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Viewing Single Post From: This Can't Be Me
Little Boy
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[[Abby Erickson START]]

Abby Erickson sat on her bed, her hands clasped together, lost in thought. She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there. Minutes, hours... She couldn't exactly recall. It didn't really matter, did it?

Time is relative, right? What I could perceive to be a few minutes might be a few hours for someone else. What if that's just it? What if, we're all moving along at different paces... and that's what causes the friction between people, between the ones we love...

No, that's a stupid idea, stupid, scratch that one Abby...

Abby gave a sigh and collapsed atop her bed. She raised her hands up, blocking the light with her blue gloves. She couldn't think. Or well, she could think. She just couldn't think of anything good. Abby Erickson had a massive, massive case of writers block. And it was driving her to hell and back. Bringing her hands down, Abby flipped her hair out of her face and stared vacantly up towards the ceiling. She just didn't get it. She had been full of ideas just hours before, magnificent ideas, wonderful ideas. But it seemed that the second she had entered the house, they'd vanished without a trace. It was as if she had entered a strange sort of creative dead zone. An interesting concept, if it were happening to anyone else. It wasn’t interesting, it was just annoying.

Come'on, come'on, what was that one? The one with the girl, and- and it was colorful, it was like that day in July when Mom was out at a fancy dinner, and- no... no it wasn't like that day at all! It was that OTHER day, it felt like it was hot and it was very, very dark outside, that was the feeling. And... and there was a girl, it was colourful around the lights, no, the candles! No, no, I didn't think of candles. There were no candles. Maybe I should change the light to candles? No, come'on think. There was a girl, annnd it was dark and hot- but a pleasant heat... and... it was safe near the light, but it wasn't exactly dangerous in the dark... and the girl would have been sitting near the candles and she was thinking abou- OHHHHH I just lost it again didn't I? Yes. Yes I did.

She turned on her side, looking towards the corner of her rather spacious room. Her prized possession, a beat up Fender Stratocaster sat in the corner, the sixth string broken. She frowned as she looked at it; she had been meaning to get that fixed. And by that, she meant asking her sister for some money to buy a new string. She wasn't that good at the guitar to begin with, and the lack of playing was certainly not helping. Her hands were beginning to feel soft again, free from callouses beneath her gloves. That was a bad sign she figured.

Not spacious. Empty. It’s an empty room. Spacious implies this room is big to begin with... It was a stupid idea. I can't write poems based on a feeling I had just one time. But... that wasn't what I was writing it about. I was writing it about a memory. But, it was still stupid. What makes a poem then? Maybe... maybe it wasn't a poem at all. Was it a song? No, it wasn't, if it was I'd have remembered a line, not a feeling... It would have been all, ‘Fender, fender, fender stratocaster…’ an-

A loud bang interrupted her thoughts, causing her to jump. Making her way off her bed, Abby opened her bedroom door just in time to see her older sister Alex making her way up the stairs, her face red with anger. Abby beat a rather hasty retreat back into her room, shutting the door behind her as her sister strode past, towards her own room. Abby hesitated a second before opening her door again. Rubbing her hands together out of habit, Abby stared out into the hall. Alex’s door was closed. Abby felt a shiver go up her spine. Whatever had occurred, it wasn’t good. And she was beginning to get the feeling she would be hit with the aftershocks soon enough. Abby turned and momentarily paced about in her room… the idea wasn’t returning to her, whatever it had been. That wasn’t good. It left her little to do. And Abby hated boredom. With a groan Abby yanked open her door and hesitantly entered the hallway. She had no real plan. That wasn’t anything new.

Abby didn’t bother to knock before entering her sister’s room. Their Mother even at her most furious would make sure to knock before entering. Alex didn’t have to turn around to know it was her sister. Abby flinched back at the sight of her, Alex lay sprawled on her bed, her face twisted with rage, her pants covered in mud. Abby stood, frozen at the door half considering a retreat. The older girl looked up and raised a hand to brush locks of hair out of her face. She considered Abby, contempt on her face. With some effort, the older girl attempted to crack a smile towards her sister. It didn’t work out very well.


Abby stood frozen a moment longer but eventually managed to yank her gaze away from her sister’s dirt smeared clothes. Her gaze flitted about her sisters wrecked room, it was messy beyond belief. Finally becoming aware her sister was waiting on her, Abby stuttered back to reality. She took a step back, standing just outside the doorway of her sister’s domain. She cared for her sister, but she wasn’t about to get sick on her behalf.

“What the hell was that about?”

Her sister frowned, picking her bag up off the ground and rummaging through it. Abby was sure she wasn’t looking for anything important. Her sister gave a sigh, not bothering to look up from her task.

“It’s nothing important.”

“Which, y’know, means it is.”

“You know our mom?”


“She’s a Grade-A bitch.”

Abby’s eyes widened. She began to rub her hands together again, nervously, glancing behind her towards the staircase. Alex was bad enough in a foul mood, combined with her mother it would reach an entirely new level of chaos.

