Once Upon a Park Bench
Disclaimer: I don't own the Turtles, I just like writing about them :) And if the paragraph where Donny's talking about his logical side is still huge, sorry, I've tried to fix it but it won't fix! Grrr
****************
The New York air is crisp and cool, and if I wasn't wrapped in my tan colored trench coat, I might be tempted to shiver.
The park bench I sit on is hard and cold and I'm rapidly loosing feeling in my butt. This is easy enough to ignore though and I engross myself in the people watching I've been doing for the past hour.
A young couple walks past me, hand in hand, whispering softly to one another. The young man stops to give his brunette girlfriend a kiss. A sigh escapes me as I watch, catching the attention of the two who quickly walk away.
What is it like to kiss someone? To be kissed? What is it like to feel the hands of someone you love intertwining with your own? To see the look of total love and devotion in another's eyes and know that its all for you?
I look down at my green, tough-skinned hands and sigh again. I'll probably never know. Who would want to kiss, hold, or even love someone like me? A freak of nature. A giant turtle.
Actually, in comparison to most humans, you are relatively short… says the voice of my logical side. Another sigh. Its not being very logical is it? Granted, its right about my size in comparison to humans, but as far as turtles go, I'm Turtzilla or something.
Another person walks by, dragging me from my depressing thoughts. He's obviously homeless: his clothes hang in rags from his body, and he looks dirty as he pushes his little cart. I shake my head.
Here I am complaining about my life when I could be just like him, living on the streets, pushing all of my belongings around in a rusty old shopping cart. I laugh at that thought.
How far could I expect to get then? I would have been captured and put into labs to be studied fast enough to make my head spin. I'm lucky. I have Master Splinter, Leonardo, Raphael, and Michaelangelo who care about me. I have a warm place to live and food to eat whenever I happen to be hungry. I'm sure that's more than this poor guy has.
The homeless man totters beyond the range of my vision and I look around for someone else to study.
In my peripheral vision I catch a movement. I turn to look at it in full and see a man who looks to be in his 20's. He's stumbling and talking to himself, and I don't even want to think about what he might be on. He turns and looks at me suddenly and I feel myself tensing, incase he decides to try anything. He simply lets out a giggle, though, and keeps on his way.
As he too stumbles away too far for me to see, I shake my head and sigh again. What drives people to do things like that? What appeal do they find in injecting, inhaling, or ingesting those harmful kinds of substances? "Hey guys! This stuff could kill us!" "Cool! Lets try it!".
Once again though, my thoughts are interrupted. This time it's by an aging businessman in a suit. He's chattering away on a cell phone, something about contracts.
How strange… I find myself wondering if this man has family, and if so, what's he doing wandering around Central Park this time of night? He should be home, tucking his kids into bed. A smile crosses my face as I picture the scene.
A little blonde girl, I'll call her Jenny, who looks more like her mother than her father jumps into bed, bouncing a bit as she does so. Her dad, I'll call him Mark, comes up to her bedside and gives her a warm fatherly smile.
"Daddy!" Jenny cries giggling her little girl giggle, "Read me a bed time story!"
Mark smiles at his daughter, his little angel, and picks up a book from the bedside table. He opens it and starts to read.
"Once upon a time…"
The vision fades, leaving me with a smile on my face. I wonder what its like to have kids. To see something, someone so tiny and delicate and beautiful and know that you had a part in giving it life. How would it feel to hear a tiny voice call me 'Daddy' for the first time? I sigh again.
What's that? My fourth sigh in 5 minutes? I'm surprised I'm not feeling light headed by now.
The cold bench is really starting to affect me, so I stand, half expecting my rear end to be frozen to the bench. It isn't so I start back towards my home. As I'm walking I hear footsteps behind me and turn abruptly. There's a woman there, wearing a short black dress and knee-high boots.
"Hi there, you wanna have some fun?" she asks me and for a minute I just look at her.
