Oohara Jou (
yellowlion) wrote in
dinohouse2012-04-16 09:03 am
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Mushball universe, anyone who'd like to talk to Jou
I sit on the grass in our rear yard, legs crossed, and try to let myself sink into a meditative state. I don't do this very often. It's usually helpful, when I do.
I had the oddest feeling when I first met Joe, that I'd met him before. That this was meant to happen, in some way. Except he should've been wearing a blue leather jacket, and he was in tears, in my lab. Not a shy, troubled schoolkid convinced everything was his fault.
I pushed it aside as a stupid dream. When you have weird-ass dreams all the time anyway it's only too easy to assign meaning to them later.
But now? Now I'm beginning to wonder.
I had the oddest feeling when I first met Joe, that I'd met him before. That this was meant to happen, in some way. Except he should've been wearing a blue leather jacket, and he was in tears, in my lab. Not a shy, troubled schoolkid convinced everything was his fault.
I pushed it aside as a stupid dream. When you have weird-ass dreams all the time anyway it's only too easy to assign meaning to them later.
But now? Now I'm beginning to wonder.
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That must be the source of his 'older friend who died' memory. I stare at him wordlessly, then reach out and gather him into a hug. "Your friend," I murmur, hoping this won't be the moment that triggers his complete meltdown. "We talked about his soul."
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"My friend?" I didn't have a lot of them. I know that, neither version of me had a lot of friends. Don is one commonality. Sid is apparently another. And I know he's not talking about Don.
Something rises up inside my and I'm not sure if I'm about to be sick or if I'm about to start crying again.
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"Something else. Can we talk about something else?"
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"Something else to do with this, or something completely different, son?"
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"Come inside, then," I say gently. "Do your homework, have dinner. Watch TV. Whatever you want, son. Let us take care of you."
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Why was I in the military so young? How did I end up a pirate? Why are so many people in my past dead? I'm not a normal boy, but I guess my parents aren't really normal either.
I can't pull away yet, though. I choke on a pathetic sob and I feel about five as I cry weakly into his shirt.
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I don't say anything stupid apart from the occasional, "I love you," into his hair. I just keep holding him, rubbing his back gently, letting him get it out.