“Don’t worry, she’s not here.” Alex said the contempt notable in her voice. Abby turned back to her older sister. She sat on the bed, flicking on her Nintendo DS. Abby made a quick note of his posture, defeated, a noticeable slouch. It wasn’t like her. Alex was usually upbeat, even after a fight.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“It’s not what I did; it’s what she found out.” Alex shot her a glare. “Don’t say fuck. You’re only like, 12 for Christ sake. Just because the other kids swear, doesn’t mean you can too. It won’t make you like them. Go play that shit guitar of yours.”

Abby frowned. If it was anyone else, she’d have simply walked off. People sometimes had a way of getting under her skin. Alex hadn’t originated the practice, but she had definitely perfected it.

“It isn’t shit. It’s a Fender Stratocaster. A 60th Anniversary Edition Fender Stratocaster.” She said slowly, putting emphasize on each word.

“A used 60th Edition Fender you mean…”

“That isn’t the point. The string is broken anyways, so NO, I can’t go play my guitar.”

“Oh? When did that happen?”

“Stop avoiding the subject. What did you do? She’s crazy when she’s in a bad mood.”

Alex threw the DS down onto the bed in a huff. Giving a sigh, she brought up her hand, rubbing her eyes and pushing her hair back, out of her face.

“She found out about John n’ me. Dunno how, but she did.”

Abby paused for a moment. John was, or at least had been, Alex’s boyfriend. Her “American” boyfriend. Or in other words, her WHITE boyfriend. Abby loved her mother, but had to admit she was a hypocrite. Terrified of appearing the slightest bit “un-American” the Erickson’ girls had to watch everything they said, everything they did. It was bitterly ironic in a way that sleeping WITH an American was on the list of un-American activities.

Considering, when you think about it, that’d be the only way to get a bit of American inside us…

“Oh fuck. Well… What’re you gonna’ do?” Her sister didn’t look up, but continued rubbing her forehead. It was a strange sight. Alex was usually the victor, or at least got away with whatever it was anyway. Whatever had happened, it had blown her confidence apart. In a strange way, that scared Abby more than Alex’s dirt smeared room. Abby glanced around, at a loss for what else she could say or do.

“Does it matter? Go write a poem kid.”

“I don’t have any ide-“

“By that I meant, get out. Kid.”

Abby tensed, anger coursing through her. With a sigh she turned on her heels, stalking back to her room and slamming the door. She didn’t know exactly why she had bothered. Alex could take care of herself, better than anyone in the house, better even than her mother. Pacing about her room, rubbing her hands together, Abby stared into the distance. An idea was brewing. Crossing to her guitar, Abby picked it up, plopping back down on her bed. Abby snatched up a pic and set about, randomly tugging on the chords, checking to make sure the guitar was tuned.

“This one goes out to forbidden love.” She whispered. “One, two, three, four!”

Abby Erickson began to play.


Abby sat on the bench, bouncing the hammer from knee to knee. The Armoury was silent, empty. She had awoken there, mere minutes earlier. The racks were empty, or at least, she had assumed they were empty. She hadn’t moved much. There wasn’t much of a point. Besides, she couldn’t. Abby Erickson was terrified. So she waited.

For what? Death? I don’t want that either…

But they hadn’t given her much of a choice, had they? She’d been chosen, for this “Patriotic” game. A massacre rather... Abby didn’t believe them for a second. There was no glory here. She knew what The Program was. It was a corruption of Rock n’ Roll; it was what her Father had run from.


And now it had come for her. And what’s worse, it had caught her without pen or instrument. Abby Erickson was utterly alone, armed with naught but a hammer. Abby couldn’t lie to herself. She was going to die. The second she had heard her name called, she realized her fate had been sealed. She remembered looking around, wide eyed as the men lead her out of the auditorium. She hadn’t seen Alex. She didn’t even remember when she had last seen her.

Just like Dad. I can’t remember, just like how Dad…

Abby smacked the hammer down hard on her knee, causing her to jolt back to reality. She couldn’t think about that, especially not HERE. She needed to think. She needed to live.

But for what? Would they really let some immigrant win The Program? Yeah fucking right. That’d be a huge blow to… to morale. Or whatever the hell this show is supposed to induce.

Abby sighed. There was no way out. She had been given a terrible weapon, and she had been shoved into a blood sport. The odds of a happy ending to this fairy-tale were zilch.

Fairy Tales didn’t ever have a happy ending… It always ended with blood. Blood. Oh yes, there will be blood. There will be dirt, and there will be blood and you’re going to get shot in the face and… And that’s why I’m still here. It’s clean here. It’s relatively safe. For, y’know. B-blood sports… Well at least I know why now. At least I’ve got that.

Abby suddenly tensed. A tapping sound was close by, fast approaching. Another classmate, a competitor. Abby wondered who it could be. Abby wondered if that really mattered. But most of all, Abby wondered if this was really the end. Closing her eyes, and lowering her head towards the floor, Abby began to shake as the footsteps grew closer… closer… it was unbearable. Abby opened her eyes just in time to see a boy sprinting into the otherwise empty room. Her eyes went wide with fright. She couldn’t move. She could barely speak. The hammer dropped onto her foot.

“Oh shit. Hi there.” She stammered, weak and timid.

Just like that. It all ends, just like that.
17:24CluevaraYaaay drugs.

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