The land of Fire and Ice

Note: There is one mention of the word crack head and self-harm when Tamara is tired and annoyed with Casey.

Casey

The 16-year-old boy screamed infuriated at his worn out and sweaty carer. He shrieked again this time piercing the delicate ear drums of anyone in the small apartment building. Tamara (the carer) held up her hands to try and placate Casey. Tears streamed down his face as his throat and head began to ache monumentally and his chiseled face started turning a bright red. With a deep guttural wail Casey lashed out and with his sharp nails he drew a long, thin, bloody cut across one of Tamara’s chubby cheeks. With a gasp, she stumbled back and clasped her cheek looking at Casey, completely, utterly shocked. Almost not realizing what he had done, Casey tripped over his own feet, jarring his ankle as he landed while clutching the hand he had attacked her with as if it would spasm out and attack again. He fell to the ground and put his head between his legs, frumious with himself. While he couldn’t medically control his anger he always felt guilty whenever he attacked someone out of turn or unprovoked. Provoked… That was a different story though. Provoked he’d be acting to kill, violently slaughtering his opponents, leaving them with swollen lips, bloody cuts, purplish bruises, broken arms, sprained wrists and the like. He was a dangerous character then. A wild thing even. His black hair would have dust and sticks and leaves all through it, sweat clinging to his shirt, sometimes his shirt completely ripped or destroyed. Kids at school would bully him, set him off purposely, then laugh at him, staggering around like a bewildered elephant.

Tamara

Tamara was exhausted. She was tired of Casey’s unexplainable behaviour. He went off at her every day, without fail, often lashing out. She couldn’t ever blame him. He had no one to reach out to. His dad was a crack head and his mum had abandoned him not long after that. He also had multiple brain disorders ranging from Dyslexia, Dyscalculia, ADHD and plenty more. He had no friends to help him throw life and most adults realise soon enough they don’t want to deal with that hot mess. She couldn’t abandon him, she just couldn’t. Not like every other human in his small, painful world. Bloody cuts scraped up her arms and purplish bruises spread across the soft skin on her arms, legs and stomach. She was constantly sore and multiple times after Casey went to bed, she’d carefully listen to perfectly constructed podcasts made for people who had the same ‘problem’ as her. She was near depressed, almost willing to give up on life itself. Once she fell asleep, she’d almost be immediately be woken up by horrific screams coming from the dark bedroom on the left of a dimly lit corridor. She would have to go console the sobbing teenager, and those sobs would eventually turn into shrieks of anger and frustration and he would attack, raking his sharp, unclipped nails, occasionally snagging at her tanned skin. It hurt and she wanted the pain, the hurt, the anger, the depression, she just wanted it all to go away.

Casey

The next day was Monday, meaning Casey had school. A battle field of kids who have a passion for bullying who were different. The cafeteria a warzone of flying apples, squashed banana’s, creaming pies and fizzing sodas. He walked through school, his head held low to avoid the murderous glares of the other hormonal high schoolers. He shuffled his big feet to the door of his first class. English. A painful process of big words he didn’t understand and an aftermath of giggling at him when he couldn’t spell the most basic of words such as and, or because, or even his own name. He slowly made his way to his desk under the contemptuous stares of the other kids. A loud chorus of “Bigfoot!” “Freak!” “Dumb-o!” went around when Casey’s name was called by Ms. Proudfoot. She glared at them over the top of her business-like spectacles, silencing them immediately. Everyone knew the risks of disobeying Proudfoot, or Umbridge as she was more commonly known around the grounds of St. Augustine’s High School. Everyone shut up immediately. She continued roll call, without a misstep or unfortunate event, but afterwards was a different story. Large rolled up balls of paper were thrown at his desk landing on the messy array of Shakespeare plays, writing books, English stories and half completed homework. Drawings were thrown at him, photos of Casey with his head bouncing along the floor. Tears pricked at his eyes and he flew into a deep rage flipping his chair up, papers flying everywhere. In one smooth, quick motion he had the artist shoved against a wall his thick, muscled arm pressing against his wind pipe. “Say it again, I dare you” Casey hissed. “Freak” he whispered struggling to breathe. Ms. Proudfoot had finally noticed what was going on and attempted feebly to call his attention. “Mr Hootan! Let go of that boy at once!” She screeched, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. Casey’s arm dropped from the boy’s throat and looked at Umbridge. She pointed a bony finger to the door and her light grey eyes blazed with the message “Principal NOW”. With a deep, angry growl Casey picked up his books, shoved them into his backpack and trudged out to the principal’s office. 

Tamara

Tamara had been relaxing in a beautifully warm spa bath, jets of bubbles shooting out spreading over her bare skin. Her phone started ringing and Tamara shrieked in anger and climbed out of the bath, pulled some clothes on and slammed the accelerator towards the school. She had stormed through the doors, slamming them open. “Where his he!” She yelled loudly. The timid receptionist pointed a finger down the hallway to Principal Downtens office. Her eyes blazed red and she yanked on Casey’s arm pulling him to the door. “Umm, mam! He can’t go ye-. “ “HE CAN GO WHERE HE WANTS WHEN I TELL HIM TO GO AND HE’S COMING WITH ME!” She yelled. The principal flinched. Nobody liked being yelled at, especially aging principals with weight problems. They bashed through the front doors and Tamara immediately set out on him. “What the hell were you thinking!! You could’ve killed him!! You hurt him! Your extremely lucky his parents aren’t pressing charges! You could have gotten 2 years minimum! Do you want to spend the rest of your child hood, staring at metal bars and black bricks!” Casey shrugged and jammed a Danish into his huge mouth. With a gaping mouth, Tamara realised with a start that he didn’t care. She was only there to get him out of jams and provide him with food and shelter. She stomped to her room, pulled open her laptop and went to the adoption website. She sent an email, requesting to meet with their manager.

6 months later

Casey had been packed up, all his stuff thrown onto a side walk. It reeked from the rain, and the child officer came to pick it up wrinkling his nose. Tamara had been informed that Casey would spend the next 3 years going in and out of the foster system. Tamara waved enthusiastically as the small, horrid car drove away, not even acknowledging the pleading face on the back of the rain-soaked car window. A slight morsel of remorse filled Tamara with shame, guilty for giving up on him so easily. She quickly squashed the horrid feeling to a deep part of her soul. He was too hard for her to handle. Her heart was filled with happiness and slight, slight shame but that was immediately quashed when the thoughts of spa days, champagne, endless partying flooded her brain and she turned her back and pushed open the door to her, and hers alone house.

Casey

Casey pulled his forlorn face away from the rain soaked window once Tamara had turned her back on the Subaru echo. He lifted his long gangly legs and tugged his navy jacket over his knees, shoved airpods into his ears and started blasting music through his ears. Tears spilled out of his baby blue eyes as the child services officer drove through the pouring rain.