"Why? Why did Mama have to go away?" Thomas stood by the door leading out of the relatives room, his big blue eyes full of fear, sorrow and confusion. Tears stained his pale face, cuts and bruises dotting his cheeks, arms and forehead. His left arm was in a sling, his broken glasses sat upon a bedside table.
"When will she come back, Daddy? "
He didn't understand much of what was going on at all, and hadn't since the crash had occurred a few hours before. He couldn't comprehend a single thing. He didn't understand that she'd been killed, that his mom wasn't ever going to come back to him. That he'd never see her again.
"I'm sorry, son." His father knelt down to be at his son's level. "Mommy can't come back home. Mommy.. well, Mommy had to go back to the angels." The normally strong man spoke softly and sadly, giving the small child the tightest hug he dared to. "Mommy loves you though, okay? Daddy does to, and he'll keep you safe." The older man promised, standing up as he held him tight.
---
Routine.
Routine was the one thing Thomas needed more than anything else. He had to know where he was going to be and when that was, right down to the precise moment. It helped him keep some form of control in his life, and any changes could adversely affect the young man.
And today seemed to be completely against him. The train he was waiting for was now seven minutes and thirteen seconds late, the blonde sat upon the platform with his knees drawn to his chest and rocking back and forth slightly. His back was against the wall of the small wooden shelter, having picked this place for his anxiety attack. It didn't much help that people were staring and commenting upon the situation at hand, as though they knew everything about him.
But they didn't. They didn't know that he struggled with daily life. That he couldn't cope with change. That he didn't know how to deal with situations like this. They didn't know that he was autistic, or how badly it could affect him. His hands now rested upon his knees, fingers gripping fistfuls of denim jeans and hushed, muddled and hurried words spilling forth from between his lips. He always showed "strange and weird" behaviour (as one teacher had called it) whenever he was upset, scared or anxious. It was how he processed things, how he dealt with situations. At least, when he wasn't allowed to have "Rupert".
Rupert was an old, slightly tatty and frayed, but clearly much loved teddy bear. It was patchwork, some colours faded and with mismatched buttons for eyes and a faded and worn leather little nose. But it had been with Tom since he was just two, and provided him with much more comfort than most people were capable of. It always felt the same, smelt the same and looked the same. And that helped him.
But he had to leave the bear behind. He wasn't allowed to bring him to school anymore, as he refused to leave the bear anyway but in his lap when in class.
//I'm simply looking for someone capable of playing one of three roles. An older cousin of Thomas, his best friend, or a classmate. I'm looking to go with the flow for the plot.
Alternatively, I'm happy to accept a step-sibling in place of a cousin, as long as they are older than him. Thomas is 15 in this.
"When will she come back, Daddy? "
He didn't understand much of what was going on at all, and hadn't since the crash had occurred a few hours before. He couldn't comprehend a single thing. He didn't understand that she'd been killed, that his mom wasn't ever going to come back to him. That he'd never see her again.
"I'm sorry, son." His father knelt down to be at his son's level. "Mommy can't come back home. Mommy.. well, Mommy had to go back to the angels." The normally strong man spoke softly and sadly, giving the small child the tightest hug he dared to. "Mommy loves you though, okay? Daddy does to, and he'll keep you safe." The older man promised, standing up as he held him tight.
---
Routine.
Routine was the one thing Thomas needed more than anything else. He had to know where he was going to be and when that was, right down to the precise moment. It helped him keep some form of control in his life, and any changes could adversely affect the young man.
And today seemed to be completely against him. The train he was waiting for was now seven minutes and thirteen seconds late, the blonde sat upon the platform with his knees drawn to his chest and rocking back and forth slightly. His back was against the wall of the small wooden shelter, having picked this place for his anxiety attack. It didn't much help that people were staring and commenting upon the situation at hand, as though they knew everything about him.
But they didn't. They didn't know that he struggled with daily life. That he couldn't cope with change. That he didn't know how to deal with situations like this. They didn't know that he was autistic, or how badly it could affect him. His hands now rested upon his knees, fingers gripping fistfuls of denim jeans and hushed, muddled and hurried words spilling forth from between his lips. He always showed "strange and weird" behaviour (as one teacher had called it) whenever he was upset, scared or anxious. It was how he processed things, how he dealt with situations. At least, when he wasn't allowed to have "Rupert".
Rupert was an old, slightly tatty and frayed, but clearly much loved teddy bear. It was patchwork, some colours faded and with mismatched buttons for eyes and a faded and worn leather little nose. But it had been with Tom since he was just two, and provided him with much more comfort than most people were capable of. It always felt the same, smelt the same and looked the same. And that helped him.
But he had to leave the bear behind. He wasn't allowed to bring him to school anymore, as he refused to leave the bear anyway but in his lap when in class.
//I'm simply looking for someone capable of playing one of three roles. An older cousin of Thomas, his best friend, or a classmate. I'm looking to go with the flow for the plot.
Alternatively, I'm happy to accept a step-sibling in place of a cousin, as long as they are older than him. Thomas is 15 in this.
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