ext_74730 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
night-sky99.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tamingthemuse2010-06-26 10:55 pm
night-sky99.livejournal.com) wrote in tamingthemuse2010-06-26 10:55 pm
Entry tags:
205 - Aboulia - Baseball - night_sky99
Title: Baseball
Fandom: Original
Prompt: 205 - Aboulia
Wordcount: 1.237
Rating: PG
Summary: Dominic has another appointment with his psychologist, who is trying desperately to get some sort of reaction out of the "damaged" young boy. On the other side of the mirror, the young boy's mother has hope that her son is still somewhere in the shell of the boy before her.
A/N: Hi all! Just joined so sorry if this isn't the best. Thought I'd try this week's contest with only about a day worth of writing time. Please note: I'm rubbish with summaries so I apologize XD
“Dominic, you need to pay attention now.” The screech as the woman pulls the chair closer draws the young boy’s mind back to reality. From across the tiny table, the boy’s blue eyes stare forward, not really focusing on anything in particular but letting the woman know that he’s listening.
“Dominic, please listen to Dr. Jane.” Slowly Dominic turns his head, titling it ever so slightly to stare at the little box on the side of the room, the one right next to the big mirror. From the box, he hears his mother’s voice but he knows she isn’t really there. He knows she’s behind the magic mirror. He knows she’s watching him and that he better do what she says. His eyes slowly return to looking at the woman across from him, this Dr. Jane.
“Good!” Wrinkles appear around the doctor’s mouth as she bares her big horse teeth to the little boy. Her pen darts across the clipboard balanced on her lap. “Now, Dominic, I’d like to play a little game with you. Would that be alright?”
No response. Instead, Dominic just continues staring at the woman who, in turn, continues to wait. Slowly, the boy nods his head ever so slightly.
“Good!” More scratching as Dr. Jane jots down some notes. “Dominic, would you go get that ball in the corner?” Her bony finger points to the corner. Amid the bright colors and the bins overflowing with fun looking toys, a lone battered baseball sits, isolated from the others in the corner of the room of excitement.
His chair screeches against the floor as Dominic lazily gets up and starts walking, slowly and seemingly without any real purpose. The young boy of about 10 has a glazed-over look in his eyes, again not really focusing on anything. His feet drag across the floor as his walks, his toes getting caught on the edge of the red shag carpet. Do I like the color red?, he thinks to himself. With his head down, Dominic continues at his slow pace, feeling no need to rush, no need to hurry up, no need to really do anything in all honesty.
Dominic did not like this room. It was weird. It was too overly happy, or at least trying to be. With all the reds and yellows, all the suns and animals on the walls with giant smiles, it all seemed too fake to him. What he hated the most about the room was Dr. Jane. She always tries to get him to play with some of the other kids or play with her. What if he didn’t want to? In those cases, she would force him to. She seems obsessed with playing catch with all the balls in the room. Dr. Jane particularly liked the baseball. She always seems to want to play with the baseball the most. In fact, the ball in the corner of the “fun” room is a baseball, a raggedy baseball at that.
“Can you bring the ball to me, please?” Dr. Jane asks with a hint of impatience in her voice. She knows he has problems, ever since the accident, but even psychologists can have off days sometimes.
Sitting in the corner, the ball stares back at Dominic, as if taunting him, laughing at the scar that pierces his skin. It was the stupid ball’s fault, so why didn’t the ball get hurt? It was the same ball, the same ball he chased into the street. The same ball that made Dominic feel so uninterested in everything.
“Dominic!” He blinks and slowly picks up the stupid baseball from the corner, where he had thrown it after Dr. Jane made him mad that morning. “May I see the ball now?” Her hand outstretched towards the boy. With a speed Dr. Jane had never seen from the boy, he makes his way over to her side and places it gently on the kiddy table the doctor sat at.
“Do you like to play ball?” The doctor says, pulling out a tattered old baseball glove from beneath the table.
The boy’s eyes grow wide, his mind reliving the moment before the accident in the split second he decided to run out to get the ball his best friend had thrown past him on a dull summer evening.
Eyes growing wider, Dr. Jane finally gets the reaction she’s been waiting for as the boy reaches across the table and chucks it across the room, making a thud as the glove makes contact with the one-way mirror.
