48- Week Four- Oc Oneshots

Instructions

Sorry this is a week late. Christmas week was... /a lot/ at best... yoyoyoyoooo week four!!!!! To those who haven't read the past oneshots, that's totally fine! Since these are oneshots, you don't need to :D though like, my babies really like the attention, and I havn't been giving them enough lately... they'd uh, yknow, THEY would appreciate it if you read their oneshots and gave them a pat on the head..? Fair warning, this is written awkwardly as this was a Language Arts assignment where we have to shove a set amount of vocab words in there. Combining that with turning in a barely-proofread rough draft and the no beta we die like Maria Carlen, it's a lil choppy. I'm pretty happy with it though. Anyways, this is about Damien (past week)(this is him on the thumbnail, very poorly drawn) but told in the lens of his neighbor at his mom's funeral. It isn't actively /about/ Damien, but he is the center of the narrative focus for a while in this. sigh. Just two paragraphs of sad times. I love psychologically beating the crap out of my (FICTIONAL) kids. “…to hope we find solace in this grievous accident…” The words continued, but Eleanor no longer heard them. Despondency hung heavy in the air, but it was thickest around her neighbors, the Carlens- or the remainder of them. “…We will remember the vibrant life of Maria Carlen…” The five boys clung to their father, Jeff, dependent on him to tether them, to not let them spiral. They all struggled to keep quiet, their sobs leaking out as vociferous squeaks and hitches. All but one, who was reticent, less vocal. She watched him stand still, almost lethargic, clutching his father’s hand, eyes wide and fixed on the floor. There wasn’t anything he could do, and Eleanor could tell; she could tell that there wasn’t any resilience he could relinquish to wail and sob because he was already past crying- he was shattered. She was used to the extravagant excitement that came from the sidewalk, the loud laughter that came squelched under a tackle from her dog, or the insistent knocking on her door and a voice calling her to look at a bug in the driveway. She was used to a bright, robust child. Not this. Not this quiet numbness. It wasn’t apathy, she knew. Rather, it was sudden, overwhelming grief, confusion, and heartbreak. Eleanor silently moved closer to the small child and rested her hand on his head, attempting to provide solace with soft gentle scratches through his hair. Jeff’s gaze flitted to her, his eyes puffy and tired. In them she saw the broken pieces that he was desperately holding together long enough to be strong for his kids. She offered him a tentative, empathetic smile, and he returned his own quivering smile as he wiped away the tears welling up again.