and horrified tries to pull it down. ]
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[ You turn and see a teenage boy walking toward you, maybe fifteen years old. He's got blondish hair and a shark's grin (and a shark's dead eyes, for that matter), but the most striking thing about him is that one of his arms isn't an arm at all. It's a ten foot long tentacle. You instinctively know that this is the same guy from the memory you saw. ]
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