------------------------------------
“Dr. Jane, how is Dom doing today?” The mother wringing a tissue in her hands, a small pile resembling snow has already accumulated on her lap. The flecks of tissue fall to the ground as the mother hurriedly stands, a few pieces sticking to her skirt.
“Dominic is doing about as well as can expected, given his condition.” The young doctor removes her glasses, rubbing her temples. Already the stress of her job is starting to effect her: her skin has lost its glow, her hair has grown limp. In all honesty, Dr. Jane didn’t know how much long she could go on. Seeing all these young kids, with so much living ahead of them, have their lives stolen from them whether on purpose or by a freak accident like in Dominic’s case.
“He hasn’t been playing with the kids at recess. His teachers are growing concerned.” The mother’s eyes plead with the doctor, looking for some hope that he son will return to normal. Unfortunately, Dr. Jane had little in the realm of good news.
“Given his current condition, that’s to be expected. Did you read the material I gave you since his diagnosis?” The mother nods hastily, her eyes darting to the one-way mirror to see her little boy still sitting in the same chair, staring at the same spot across the room, that Dr. Jane had left him in moments ago.
“Dom’s been acting more and more isolated. He doesn’t want to go outside, he doesn’t want to go on play dates. He just sits inside, not even playing his video games! When I mentioned signing him up for baseball—well, that was the only time I got a reaction out of him!”
“Mrs. Watson, these things take time. You can’t rush him. He’s been through a lot, more than most ten years old have gone through, even more than most 20 year olds have been through! You can’t just expect him to fall back into his normal routine.”
“But baseball season is coming up and I just thought--”
“Did you see how he reacted when I showed him his old baseball glove?” The mother nods. “Then you know that to him, he blames baseball for what happened to him. In his mind, if he hadn’t run out into the street to get the loose ball, the car wouldn’t have hit him.
“To him, Mrs. Watson, the baseball and anything related to it, is the reason why he’s acting so weird. With frontal lobe injuries like Dominic’s, we can never really know if he’ll return to normal but we must always have hope. Do you understand Mrs. Watson?”
The mother, sighing in defeat, nods while the doctor glides over to the door of the toy room, calling to the boy, telling him it is time to go now and that they will see each other tomorrow.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: 205 - Aboulia
Wordcount: 1.237
Rating: PG
Summary: Dominic has another appointment with his psychologist, who is trying desperately to get some sort of reaction out of the "damaged" young boy. On the other side of the mirror, the young boy's mother has hope that her son is still somewhere in the shell of the boy before her.
A/N: Hi all! Just joined so sorry if this isn't the best. Thought I'd try this week's contest with only about a day worth of writing time. Please note: I'm rubbish with summaries so I apologize XD
“Dominic, you need to pay attention now.” The screech as the woman pulls the chair closer draws the young boy’s mind back to reality. From across the tiny table, the boy’s blue eyes stare forward, not really focusing on anything in particular but letting the woman know that he’s listening.
“Dominic, please listen to Dr. Jane.” Slowly Dominic turns his head, titling it ever so slightly to stare at the little box on the side of the room, the one right next to the big mirror. From the box, he hears his mother’s voice but he knows she isn’t really there. He knows she’s behind the magic mirror. He knows she’s watching him and that he better do what she says. His eyes slowly return to looking at the woman across from him, this Dr. Jane.
“Good!” Wrinkles appear around the doctor’s mouth as she bares her big horse teeth to the little boy. Her pen darts across the clipboard balanced on her lap. “Now, Dominic, I’d like to play a little game with you. Would that be alright?”
No response. Instead, Dominic just continues staring at the woman who, in turn, continues to wait. Slowly, the boy nods his head ever so slightly.
“Good!” More scratching as Dr. Jane jots down some notes. “Dominic, would you go get that ball in the corner?” Her bony finger points to the corner. Amid the bright colors and the bins overflowing with fun looking toys, a lone battered baseball sits, isolated from the others in the corner of the room of excitement.
