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Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2017 3:28 pm
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bloom
The world might've changed, but Shiloh's head didn't.
There's magic to deal with, and school, and his relationships. They're all things that Shiloh never had to deal with before, because magic was a myth and school was better left <********> and he romanticized the idea of a slow, lonesome death. Life was a endless waltz that spun around and around and around and he was caught in the middle, unable to focus on the present with no thoughts of the future and the weight of the past pushing all the air out of his lungs.
Somewhere along the line he grew. His bitter blood turned sweet and his wounds were the ashen grounds from a forest fire ready for spring again. His body itched with this sensation of growth that woke him in the middle of the night and left him restless and torn. Buds dappled his arms, vines clung around his neck, his spine was a long gnarled trunk and his body petrified into a crystalline sort of wood. Something found a beauty in him and he in turn worshiped a purpose.
When did Monday become Friday? The hour hand ticks silently and his conversations are all on repeat. He's heavy, don't tell him to move, he's rooted and it's natural this way.
His head is swathed in grass and he can hear soft whispers if he listens the right way, like your ear to a conch shell except—the swells mean nothing and they're entertained that you don't understand. His eyes open without ever sleeping and his pillow continues to cradle his skull. This place is a prison and they've locked him up without the key; physical representation of such or not. Sometimes you can be your own warden.
His nails clicked against the bed frame like a baton along the bars before he gnawed them down into something less lethal.
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Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2017 3:43 pm
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rude as ******** style="font-size: 10px">He finds out that he has therapy appointments.
Jamie's parents ask about it and if he's not going to go, but he didn't even know it existed in the first place. He can't say no? He can't face that fallout of disappointment.
"Bye, Jamie." He says before taking off, which is hard enough because he has to make an excuse for the car that he owns but can't drive. Public transit isn't bad though. He likes the rusty smell of the worn out seats and seeing the other dreary dull eyed patrons board. It's liminal. He almost expects to get off in Otherworld, but he doesn't. It's a long building of offices and confused receptionists pointing him towards a life he lived once.
And it hurts when he gets there, and the women is nice and patient but reserved and unsure. They were making a lot of progress, Shiloh was sure, this woman and the other him. He's a fresh slate and they're starting over. No steps forward and twenty steps back. He snaps a lot. He yells. She's all smiles and assuring nods. "It's okay to be angry," She tells him, and he knows this already, but he hasn't realized how badly he needs to hear that over and over and over.
He goes to this place once a week. He comes home exhausted every time.
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Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2017 4:43 pm
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aspirations
So the big question is: why Sociology?
He reads through his old texts, scrolls through IM logs, peeks through his drawings, spends hours listening to his audio tapes, but there's no answers. Sociology on its own is incredibly broad, so he can't figure it out for the life of him why he would have picked it. There was a small thought in the back of his head of pursing a career in teaching—not like, teaching teaching like core studies—but things like art. It seemed important.
He poises it to his therapist one visit in a roundabout way. "Do you think I should go through with it?"
"Sociology?"
"Yeah."
And she hmm's softly for a second, "Well, you seemed very set on social work."
That narrows it, "But do you think I'd be a good fit?"
She thinks again, taps her chin even though Shiloh's sure she already has her answer, "I think so. You're passionate. You're empathetic." These are not words Shiloh would have chosen to describe himself, "It's like you always said; 'Think of those kids'," She smiled, "'Who would know them any better?'"
Suddenly it all makes sense.
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