sil, old habits die hard.

[MICHAEL ADAM HOLMES]

- - - - - - call the wind the thief

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for stealing their prayers - - - - - -[/font][/center]

It was hard for him to decide whether he liked today or not. Since Mikey had slipped out of bed, nothing particularly exciting had happened to him, unless you counted the rare find of a nearly empty kitchen for him to bake in. It didn't amount to much, unfortunately, since he ended up not being able to find the ingredients necessary to make his famous – or so he liked to think – cookies. After being grumpy and depressed about it for nearly an hour, he realized no one was going to comfort him about it, so he retreated outside and into the flowers.

Very little had changed about Mikey since he was five or six years old, save for his height and appearance, obviously. His love for the outdoors remained as they had when he was only a foot and a half tall. Summer was one of his favorite seasons, perhaps at a tie only with spring and sometimes fall and winter. He'd always been an indecisive kid, especially about favorites. Between summer and spring, he couldn't pick. Winter and fall were okay, but not excellent. Winter was barren and cold and boring most of the time (although he certainly didn't mind the first snowfall and the promise of Christmas) and fall reminded him of dead things. Summer, on the other hand, was warm and cozy and he found himself much less likely to have a meltdown when it was so pleasant. There really wasn't much to complain about. Unfortunately, it couldn't be so lovely as it was at the present all the time, so he was outside enjoying it while he could as he did nearly every day. There wasn't much to do at Stanfield inside. Well, there were a few activities of choice for the other kids, but he didn't particularly want to think about them. Instead, he passed the time by laying in the grass and blowing bubbles.

It must have been a bit of a strange sight. Mikey was laying down in the grass in the center of a bed of flowers, surrounded by lush green grass and multicolored flowers. For being an asylum, it certainly did not lack in the foliage department. At least, not in the tamed areas like the flower garden. He wasn't sure if the staff managed it or if it were the patients who voluntarily maintained the garden. He had seen quite a few people come by sometimes to water them or pick a weed or two. Hardly any of them noticed him, though. The only sign that he was there was the occasional gleaming bubble he sent floating up through the air until finally it burst, whether it be from making contact with an outstretching twig or just popping on its own.

I guess you could call it a bit of a game that he played with the people that came near enough to catch sight of the bubble. Whenever he saw someone approaching, he sat up a bit, dunked the little yellow stick his can of soap and blew through the hole and created a pretty little bubble show. He had been pretty unsuccessful thus far; few people had noticed him at all, and even fewer had expressed any interest in what he was doing. He had been hoping that at least one person would hop through the shrubbery, plop down next to him and grab the bubbles from him so they could do it together. He'd been learning slowly but surely that the students at Stanfield were usually a) extremely shy, therefore did not want to be friends, b) way too 'badass' to associate with the likes of him, c) found his presence excruciatingly annoying, or d) frankly just scary.

The entirety of the day was making him grumpy. The pressure of frustration was beginning to force down upon his forehead, despite being outside. Fresh air was his number one favorite cure for a headache. Advil worked really well too, but he prided himself on trying to being one of those all-natural vegetarian, organic hippie type people. Save the planet and all that. There were very few instances when the outdoors failed him, but today was one of those days. And he was not liking it. He knew that if someone finally did approach him (and he was being stubborn now, so there was no way he was going out of his way to be nice to someone else until they showed him some kindness first.) his current grumpy state would not help his cause. But, as he always did when he was in the middle of a temper tantrum, even one that no one was around to see, he was convinced that he didn't care, because this was about him now, and how much his life presently sucked. Grumbling under his breath, he set down the half-full can of suds, ignoring how it splashed up some over the sides, and huffed silently, momentarily forgetting the bubbles at all.

[/size][/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]look at us[/font][/size][/i]
S H A K E- -T H E- -S K Y[/font]

STATUS, finished :\
TAGGED, silhouette.
WORDS, 832alksdjflaksjdf.
NOTES, freakin sucks, man. what a load of rambles. i'm so sorry >__<[/size][/color]

and as the hands are spinning, they're waving you goodbye.

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whadduuup! well, this template was made by monica !
at caution to the wind. if you take off this credit then i
won’t hesitate to send my pack of mutant ninja turtles
to attack you with blunt sporks :3 either that or i’ll go
all anikan skywalker on your ass. lyrics from the song
“clocks” by versa. check them out, they=love.[/font][/right][/color]