Archive of Our Own ^beta

It wasn’t too different to what he was used to. Not really. Well, that’s what he told himself. Apart from the fact his room had windows at least, and he could daydream as he looked outside. This room was smaller and dark, and had a strange smell that he couldn’t work out what it was. And the walls were wet? No, they were slimy and had things sticking out of them.

He closed his eyes and held on to the small bottle of milk in his hand. He sat quietly on the little chair, well if you could call it a chair, it was more like a wooden box, not moving. Just staying in place. He could hear the muffled sounds of the teacher in the classroom, the children only answered when they were spoken to. Even then, he could barely make out what they were saying. The door and walls were too thick and barely a slither of light came through. Everything was muffled.

Peter carefully moved his hand up towards the bridge of his nose and adjusted his glasses. He didn’t want to bump into the sides of the room. He squinted, trying desperately to make his eyes adjust with what little light there was to offer. He shifted ever so slightly in his seat, it was hard for him to keep still. At least in his room there were books, and toys, and that damned PlayStation, he could sit however he wanted to in his room, or walk around, or lie on his bed, but here, he just had to keep still.

He swallowed thickly. How can it be cold and stuffy at the same time? He sighed, only now just realising how loud he was breathing, only now realising how rapidly his chest was rising and falling. He sniffed and swallowed again, closing his eyes once more.

At least his old room had windows.

As his eyes were closed he thought back to being with his mum and dad, and how the milkman, David, would always visit, even more when his dad was doing important business stuff. He would spend a lot of time in his room when David visited. That’s when his mum would suggest for him to play the PlayStation, especially the action games that were quite loud. He didn’t mind David visiting, once he bought him a toy digger, that was fun, he even got to play outside with it. Until he made a mess…but when the milkman wasn’t there at least then he could read or watch the word outside his window, outside of the four walls of his room.

He thought back to staring for hours on end out of the window, at least his window had a nice view. That was a bonus of living in a little village in the middle of nowhere.

He remembered seeing his garden, and the hole he dug, and the bird table and bird bath; and how all the different birds could visit and eat what they wanted and drink as much as they wanted. Sparrows, Blue Tits- he giggled to himself silently-, Blackbirds, in the summer there were House Martins, Swifts, Swallows, Chaffinches, Greenfinches, Robins, Crows, Magpies and Jackdaws; He listed them all in his head; Once there was even a Sparrow Hawk. It swooped down from nowhere, causing a huge ruckus of squawking and chirping. He would watch them all year round; they would come and visit, and he adored it.

But as quickly as they arrived they would soon fly off again, back to their nests, their homes, at least they could fly away and be free.

Beyond his little garden was field, he would watch the neighbours walk their dogs in there. Some evenings when the dog walkers went home, rabbits would hop around and chase each other, if he was really lucky he would see the odd hare! Once he even saw a lonely fox prowling through the field. It reminded him of one of his favourite books about a fantastic fox and three farmers. Beyond the field there were hedgerows and trees, and copses. And on the horizon were rolling hills that seemed to go on forever. There were days he wished he could go and explore, out in the countryside, and in the open air.

He couldn’t recall how long he used to stare out of the window, watching the clouds move from one’s side of the sky to the other. They would even form huge shadows across the fields. Sometimes he could even use his imagination to see different shapes in them, like dragons or horses and one time he could have sworn he saw a cloud in the shape of wizard.

Most of the time, if he wasn’t in the big town with his parents, he had to stay inside. He had a PlayStation after all, and he could play at exploring with all the different games, but they weren’t the same.

“Do you want to end up in there too!?”

A voice boomed as the hatch in-front of him opened, causing Peter to jump a little and curl inward, hugging himself, and the milk instinctively.

His eyes burned at the sudden light, and he shut them as quickly as he could. He could feel the light on his face. He slowly opened his eyes, only to be met with the cold stare of the very school teacher who had put him there in the first place.

He couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, let alone speak, all he could see were her angry eyes staring at him. He swallowed thickly, unable to look away. Her eyes narrowed into what he could just about make out as a cruel smile, before dropping again to anger.

