round 06, challenge two: entry #10
Title: anonymous denunciations in the lion's mouth
Fandom and Pairing: yge; tablo-centric
Rating: pg13
Word Count: 200
Prompt/s Used: both
Summary: "they're saying i'm not me, and i can't convince them that i am. it's like i'm living in a kafka novel."
Warnings: n/a
Today, you realize as you step out (shoulders hunched, feet cement-stiff in their stubborn shuffle against the sidewalk), will be the first time you've left the apartment in over a month.
The two blocks to the toy store feel like the longest of your life. Three ladies huddled together at the curb send you matching glares. A group of children playing soccer on the street pause their game to watch you pass. The man leaning on a stoop outside the 7-Eleven slips his thumbs into his belt loops, stares unabashedly. You tuck your head down and walk faster. You'll take a different route back. Just to be safe.
At the shop, your eyes dart around to systematically catalogue the easiest routes out. The cashier's face flickers as he rings your purchase up.
You sprint home. Nobody accosts you, or shouts anything; they just watch, like they're all scrutinizing you through the wrong end of a microscope.
Haru's just waking up when you return. She blinks sleepily as you put the box of jumbo Legos on her bed. Happy birthday.
She pieces four blocks together and giggles, low and quiet, eyes sharp with delight. Something in your chest loosens a little.
Fandom and Pairing: yge; tablo-centric
Rating: pg13
Word Count: 200
Prompt/s Used: both
Summary: "they're saying i'm not me, and i can't convince them that i am. it's like i'm living in a kafka novel."
Warnings: n/a
Today, you realize as you step out (shoulders hunched, feet cement-stiff in their stubborn shuffle against the sidewalk), will be the first time you've left the apartment in over a month.
The two blocks to the toy store feel like the longest of your life. Three ladies huddled together at the curb send you matching glares. A group of children playing soccer on the street pause their game to watch you pass. The man leaning on a stoop outside the 7-Eleven slips his thumbs into his belt loops, stares unabashedly. You tuck your head down and walk faster. You'll take a different route back. Just to be safe.
At the shop, your eyes dart around to systematically catalogue the easiest routes out. The cashier's face flickers as he rings your purchase up.
You sprint home. Nobody accosts you, or shouts anything; they just watch, like they're all scrutinizing you through the wrong end of a microscope.
Haru's just waking up when you return. She blinks sleepily as you put the box of jumbo Legos on her bed. Happy birthday.
She pieces four blocks together and giggles, low and quiet, eyes sharp with delight. Something in your chest loosens a little.