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31_days2010-06-11 02:46 pm
annwyd.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2010-06-11 02:46 pm
[June 11] [The Wire] Chapter Three
Title: Chapter Three
Day/Theme: June 11, "the fairy-tale trapped in its own image"
Series: The Wire
Character/Pairing: Omar
Rating: PG
Omar's memory was meticulous; he knew what favors were owed him and what debts he had yet to pay without fail. But there was one gap in his memory that would never be filled. It came when he was eight years old, still vulnerable in a way he rarely would ever be in the future, and he woke up in the hospital with his head aching and no memory of how he'd come to be there. He felt his face. There were stitches there. Patient, even then, he waited for an explanation. It did not come.
Instead, Anthony came. "You lucky they even take care that nasty thing," he said.
"What happened?" Omar asked.
Anthony was sullen and silent. He withheld the information. Instead, he shoved a small book into Omar's hands. "They say they gonna keep you here another day," he said. "Head wounds be dangerous and shit, man. Grandma tell me go give your little bro something to do."
"Yo, this your homework," Omar said, quite accurately.
"It's something to do, aite?" Anthony said. Then he left.
His head still aching, Omar watched him go. He was only eight, but he understood why Anthony hadn't told him where the wound on his face came from. It was one last futile attempt to exercise power over a little brother who was rapidly learning how to navigate the currents of power better than Anthony himself. Omar wouldn't give in to it and beg for the information. He was learning about pride, too.
He turned the book over in his hands and squinted at it. The title said something about Greek myths. He thumbed it open and tried to focus on the words around the pain. Chapter one was "creation." Chapter two was "gods." Chapter three was "heroes."
Creation was something that didn't concern him. Gods were far above him. But heroes...Omar could be one of those, someday. If he ignored the gods' rules and made his own.
The noise of the overworked hospital rose and fell around him, and the stitched-up gash across his face burned. But Omar read about the heroes, and he wondered if the streets of Baltimore had any of their own.
Day/Theme: June 11, "the fairy-tale trapped in its own image"
Series: The Wire
Character/Pairing: Omar
Rating: PG
Omar's memory was meticulous; he knew what favors were owed him and what debts he had yet to pay without fail. But there was one gap in his memory that would never be filled. It came when he was eight years old, still vulnerable in a way he rarely would ever be in the future, and he woke up in the hospital with his head aching and no memory of how he'd come to be there. He felt his face. There were stitches there. Patient, even then, he waited for an explanation. It did not come.
Instead, Anthony came. "You lucky they even take care that nasty thing," he said.
"What happened?" Omar asked.
Anthony was sullen and silent. He withheld the information. Instead, he shoved a small book into Omar's hands. "They say they gonna keep you here another day," he said. "Head wounds be dangerous and shit, man. Grandma tell me go give your little bro something to do."
"Yo, this your homework," Omar said, quite accurately.
"It's something to do, aite?" Anthony said. Then he left.
His head still aching, Omar watched him go. He was only eight, but he understood why Anthony hadn't told him where the wound on his face came from. It was one last futile attempt to exercise power over a little brother who was rapidly learning how to navigate the currents of power better than Anthony himself. Omar wouldn't give in to it and beg for the information. He was learning about pride, too.
He turned the book over in his hands and squinted at it. The title said something about Greek myths. He thumbed it open and tried to focus on the words around the pain. Chapter one was "creation." Chapter two was "gods." Chapter three was "heroes."
Creation was something that didn't concern him. Gods were far above him. But heroes...Omar could be one of those, someday. If he ignored the gods' rules and made his own.
The noise of the overworked hospital rose and fell around him, and the stitched-up gash across his face burned. But Omar read about the heroes, and he wondered if the streets of Baltimore had any of their own.