"I know you're cold, aren't you? Go put a jacket on." With that I'm on my way again, ignoring her annoyed replies. That's another thing I don't understand. How low must a person be in their lives to feel the need to sell their bodies? I couldn't see myself doing it, even if there was someone willing to buy.
I'm out of Central Park in a minute or so, and as I walk pass the street-side end of and alley, I hear a soft moan. It's the homeless man. He's curled up inside a flimsy cardboard box, and even where I am I can see him shivering.
I sigh for the 5th time and go over to him. After tapping him on the shoulder, I watch as he rolls over and looks at me.
"Hi" I say softly, "You look like you could use a little friendliness." I extend my hand to him and he reaches for it, allowing me to help him to his feet. I lead the man to Tony's Pizza and we go in. I ask him what he likes on his pizza and he flashes me a smile the size of Texas.
"Everything" He replies.
So I tell the waitress to give us one large pie with everything on it, then sit and chat with the man until the waitress brings it to us. He tells me that his name is John Bosling, and that he's a Vietnam Veteran. I can't help but be awed as he tells me about some of his war experiences; according to him, he's quite a hero. He then tells me about after the war. Losing his family due to post-traumatic stress, being fired from his job, then evicted from his apartment. I see him reach into his coat pocket, and come out again with a medal of some kind.
"It's the Purple Heart." He tells me, "Saved some men I was fighting with, got hit by shrapnel doing it. The only good thing that damned war ever gave to me." He's starting to tear up now, but I don't know what to say to him. I've never been in war. I don't know what its like to experience half of the things he's told me about. He dries his tears quickly though and looks up at me, attempting to smile. "So wanna tell me a little about yourself? I know you must have some interesting stories to tell." He says, nodding towards my green, three-fingered hand resting on the table. I look around, and seeing that we're in a relatively secluded part of the restaurant, I begin telling him my story.
From the beginning its obvious he's enjoying my story. I tell him about my training as a martial artist and my interest in all things scientific. Then I tell him about my family.
"There's Leonardo, my oldest brother. He's kind of the leader of our little foursome, which is just as well. He's the only one who I really think could handle it. We're a pretty tough bunch to keep up with. Then Raphael, he wants you to believe that he's this big bad tough guy, but I know the truth. I think he's really just raging with insecurities. I mean, he can't go out in public unless its night, and even then he has to dress up like this." I say, motioning to my coat and hat. I'm know he wants to know about the happenings that lead to the green hand on the table, but I can't bring myself to tell him everything. I'm not sure exactly why I'm telling John Bosling all that I have, but for some reason I trust him. "Then there's Michaelangelo. He's the youngest. He's a dork, always actin' weird and stuff. In all honesty though, I think that he's more sensitive and level headed than any of us give him credit for. Always right there incase we run into trouble. We all kind of baby him, but he's proven to us that he can take care of himself on more than one occasion."
My story is interrupted by the arrival of our pizza. I sit there while John eats, and continue to tell him about me. Once John's had all he can, he shoves the pizza towards me and I help myself to a slice, listening as he tells me about his own family. We sit there for about another hour just exchanging stories, before I apologetically tell him that I have to get home. We stand and shake hands then I press a 10-dollar bill into his palm. I also unwind my scarf and hand it to him.
He looks back at me and his eyes are shining bright with tears, "Thank you so much, Don. Thank you."
I reply with a smile, "I'd offer more, but this is all I have on me at the time…"
He grins back at me, and I can tell that he doesn't really mind. I wonder how long it's been since anyone's been kind to him. With a pat on the back, I leave him and go to the manhole cover that conceals the tunnel that will take me to my home. I feel satisfied as I trot slowly towards the lair. This person who most people probably ignore has turned out to be an interesting, *nice* person, with a story to tell. I'm glad that he happened to be one of the subjects of my "research" tonight. It's surprising how much you can get out of a simple evening of people watching.
*****************
Well guys that's it. :) I dunno what compelled me to write this, I just kinda sat down and started typing and this is what I got. I like it though :) R/R guys!
