Morgan's fanatic creations.

[Arthur Coleman]

(Slightly dark if you squint. Apart from language, squeaky clean.

Summary: Arthur gets some much-needed closure.
Characters: Arthur, Tyler
Title: Closure)

“Please.. please don’t do this..” He is pleading, close to tears as he feels his hands tremble in his lap.

“I have to.”

“Tyler, please.. don’t. I beg you.. you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Shut up, okay? Just shut up!”

They sit in a heavy silence, Tyler glaring daggers through the windshield as he puts the car into park, Arthur a shivering wreck in the back seat. His hands are clenching so tightly around his knees that he can feel the sharp bones press into his palms.

”Tyler..”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” Tyler is getting out of the car, flinging open his door and hissing underneath his breath.

There are bruises at Arthur’s wrists where Tyler dragged him into the car, overpowering him with brute strength alone. Arthur can feel them, knowing how ugly they must look, shaped like fingerprints.

“Get out.”Tyler growls as he nudges open Arthur’s car door.

“Ty..”

“Just get out of the goddamn car!”

Anger is rolling off of his elder brother like heat, but Arthur is numbed to the fury in his bone-chilling terror. He is frightened because his brother is so angry with him, so furious, even so frightened to think that Tyler might kill him, or worse, leave him in the graveyard only footsteps away until he slowly went insane from the sense of foreboding death.

Tired of waiting, Tyler pulls him from the car in a fierce tug, causing Arthur to stumble. The waves of loss and pain hit him, and he feels dizzy and weak, unconsciously clinging to his brother’s arm to keep himself steady. “I can’t do this.. please.. don’t.. don’t make me do this, Ty.. I can’t..” He’s stuttering out of fright, and Arthur has a unnerving suspicion that he’s going to be sick.

“Just. Walk.” Tyler growled. ..but he is shaking too, his bicep shivering beneath Arthur’s grip.

Flashes of pain and despair are trickling down through his mind’s eye like cold water. Crying faces.. screams.. tears.. pain.. loss.. all of it’s there. Anger.. regret.. remorse.. it never stopped. It wouldn’t.. he couldn’t.

Arthur shakes his head a little as he takes a shuddering breath. Step after step the feeling of being haunted only worsens. He’s going to fall.. perhaps even faint. With a trembling hand he reaches out for support, slender fingers grazing the hard granite of a grave marker. Arthur shivers.

Mother.

“You don’t know how hard it was..,” Tyler hissed into his ear. “How hard it was to suck it up, to be strong for you when you weren’t even sad for mom and dad yourself.. you never even mourned.. never even cried.. not once. How.. how can you...? Don’t you feel..? Feel anything at all?” His voice falters and he inhales deeply. Tyler lets go of Arthur, clenching his hands at his sides. “Damn you... goddamn you and your mutation.. it was killing you.. and now.. now you want to let it walk all over you again. Because you were too afraid to face the truth, Arthur! More afraid than I ever was!” He’s shouting now, and Arthur flinches away, reaching out for the almost identical gravemarker to hold himself steady.

Father.

Arthur can hear Tyler swearing underneath his breath. They are both trembling, and Tyler is crying, tears streaking his face out of anger and frustration.

With a sob, Arthur shudders, his body canting forward and forcing him to sink to his knees. “I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry.. please.. forgive me..,” Arthur whimpers, holding himself and shaking. “I never meant to dishonor them.. to hurt you.. never.. never..”

Arms are wrapping around him and Arthur is pulled into a warm embrace, protected and shielded by the oncoming cold breezes by his brother’s shoulders. Arthur was always wiser.. always thought to be the older one because he was so weathered and worn.. and people couldn’t believe it when Tyler told them the truth..

“It’s okay..,” Tyler murmurs, running his fingers through his younger brother’s curls. “It’s okay.. everything’s going to be alright now..”

For the first time in twenty seven years, the family was united again.. together at last. And Arthur grieved.

fin.

