Blackout (backpost)

Posted on 01 Dec 2015 @ 1:12am by Lieutenant Oren Idris Ph.D.

1,295 words; about a 6 minute read

[ON]

[Bajor, 2327]

A soft knock on the door came as a harbinger of Oren’s doom. His father’s fingers rapped against the door the usual three times before he let himself into Oren’s room. Even in his numb state, Oren could sense the tension in the room rise as the man he used to run after walked in.

“Oren…

“Go away…”

Riaan sighed, moving a step closer. “Oren,” he tried again, his voice sounding anguished. “You need to leave your room. The school called…” he trailed off, as if hoping Oren would send him away, like he had a dozen times before, but nothing came.

He moved closer, sitting down on the bed next to Oren but he knew from past experience that reaching out to try and touch him was a bad idea. Instead, he spoke. “You need to go back to school…”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s been two months..”

“I have to be here when Dejen comes back,” Oren said slowly, the words breaking his father’s heart. A hand hovered over Oren’s blonde head, aching to touch him, to comfort. Still, he pulled it back.

“Oren…” he said, voice on the verge of breaking. “Sweetheart…” He struggled with his words. “The police, they…they’re doing all they can, they said it will probably be a long…I mean, it could take them a while. Uh…”

Suddenly, he felt soft pressure on his hand and saw it covered with Oren’s own. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Riaan looked up to see Oren was now half sitting up on the bed, facing his father. His hair fell over his face and he was deathly pale, his cheeks looking hollow, evidence of all the food Riaan had taken back to kitchen every day, untouched. He looked almost twice his age.

“Oren…”

“I’ll go.”

Riaan looked up. “What?” he asked in disbelief, the sudden change in Oren taking him by surprise.

“I’ll go to school. I don’t want you to get into trouble,” Oren said tonelessly, taking his hand away from Riaan’s and slowly making his way out of bed. As he moved past his father, Riaan could feel the heat and the stale air off him from having barely moved in weeks.

He watched his son’s too thin frame move like a ghost from one side of his room to the other, picking through clothes and shoes before slowly putting them on. As he took off his sleeping shirt, Riaan’s heart contracted as he saw the small flecks of paint still clinging to the boy’s skin, his obvious ribs, moving under loose skin.

“I…” he tried, but Oren cut him off with a look.

“I don’t want to talk, I’ll just go to school,” the boy said. Riaan opened his mouth to say more but thought better of it and just made a noise of agreement before standing up. Standing there awkwardly for another moment, he finally turned and left.

As the door closed behind his father, Oren closed his eyes and sighed in relief, feeling his hands shake.

---

The minute Oren entered the school playground, he was set upon by his classmates. He tried to move past but they cornered him. As the group surrounded him, he felt his heart pounding, blood rushing to his ears, almost blocking the sound of the other children’s voices.

“We thought you were dead!”

“Are you sick?”

“How could you play sick for so long!?”

But out of the mass, one voice broke through.

“Where’s Dejen?” Oren’s eyes focused and he turned towards the sound. It was little Selai Levin, a small mousey haired boy, Dejen’s age. Dejen’s friend. He looked up at Oren with expectant eyes, his usual bucket and tiny shovel hanging from his small hands. He must’ve been waiting for Dejen to join him for his play session in the sandbox.

Oren shook his head. “He’s…” But his voice hitched, unable to say the words, even after such a long time. Suddenly, the bell of the school sounded, signaling the children to come in. Giving their friend one last look, most of the children scattered, with Levin staying last, still looking expectantly to Oren for an answer. Feeling hot tears well up in his eyes, Oren marched away, leaving the small boy confused behind him. As the tears slowly began to break away from his eyes to slide down his cheeks, Oren walked faster towards the school building, determined to lock himself away somewhere until the day was over.

“..probably dead.”

The words reached his ears just as he came ten feet to the door and Oren stopped immediately, focusing on the voice. He turned slowly, the tears from his eyes falling freely now. He blinked, clearing his vision until they finally saw the source.

It was one of the Cardassian girls in his school. The daughter of one of the few Cardassian men who brought their family to Bajor.

“He’s probably sick, I mean…look at them.” She turned suddenly to Oren and then stopped, her expression changing when she realized she’d been caught.

“What?” she asked arrogantly.

“Wh..What did you say?” Oren asked in a shaky voice.

“I said, your brother is probably dead!” she said back confidently. The words stabbed at Oren like a blade and he felt his insides shake with anger at her tone.

“What do you know about it?” he asked angrily, walking towards her.

“More than you, I mean…look at yourself?”

“What?” Oren glanced down, wondering what she was getting at and hating the smug look on her boney, snakelike face with every word.

“How old are you? Eleven? You look like you’re eight.” Her voice seemed to carry and soon, Oren realized he wasn’t the only one listening to her.

“So?” Oren asked, looking around and wrapping his arms around his body self-consciously.

“So? You’re a freak! Your brother is the same way, you’re probably sick.”

“We’re not sick,” he said, but didn’t sound confident as her words slowly sunk in.

“Then why do you look like that?”

Oren swallowed hard, getting angrier as she realized she had an audience and began to speak louder. Oren watched, listening, and with each word from her mouth, their meaning began to drift through Oren’s brain and all he wanted was for her to stop talking.

“I mean, look at him? He’s so small, and scrawny, it’s a surprise he hasn’t dropped dead yet. That’s probably what happened to your little freak brother right?” she asked.

“Stop talking,” Oren said coldly, clenching his teeth.

“He dropped dead and your parents just planted him, right?”

“Shut up!”

Before he could stop himself, Oren lunged, throwing her to the hard ground and trying to pin her there, but she was strong as she began to struggle, hoping to throw him off.

She screamed. “Get off me, you freak!”

“Stop calling me that!” Without thinking, Oren felt the pent up rage, despair and anguish release as he raised his fist and then punched down, colliding with the girl’s ridged face. She continued to struggle, but Oren didn’t stop. He couldn’t. As he continued his assault, Oren slowly felt himself drift away with his anger, lost and vaguely aware of his surroundings and the numerous frightened voice that yelled at him to stop. To please stop.

It wasn’t until much later, when Oren’s father was furiously scrubbing the blood off of his son’s hands, that Oren even knew what he’d done./

[OFF]

 

RSS Feed