It was another typical dinner at Kens house. His parents sat across from each other, at the dinning room table, while Ken sat in the middle, listening to their conversation. “We have a shipment of a series of skulls coming in, apparently they are all old burlock skulls.” his mother, Carissa, said as she read off a clipboard, and ate. “Wonderful! Should we put it with the classic wing or the bone collection.” His father, Jonas, asked. He peeked up from his plate with a grin, excited about the new pieces, his eyes looked bigger behind this circular glasses. “Perhaps the classic. Since there is already the clothing and little campsite.” Carissa answered.
The pair both turned to Ken, who had been silent. “What do you think, Kenny?” Jonas asked, waiting for his sons reply. “Uh…t-the classic wing should work. Like mom said.” he answered. Jonas, nodded and grinned. He turned his sight back to his wife, then pointed at Ken with his eyes. Carissa smiled and looked to him. “How has school been? We haven’t had the chance to ask with setting up the museum and everything.” she asked sweetly.
Jonas and Carissa had meet in middle school, both had an interest in history their 6th grade year. Even enjoyed the class trip to the museum. Starting out as friends, they would work together in class and soon discovered they had quite a bit in common. The pair began spending more and more time together, through the rest of middle school and on into college. Both majored in history and wanted to share their love of history with others.
They had their own likes in history. For Carissa it was the west. Their views and attitude always interested her. She was in charge of the western part in the museum. The clothing, architecture and the life style was, to her, interesting. How different was from then till now was her favorite. For Jonas, it was the dark ages. He enjoyed the metal works, and to prove this he had an entire wing dedicated to just their metal workings. Swords, armor, shields. The two also had several other eras in the museum, but they were guides in the ones they enjoyed.
Ken shrugged nervously. “Fine, it’s been uh…interesting. Some people there are nice, and some are…unique.” he answered. “Well, give an example. Who is interesting?” Jonas questioned, sipping from his drink. “There’s this guy…Jackson. He uh…he’s nice but I’m kinda scared of him. He’s immortal. You see and well…A sandbag fell from the walkway above the stage and it fell on his head.” he answered. Both of his parents blinked in bewilderment. “There’s also Kayla, Zill, Damian, Addison and Sahara.” he added, finishing both his meal and comment.
Carissa giggled and watched him go towards the kitchen. “Well, aren’t you popular?” she teased. Ken smiled softly and shook his head. “N-not exactly yet, mom. I mostly know Kayla, and she’s just a friendly face.” he replied, returning to the dining room. “Well, I know you’ll make friends. Just have an open mind. Maybe you and that Jackson fellow can be buddy buddy.” Jonas offered. Ken tilted his head from left to right, considering the thought. “I’ll try, dad.” he assured and with that final comment, he headed towards his room, shutting the door behind him.
Jonas took his and Carissa’s empty plates to the sink and smiled at her, returning to the dining room. “I hope he’ll make some friends there.” she said, a bit of sadness in her voice. “He will, just give it time.” Jonas reassured her, he pecked her cheek and walked off with her to the living room, for their favorite crime show that was coming on. The pair cuddled up and made it just in time as the shows theme began.
Ken sat at his desk, sketching on the fish of peace, the one he wanted to spend a good amount of time on. He had two of the majestic spirits outlined and gently worked on a third, gently sketching in the lines. The only sound he heard was the scratching of lead on the paper, until he took his music player out from his backpack and began to play his music. Rock, of course.
He soon began to head bang and mouth the lyrics. His parents were even surprised by his timid attitude but like of rock music, but didn’t mind. He expressed himself differently than others, which was fine. Leaning back in his blue swivel chair, he began to drum his fingers on the desk, getting lost in the song, now starting to speak the lyrics, opposed to singing. “I wanna make you move, because you‘re standing still…” he whispered, drumming softly. It wasn’t his number one song, but he enjoyed this one.
Returning to his sketch, his mind began to drift, thinking about the others at school. They had been welcoming to him, and polite. Was it truly how they were? “Kayla seemed to be polite, maybe she isn’t….oh…yea. She’s probably not happy with me after how I snapped at her.” he thought. “I’ll apologize tomorrow. I’d do it now but I don’t have her number. Does she have a phone even?”