“That’s what I thought, now silence while I’m talking.” She hissed to the rest of the class and slammed the hatch shut.

Peter inhaled sharply through his nose. He could feel something else burning at his eyes now, but it wasn’t the light. Was it burning, perhaps it was more like a prickle or a sting? Harshly rubbed them, not daring to cry, even if a silent hiccup bubbled in his chest. He shook his head and hugged himself once more, trying desperately not to get overwhelmed.

He quietly tapped his fingers on the side of the milk bottle.

He thought back to the four walls of his room. To the books on the shelf, another one of his favourites reminded him of the situation he was in now. He wandered if the school, or at least the teacher, had based this room of of the book, or if the book based it off of schools like this? He wished he had powers like the girl in that book, or like the heroes in his video games, but no, he was just Peter, and he was just stuck in here.

He tried to move again, not daring to stretch completely. He was tall for his age, and gangly, he was used to just sitting around on his knees while he was playing, mainly because he was clumsy and would end up tripping over his own feet, but that was normal, well at least for him it was. But sitting in the same position was worse. He wondered how Toby coped, but them Toby was shorter than he was, and probably had a little more space to move around.

His room didn’t have a set theme, he was lucky enough to go around a friends house once, and her room was filled with all sorts of different flowers painted in beautiful patterns on the wall. She had vases full of the flowers that grew in her back garden and her favourite grew in spring, a small yellow flower with five petals.

Peter remembered her house being very big, and her parents talked with posh accents, but the gardener talked like him and his family. His friend, Pricilla, had to do music lessons every day, Peter loved music, but she despised it. She loved the garden and being outside like he did. He couldn’t help but think how lucky she was to get to go outside whenever she wanted. But then, she probably didn’t dig holes in the garden like he did.

He remembered being sad the day she moved away. He never did know why.

He missed his home. He missed his bedroom, and the posters on the wall, and the little cd player he had that he could play his favourite musical soundtracks on. He missed his collection of dvd’s. Yes he could watch films on the computer, but he preferred choosing from his own little collection. He loved singing along to the songs, he didn’t know many other boys, or children in general for that matter, who loved musicals as much as he did. He loved to sing along to them and pretend to act out little shows in his room as he did. Even if sometimes he was being too loud, and was asked to be more quiet, or play a video game, or sit still. But he couldn’t sit still, or stay quiet, he just had to be doing something all the time, it just felt better.

He wasn’t sure why.
A shadow blocked the slither of light from underneath the door. It seemed to stay that way for what felt like forever. This school wasn’t like his old school, or like the boarding schools in his books, well accept for his other favourite book that he thought of earlier. He couldn’t remember not being able to move or talk for so long. All he did was answer her questions. He wasn’t trying to be cheeky or smart. This school was confusing.

He missed his old school and his old friends. And how he could play outside with them at break time, a secret that he never told his mum. His teachers would help with his clumsiness, saying it was normal and okay to have growth spurts.

He sighed again and blinked, noticing a rogue tear slip out from under his glasses and down his cheek. He rapidly wiped it off with the back of his sleeve.

Peter frowned to himself as he felt something drip on his head, pulling him from his thoughts. He hoped it was just a leaky pipe, maybe that’s why the walls were so grimy?

He wondered if there were any other teachers, he’d only met this one. Maybe there was a nice one, like in the book! One who would say nice things and teach fun classes.

His mind started to drift again, maybe he could escape. He’d seen it in his video games, maybe he could find some tools in the P.E cupboard and get out of here? Maybe he would end up in the big town in a big house with a friendly man who would take him in and help him find his parents, like the red haired orphan from the musical. He smiled to himself, tried hard not to hum his favourite song from that film. He missed films, and books, and he was even beginning to miss his PlayStation.

‘Why did they send me here?’ He thought to himself. Maybe he was too annoying or his ADHD was too much, or he went outside too much or-

The door opened.

He blinked rapidly trying to adjust to the light again.

“Master Steven.” The old woman sneered as she looked at him.

“Still carrying that milk I see.”

Peter, bowed his head a little, unintentionally trying to look small, but he peered up at her and nodded.

