Fic: TW, "Things Not Seen"
A/N: Random Greenberg ficlet. Set during "Galvanize" (3x15). 275 words.
Things Not Seen
Most of the time, he feels invisible. He’s been told most teenagers feel that way, and knows it’s probably true. But he doubts most of them have overheard people wondering whether they actually exist. So, yeah, he feels invisible.
He’s not - not literally invisible, not a figment of Finstock’s limited imagination - but as he watches Finstock stomp his birthday present to shards he thinks he might prefer it to being cursed.
There was a time he didn’t believe his parents about the curse, thought it was just another lie they’d told him as a child, like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. He’s still not sure he believes all the details about Druids with grudges, but he doesn’t bother denying the curse anymore. He still tries to get out from under it sometimes, like when he went out for the lacrosse team, but admittedly that’s worked out about as well as the mug currently splintered all over the floor.
Then again, Beacon Hills just seems, too, to be one of those places where a ridiculous amount of pretty awful stuff tends to happen. He’s seen so many of his classmates injured, kidnapped, killed. There’s safety in invisibility, and he’d rather be cursed than dead.
So he watches Finstock with the remaining half of his mug, sighs, and sinks onto his desk, head pillowed on his arms and his Econ notebook. Maybe when he wakes up, the curse will have just been a bad dream. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.
He laughs softly at himself. Yeah, or maybe he’ll get bitten by a werewolf on Halloween. Get real, Greenberg. Some things will never happen.
Things Not Seen
Most of the time, he feels invisible. He’s been told most teenagers feel that way, and knows it’s probably true. But he doubts most of them have overheard people wondering whether they actually exist. So, yeah, he feels invisible.
He’s not - not literally invisible, not a figment of Finstock’s limited imagination - but as he watches Finstock stomp his birthday present to shards he thinks he might prefer it to being cursed.
There was a time he didn’t believe his parents about the curse, thought it was just another lie they’d told him as a child, like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. He’s still not sure he believes all the details about Druids with grudges, but he doesn’t bother denying the curse anymore. He still tries to get out from under it sometimes, like when he went out for the lacrosse team, but admittedly that’s worked out about as well as the mug currently splintered all over the floor.
Then again, Beacon Hills just seems, too, to be one of those places where a ridiculous amount of pretty awful stuff tends to happen. He’s seen so many of his classmates injured, kidnapped, killed. There’s safety in invisibility, and he’d rather be cursed than dead.
So he watches Finstock with the remaining half of his mug, sighs, and sinks onto his desk, head pillowed on his arms and his Econ notebook. Maybe when he wakes up, the curse will have just been a bad dream. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.
He laughs softly at himself. Yeah, or maybe he’ll get bitten by a werewolf on Halloween. Get real, Greenberg. Some things will never happen.