His chair screeches against the floor as Dominic lazily gets up and starts walking, slowly and seemingly without any real purpose. The young boy of about 10 has a glazed-over look in his eyes, again not really focusing on anything. His feet drag across the floor as his walks, his toes getting caught on the edge of the red shag carpet. Do I like the color red?, he thinks to himself. With his head down, Dominic continues at his slow pace, feeling no need to rush, no need to hurry up, no need to really do anything in all honesty.
Dominic did not like this room. It was weird. It was too overly happy, or at least trying to be. With all the reds and yellows, all the suns and animals on the walls with giant smiles, it all seemed too fake to him. What he hated the most about the room was Dr. Jane. She always tries to get him to play with some of the other kids or play with her. What if he didn’t want to? In those cases, she would force him to. She seems obsessed with playing catch with all the balls in the room. Dr. Jane particularly liked the baseball. She always seems to want to play with the baseball the most. In fact, the ball in the corner of the “fun” room is a baseball, a raggedy baseball at that.
“Can you bring the ball to me, please?” Dr. Jane asks with a hint of impatience in her voice. She knows he has problems, ever since the accident, but even psychologists can have off days sometimes.
Sitting in the corner, the ball stares back at Dominic, as if taunting him, laughing at the scar that pierces his skin. It was the stupid ball’s fault, so why didn’t the ball get hurt? It was the same ball, the same ball he chased into the street. The same ball that made Dominic feel so uninterested in everything.
“Dominic!” He blinks and slowly picks up the stupid baseball from the corner, where he had thrown it after Dr. Jane made him mad that morning. “May I see the ball now?” Her hand outstretched towards the boy. With a speed Dr. Jane had never seen from the boy, he makes his way over to her side and places it gently on the kiddy table the doctor sat at.
“Do you like to play ball?” The doctor says, pulling out a tattered old baseball glove from beneath the table.
The boy’s eyes grow wide, his mind reliving the moment before the accident in the split second he decided to run out to get the ball his best friend had thrown past him on a dull summer evening.
Eyes growing wider, Dr. Jane finally gets the reaction she’s been waiting for as the boy reaches across the table and chucks it across the room, making a thud as the glove makes contact with the one-way mirror.
“Dr. Jane, how is Dom doing today?” The mother wringing a tissue in her hands, a small pile resembling snow has already accumulated on her lap. The flecks of tissue fall to the ground as the mother hurriedly stands, a few pieces sticking to her skirt.
“Dominic is doing about as well as can expected, given his condition.” The young doctor removes her glasses, rubbing her temples. Already the stress of her job is starting to effect her: her skin has lost its glow, her hair has grown limp. In all honesty, Dr. Jane didn’t know how much long she could go on. Seeing all these young kids, with so much living ahead of them, have their lives stolen from them whether on purpose or by a freak accident like in Dominic’s case.
“He hasn’t been playing with the kids at recess. His teachers are growing concerned.” The mother’s eyes plead with the doctor, looking for some hope that he son will return to normal. Unfortunately, Dr. Jane had little in the realm of good news.
“Given his current condition, that’s to be expected. Did you read the material I gave you since his diagnosis?” The mother nods hastily, her eyes darting to the one-way mirror to see her little boy still sitting in the same chair, staring at the same spot across the room, that Dr. Jane had left him in moments ago.
“Dom’s been acting more and more isolated. He doesn’t want to go outside, he doesn’t want to go on play dates. He just sits inside, not even playing his video games! When I mentioned signing him up for baseball—well, that was the only time I got a reaction out of him!”
“Mrs. Watson, these things take time. You can’t rush him. He’s been through a lot, more than most ten years old have gone through, even more than most 20 year olds have been through! You can’t just expect him to fall back into his normal routine.”
“But baseball season is coming up and I just thought--”
“Did you see how he reacted when I showed him his old baseball glove?” The mother nods. “Then you know that to him, he blames baseball for what happened to him. In his mind, if he hadn’t run out into the street to get the loose ball, the car wouldn’t have hit him.
“To him, Mrs. Watson, the baseball and anything related to it, is the reason why he’s acting so weird. With frontal lobe injuries like Dominic’s, we can never really know if he’ll return to normal but we must always have hope. Do you understand Mrs. Watson?”
The mother, sighing in defeat, nods while the doctor glides over to the door of the toy room, calling to the boy, telling him it is time to go now and that they will see each other tomorrow.