Reality

Chapter 20 - Discretion

Chapter 20- Standoff: Discretion

(note 1: the section that starts off with "the not-so-distant-past" takes place a day after last chapter. confusing, i know. sorry about that)

(note 2: please excuse any and all grammatical issues. i'll get to them eventually.)

(small edits made on August 22, 2015)

oOo

Immersed in stony silence, he feels nothing short of lost. The once sweet hums that echoed within the confines of his head have since turned sour, and he no longer finds comfort in the imaginary fingers rubbing into his back when his sickness becomes too much.

Everything that once gave him solace and bearing has no meaning. The sounds and sights that haunt him day in and day out only give him grief.

Holed up in his room, hands tugging painfully at his hair, Murdoc keeps asking himself the same question.

What the fuck just happened?

oOo

((the not-so-distant past))

Droplets of milk and cereal land against the hard, cracked table in wet splashes. They add on to the already existing, caked-on mess that takes over almost half of the table's surface. Murdoc has a hard time suppressing his gag reflex throughout the whole ordeal.

The breakfast table is disgusting.

Littered with trash and grime, smeared with indiscernible substances and stains- it's an inhabitable war-zone and most people would steer clear of its borderline toxicity. But, of course, the four band members aren't most people and they continue to eat at it

And they continue to litter it with more filth until someone is forced to clean it. Usually, it's the drummer who succumbs to the need to cleanse the unsightly thing, but...

Today, that isn't the case. And that's because Russell isn't home. Not that Murdoc particularly minds, seeing as the past twenty-four hours have been hard on him and he needs a damn break from his plaguing thoughts.

Murdoc leans fully against the shoddy table with a spoon sticking out of his mouth and a bowl of raisin bran sitting half-eaten in front of him. He watches young Noodle pick through her own cereal, amused, disgusted and it's almost completely silent save for the mute splatting of milky raisins hitting the tabletop.

"You're supposed to eat the damn raisins, Noodle-girl." Murdoc says finally, words jumbling messily around the utensil in his mouth. The metallic clang of spoon meeting teeth obscures his words and he pulls it out with a snort. He pauses, grimacing at the trail of spit traveling down his chin and he wordlessly wipes it off with the back of his sleeve.

"They ain't decorations."

Sighing, Noodle glances up from her cereal and casts Murdoc an annoyed look before dropping her head down again. He watches her with piqued interest, not registering the angry gleam in her eyes.

"...I do not like them." she says moodily, continuing to pick them out of her breakfast with steady progression. She looks up at Murdoc again, eyes thoughtful and she brushes her thin fingers through her messy bangs.

There's a long pause and Murdoc almost thinks that Noodle's going to leave it at that before she speaks again.

"...They... resemble..." she says, pausing between each word and she trails off, waving a hand in the air in an attempt to find the right words.

"...Resemble, what?" Murdoc asks, smirk on his face and he raises a brow in amusement. Noodle groans in frustration, her little hands clenching and twitching as she struggles to speak.