She tilted her head as she watched him and sardonically grinned to herself.

“You’ll notice the class is finished now.”

“Y-Yes M’aam.” Peter said, nodding again, praying he wouldn’t get scolded for the response.

“You’re to go back to your dormitory, without supper.”

Was that even allowed? He chewed his lower lip and nodded once more, averting his eyes and she grinned madly at him.

“This boarding school has strict rules boy, and I expect you to follow them. However, this is the quietest you’ve been all day, so it’s clearly done some good. Now go.”

She stepped aside so he could step out of the room.

Peter hurriedly stood, minding the small space of that awful room and scurried past her, not daring to look back.

His legs ached and his shoe laces were undone, but he just wanted to get to the dorm, to get to the bed, even if everyone else was eating, it was better to be alone right now.

He pushed the old heavy door open and went over to his bed he threw himself onto it and buried his face into the pillow. He blindly put his bottle of milk on the nightstand and awkwardly pulled the blanket over himself, curling up into a ball. He didn’t care that it was still light outside he just wanted the world to swallow him whole.

Dusk was creeping in. The shadows from the branches of the tree outside of his room lengthened across the floor. He sniffed and eventually tore his head from the now tear dampened pillow. Shakily he took a deep breath and turned around and sat up on the bed. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes and face where they had been pressed into him, before putting them back on. He kicked off his shoes and drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them. He stared at the shadow of the tree as it seemingly crept passed the barred windows, along the floor and up over his bed. He didn’t move, but just watched it.

He stared at it unblinking, unmoving as the sun set lower in the sky. He rested his elbows on his knees, and his chin on his elbows. The room turned a beautiful orange in the golden hour and the sky reflected on his glasses, but he just stared at the tree branches.

Something caught his attention.

The branches remained but now there was something new on there, hopping along the length of it. Peter watched the shadow and straightened himself, tilting his head in curiosity. It looked like blackbird or maybe a song thrush.

It started to sing.

His head shot towards the window.

He slowly, carefully got up from his bed, not wanting to scare it away. He’d only heard this once before and had only seen pictures of it in his books.

He padded over to the window, he reached up and steadied himself, holding onto the bars, and peered at the songbird singing on the branch.

The nightingale sang up into the sky as the sun reached the far horizon. Peter gasped quietly at the beautiful little bird and watched it calling and singing from the branch. He could hear a chorus of other birds too, like robins and thrushes, but none were as enchanting as this.

A smile crept on his lips and he pushed down the excited feeling of seeing a real nightingale for the first time. He tried so hard not to move quickly, he didn’t want to scare it off. The little bird sang until the sun was completely set. Once the sky darkened, and the shadows of the day merged into the evening, the nightingale whistled once more and took flight into the night sky.

Peter watched it fly freely. He watched it beat it’s little wings and soar to wherever it wanted to go.

Peter looked at the tree, then at the horizon, then at the bars on the window. He was a gangly boy after all, and thin.

He looked behind him to make sure he was still alone. Satisfied that he was he pulled himself up and tested the width of the bars. He could fit his head and shoulders through with ease. He propped himself back down again and looked back at the tree, and back to the horizon. The moon was starting to rise and the stars were beginning to twinkle.

It wasn’t that high up.

And he was sure he could reach the branch of the tree.

He was not a hateful child. But he hated this school. And the room.
He scanned the room for his satchel and then his eyes grazed over the bottle of milk. If he could just wait a little longer he was sure he could do it.

But it was dark now, and the world was unsettling in the dark. Perhaps he should wait until the morning.

He went back over to his bed, not bothering to change into his pyjamas.

Peter, had a plan.

He got into the bed and set a very early alarm.

He pulled the covers up to his chin and tried to quiet the noise in his mind.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Repeat.

He was about to fall asleep when he silently scolded himself and set his glasses down on the nightstand next to the milk. He would have to try and relax again now.

Breath in. Hold. Breathe out. Repeat.

He started to drift off to sleep, finally letting the weight of the day go.

He smiled to himself. One thing that he knew to be true, even if the plan failed. He willed it with every fibre of his being.

The sun will come out, tomorrow.