His thoughts began to drown out the music and even the focus on his sketch. Closing his brown notebook, he turned around in the chair, having spun too quickly, his music player fell off the table. The headphones pulled away slightly, he sighed and went to pick up the black player, picked it up gently and sat up straight. Turning it off, he took the headphones off and stared up at the ceiling.
His thoughts now went to Jack, the peculiar jackal whom he had two classes with. History and theater. He was seemingly nice enough, but also insecure. Why would Zill and Kayla see them getting along? Jack was unlucky…very unlucky…and sounded too get hurt very often. If he had survived a sandbag smashing his face to the floor, what other painful accidents did he have? Bisection? Decapitation? Burning? How about electrocution? No, that was wrong to think, it made his stomach churn in disgust.
From Jack to Addison, he began thinking about the boy from before. He was nice as well, but his looks were almost feminine. Which wasn’t really an issue, but he couldn’t help if to wonder if Addison, or “Addi” was often called a girl. Why would Addison put in the good word for Damian? The son of SATAN! He had gotten over who Damian’s father was, but the biggest oddity was, “why does he go to the academy?”. The thoughts continued, until he could only list them.
Kayla: try to become friends
He only thought of one faculty member as a possible person to try to get to know. Cameron. She seemed sensible and to have a good head on her shoulders. There was nothing wrong with Zechariah or the others. Except for maybe the nurse. He carried a stuffed animal, WHO HE SPOKE WITH! Then there was the fact he heard some other students speaking about when the nurse had apparently chased a student. Chastopher (the nurse) reportedly was wheeling himself in a wheelchair, needle in hand, screaming “coooome baaaack! I can make you feel beeetter!” in an eerie, singsong voice. Ken shuddered at the thought.
There was a gentle knock on his door, then his father peaked in. “We’re gonna go to bed, kiddo. See you in the morning.” he said. Ken brought his head up, a bit surprised, having been lost in thought. “Okay dad. S-see you in the morning.” he answered. His father nodded and shut the door. Jonas was a bit different, he wasn’t a strict parent, or a carefree “best friend” type. He could be fun and cool abut also knew when to draw a line. He always had.
Ken got up, turned his desk lamp off and walked over to bed. He could feel his achluphobia creeping up. It started at his feet and wrapped around his legs, then began climbing up his slender figure. He took a glance at the window on the left of his bed, the moon light shined in, giving his room a blue tint. Both his fear of dark and night began to battle for dominance. He knew he was safe, but there was still the sharp point of uncertainty crawling up his spine.
Ken sighed, shaking his head in disappointment in himself. He had a nightlight for awhile, but it was no longer an item he used. These fears were just about gone, maybe they were. He pulled his sheets back and climbed in, covering himself up. Taking one last glance around his room.
From the door was his desk, a large study desk with a door that could be pulled down like a garage door. Next to it was his closet, decent sized, it had was louver closet.On the next wall was a window, which was the scenery was blocked by a tree next to it was his dresser, a few little items on it. A guitar pick he caught at a concert, tickets to the show from said pick and a small series of books. A few fantasy and books about phobias and how to deatl with them, then came the next wall. The window, his night stand, his bed. His last will had mostly different items that were miscellaneous items. Posters of rock bands, a dart board and a place beside the door where he set his bookbag. Back beside his bed, nestled in the corner, it was only out of sight, never out of mind.
His instrument was placed gently in the holder, bow beside it and a song book behind it. The violin was Ken’s secret talent. The sketching he was quiet about, but would show others, the stringed instrument was something different. He had wanted to play guitar, but the violin was a gift from a family friend, a music teacher. She thought him how to play and had been patient. He, like all others, took time too learn how to play. He would play in his room, and considered possibly trying out, maybe Jackie would give him a chance? They’d be practicing for a month, maybe there was still time, or maybe not.
Pulling the covers up to his shoulders, he took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling again. “Hope for the best, Ken. T-they won’t hurt you.”