I've fixed some of the technical errors, I hope this makes the fic a wee bit more enjoyable. :)
Lacey
Disclaimer: I don't own the Turtles, I just like writing about them :) And if the paragraph where Donny's talking about his logical side is still huge, sorry, I've tried to fix it but it won't fix! Grrr
****************
The New York air is crisp and cool, and if I wasn't wrapped in my tan colored trench coat, I might be tempted to shiver.
The park bench I sit on is hard and cold and I'm rapidly loosing feeling in my butt. This is easy enough to ignore though and I engross myself in the people watching I've been doing for the past hour.
A young couple walks past me, hand in hand, whispering softly to one another. The young man stops to give his brunette girlfriend a kiss. A sigh escapes me as I watch, catching the attention of the two who quickly walk away.
What is it like to kiss someone? To be kissed? What is it like to feel the hands of someone you love intertwining with your own? To see the look of total love and devotion in another's eyes and know that its all for you?
I look down at my green, tough-skinned hands and sigh again. I'll probably never know. Who would want to kiss, hold, or even love someone like me? A freak of nature. A giant turtle.
Actually, in comparison to most humans, you are relatively short… says the voice of my logical side. Another sigh. Its not being very logical is it? Granted, its right about my size in comparison to humans, but as far as turtles go, I'm Turtzilla or something.
Another person walks by, dragging me from my depressing thoughts. He's obviously homeless: his clothes hang in rags from his body, and he looks dirty as he pushes his little cart. I shake my head.
Here I am complaining about my life when I could be just like him, living on the streets, pushing all of my belongings around in a rusty old shopping cart. I laugh at that thought.
How far could I expect to get then? I would have been captured and put into labs to be studied fast enough to make my head spin. I'm lucky. I have Master Splinter, Leonardo, Raphael, and Michaelangelo who care about me. I have a warm place to live and food to eat whenever I happen to be hungry. I'm sure that's more than this poor guy has.
The homeless man totters beyond the range of my vision and I look around for someone else to study.
In my peripheral vision I catch a movement. I turn to look at it in full and see a man who looks to be in his 20's. He's stumbling and talking to himself, and I don't even want to think about what he might be on. He turns and looks at me suddenly and I feel myself tensing, incase he decides to try anything. He simply lets out a giggle, though, and keeps on his way.
As he too stumbles away too far for me to see, I shake my head and sigh again. What drives people to do things like that? What appeal do they find in injecting, inhaling, or ingesting those harmful kinds of substances? "Hey guys! This stuff could kill us!" "Cool! Lets try it!".
Once again though, my thoughts are interrupted. This time it's by an aging businessman in a suit. He's chattering away on a cell phone, something about contracts.
How strange… I find myself wondering if this man has family, and if so, what's he doing wandering around Central Park this time of night? He should be home, tucking his kids into bed. A smile crosses my face as I picture the scene.
A little blonde girl, I'll call her Jenny, who looks more like her mother than her father jumps into bed, bouncing a bit as she does so. Her dad, I'll call him Mark, comes up to her bedside and gives her a warm fatherly smile.
"Daddy!" Jenny cries giggling her little girl giggle, "Read me a bed time story!"
Mark smiles at his daughter, his little angel, and picks up a book from the bedside table. He opens it and starts to read.
"Once upon a time…"
The vision fades, leaving me with a smile on my face. I wonder what its like to have kids. To see something, someone so tiny and delicate and beautiful and know that you had a part in giving it life. How would it feel to hear a tiny voice call me 'Daddy' for the first time? I sigh again.
What's that? My fourth sigh in 5 minutes? I'm surprised I'm not feeling light headed by now.
The cold bench is really starting to affect me, so I stand, half expecting my rear end to be frozen to the bench. It isn't so I start back towards my home. As I'm walking I hear footsteps behind me and turn abruptly. There's a woman there, wearing a short black dress and knee-high boots.
"Hi there, you wanna have some fun?" she asks me and for a minute I just look at her.