[Manslaughter]

(First ever 100 word drabble. Dark. Squeaky clean, but still dark.

Summary: There are no rules and Roger's tired of losing.
Characters: Roger, Sister (Linda), Mother (...Roger's mother--Katherine.)
Title: The Game)

He didn’t like her.

His mind itched until it felt aflame every time she looked at him--her eyes--blue--looking into, above, behind, and all around him so that he could not escape. Each time she gazed at him his body froze, but it made his mother smile.

So Roger stared back. Hoping, wishing, that she would keel away to the floor in agony and scream and scream. And she did.

That’s when Mother struck him. He gasped, tasting blood, and Sister stared at him, asking ‘why?’ in silent blues.

Roger blinked and smiled. He could move.

“I win.”

[Manslaughter]

(I'm proud of this one. My photography teacher wanted me to give her some stuff for the newspaper after she liked my art journal so much last year. So, yes, I know I'm putting myself on a pedestal, but damn, it feels good. x3 Anyway, without further adieu...

Summary: Her eyes were green once.
Characters: Young!Will and his mom.
Title: The Flowers)

“Momma...” The whispered plea hangs in the air like an unfinished question, and then is rolled over by a growl of thunder. Soft, helpless whining had long taken the place of actual crying, and he tries to shove his hand up between slim, brittle fingers touching his face to smudge the tears, but a sharp rap on his wrist is enough of a warning.

“Hold still.”

“But....”

“Hush, William.” He reluctantly obeys, shivering miserably on the foot of the bed and watching the darkened silhouette of his mother jerk about the room. Only when the lightning flashes can he see the dark, crinkled curls framing his mother’s face for an instant as she hovers over him. A streak of blood has dribbled past his chin from the base of his lip, although it quickly disappears beneath the sharp jabbing of a wet washcloth. His mother has no grasp of the meaning to be gentle, and he twitches and mewls in objection beneath the rough treatment.

He suddenly feels fingers weakly grip his shoulders and give him a sharp shake. “Stop it. Don’t you dare cry--you hear?”

Lightning strikes outside and light filled the room, and everything is perfectly illuminated. A gasp of breath bobs in his throat as Will is suddenly able to see his mother perfectly. And their eyes met fleetingly.

He can see past the murky haze of ditchwater in her eyes, his own piercing into them and searching for the shade of jade beneath. There. The tiniest speckle of green is flickering. And he’d known all along that she is alive under there--fresh, green--like the pretty flower braving the storm. Slowly, he reaches out and touches his mother’s brow with hesitant fingers, wanting to close her eyes to protect the life in them.

The room is suddenly swallowed in complete darkness and his fingertips only brush an eyelash as his mother flinches away from the touch. The lamp has gone out along with the lightning. He can hear his mother mumbling halfhearted curses about a candle as she stumbles in the dark, staggering out into the hallway with the damp rag in her hand.

Will gives a whimper that disappears into the shadow of the room before he curls up on the comforter of the bed, tucking his knees to his chest.

And the jagged remains of pale, whithered petunia blossoms from flowerbed slap against the window, chunks of the bloom sticking to the wet glass.

[Manslaughter]

(Another 100 word drabble with Roger. Slightly dark, as usual, but clean enough to eat off of.

Summary: Roger gives sound advice.
Characters: Young!Roger and a random lady with an inkling of his mother in the backgorund.
Title: Vanilla)

He licks the lukewarm trail of vanilla ice cream running down his hand as it melts from the cone. Holding his mother’s hand and scuffing his Ninja Turtle sneakers on the pavement, Roger lets his eyes wander, staring blankly at the red shoes attached to a rather rotund woman standing on the curb. She coos and ruffles his red hair as his mother turns to wave down a taxi.

“Now aren’t you just darling!”

The pale-faced boy blinks, unperturbed by her almost glowing grin. He tilts his head up and offers a sweet smile. “Pigeons can peck out your eyeballs.”