Chris Miles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
noonelaughed) wrote2011-08-11 12:44 am
noonelaughed) wrote2011-08-11 12:44 am
Dated Monday, August 8th, post ageswap
The weekend was fucked.
Chris remembers all of it, though. He remembers waking up as a kid, he remembers being little again and not knowing where his mum and and dad were. He remembers, even as a little kid on the island, liking the fish in his hut most of all, all the bright colors of the tropical ones and how they fit in with the duller colored-ones. He'd been worried about missing cubs, and about whether or not he'd be able to get his knots right when he was stuck on an island and not able to practice properly.
It's all fucked, and when he wakes up as himself again, the age he's supposed to be, it's all still stuck with him, the fact that just twenty-four hours ago, he hadn't remembered about Peter, or his mum or his dad or any of it. In some ways, he kind of wishes he could have stayed that way, not remembering how everything'd gone for him. Maybe he could have lived it over again and done it right this time and not been such a fuck up.
It's back to normal now though, and Chris decides to head up to the compound to see try and find people he knows, to make sure they've all changed back as well. At least that's one good thing about when the island decides to fuck around with them all: it's generally good about putting things right in the end.
He doesn't make it far though, before he sees it.
It's sitting there behind his hut like it belongs there, stone and solid, and if it had eyes it'd be staring back at him, it would.
Peter Miles
Brother, Son and Angel
There's even a bunch of flowers on the ground like his mum's just been there. Like somehow, she's found Peter's grave on the island but didn't think enough to come and shake him awake to say 'hi' to him. Everything's back to normal, alright.
Chris doesn't even remember walking towards it, or sitting down on the ground there, but the next thing he knows, he has. Before he knows it he's rolling a joint, remembering again how his little fingers were never able to do the knots properly, but how they've always been able to at least do this.
Chris remembers all of it, though. He remembers waking up as a kid, he remembers being little again and not knowing where his mum and and dad were. He remembers, even as a little kid on the island, liking the fish in his hut most of all, all the bright colors of the tropical ones and how they fit in with the duller colored-ones. He'd been worried about missing cubs, and about whether or not he'd be able to get his knots right when he was stuck on an island and not able to practice properly.
It's all fucked, and when he wakes up as himself again, the age he's supposed to be, it's all still stuck with him, the fact that just twenty-four hours ago, he hadn't remembered about Peter, or his mum or his dad or any of it. In some ways, he kind of wishes he could have stayed that way, not remembering how everything'd gone for him. Maybe he could have lived it over again and done it right this time and not been such a fuck up.
It's back to normal now though, and Chris decides to head up to the compound to see try and find people he knows, to make sure they've all changed back as well. At least that's one good thing about when the island decides to fuck around with them all: it's generally good about putting things right in the end.
He doesn't make it far though, before he sees it.
It's sitting there behind his hut like it belongs there, stone and solid, and if it had eyes it'd be staring back at him, it would.
Peter Miles
Brother, Son and Angel
There's even a bunch of flowers on the ground like his mum's just been there. Like somehow, she's found Peter's grave on the island but didn't think enough to come and shake him awake to say 'hi' to him. Everything's back to normal, alright.
Chris doesn't even remember walking towards it, or sitting down on the ground there, but the next thing he knows, he has. Before he knows it he's rolling a joint, remembering again how his little fingers were never able to do the knots properly, but how they've always been able to at least do this.
no subject
"How old were you?"
no subject
"He wasn't much older."
Peter'd been in year nine, then, and already in and out of the hospital for at least a year. Things had started to get fucked up even before it'd happened, really.
no subject
"You okay?" It's a stupid fuckin' question, and I'm not sure I expect an honest answer.
no subject
He finishes rolling up the joint and locks the edge to properly seal it. "So, d'you get turned into somethin' else this weekend?"
no subject
"What about you?"
no subject
"I spent most of the weekend trying to figure out where my Mum and Dad were, really."