"I know you're cold, aren't you? Go put a jacket on." With that I'm on my way again, ignoring her annoyed replies. That's another thing I don't understand. How low must a person be in their lives to feel the need to sell their bodies? I couldn't see myself doing it, even if there was someone willing to buy.
I'm out of Central Park in a minute or so, and as I walk pass the street-side end of and alley, I hear a soft moan. It's the homeless man. He's curled up inside a flimsy cardboard box, and even where I am I can see him shivering.
I sigh for the 5th time and go over to him. After tapping him on the shoulder, I watch as he rolls over and looks at me.
"Hi" I say softly, "You look like you could use a little friendliness." I extend my hand to him and he reaches for it, allowing me to help him to his feet. I lead the man to Tony's Pizza and we go in. I ask him what he likes on his pizza and he flashes me a smile the size of Texas.
"Everything" He replies.
So I tell the waitress to give us one large pie with everything on it, then sit and chat with the man until the waitress brings it to us. He tells me that his name is John Bosling, and that he's a Vietnam Veteran. I can't help but be awed as he tells me about some of his war experiences; according to him, he's quite a hero. He then tells me about after the war. Losing his family due to post-traumatic stress, being fired from his job, then evicted from his apartment. I see him reach into his coat pocket, and come out again with a medal of some kind.
"It's the Purple Heart." He tells me, "Saved some men I was fighting with, got hit by shrapnel doing it. The only good thing that damned war ever gave to me." He's starting to tear up now, but I don't know what to say to him. I've never been in war. I don't know what its like to experience half of the things he's told me about. He dries his tears quickly though and looks up at me, attempting to smile. "So wanna tell me a little about yourself? I know you must have some interesting stories to tell." He says, nodding towards my green, three-fingered hand resting on the table. I look around, and seeing that we're in a relatively secluded part of the restaurant, I begin telling him my story.
From the beginning its obvious he's enjoying my story. I tell him about my training as a martial artist and my interest in all things scientific. Then I tell him about my family.
"There's Leonardo, my oldest brother. He's kind of the leader of our little foursome, which is just as well. He's the only one who I really think could handle it. We're a pretty tough bunch to keep up with. Then Raphael, he wants you to believe that he's this big bad tough guy, but I know the truth. I think he's really just raging with insecurities. I mean, he can't go out in public unless its night, and even then he has to dress up like this." I say, motioning to my coat and hat. I'm know he wants to know about the happenings that lead to the green hand on the table, but I can't bring myself to tell him everything. I'm not sure exactly why I'm telling John Bosling all that I have, but for some reason I trust him. "Then there's Michaelangelo. He's the youngest. He's a dork, always actin' weird and stuff. In all honesty though, I think that he's more sensitive and level headed than any of us give him credit for. Always right there incase we run into trouble. We all kind of baby him, but he's proven to us that he can take care of himself on more than one occasion."
My story is interrupted by the arrival of our pizza. I sit there while John eats, and continue to tell him about me. Once John's had all he can, he shoves the pizza towards me and I help myself to a slice, listening as he tells me about his own family. We sit there for about another hour just exchanging stories, before I apologetically tell him that I have to get home. We stand and shake hands then I press a 10-dollar bill into his palm. I also unwind my scarf and hand it to him.
He looks back at me and his eyes are shining bright with tears, "Thank you so much, Don. Thank you."
I reply with a smile, "I'd offer more, but this is all I have on me at the time…"
He grins back at me, and I can tell that he doesn't really mind. I wonder how long it's been since anyone's been kind to him. With a pat on the back, I leave him and go to the manhole cover that conceals the tunnel that will take me to my home. I feel satisfied as I trot slowly towards the lair. This person who most people probably ignore has turned out to be an interesting, *nice* person, with a story to tell. I'm glad that he happened to be one of the subjects of my "research" tonight. It's surprising how much you can get out of a simple evening of people watching.
*****************
Well guys that's it. :) I dunno what compelled me to write this, I just kinda sat down and started typing and this is what I got. I like it though :) R/R guys!
I've fixed some of the technical errors, I hope this makes the fic a wee bit more enjoyable. :)
Lacey