Chapter Three: Why?
Summary: Sheldon Sands had always depended upon and loved his mother. But without her, what is he? An innocent boy that is slowly turning into the troubled CIA agent that we know. Here is his story, his love, and his loss.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sands or any part of Once Upon a Time in Mexico. I wish I did, but I don't. sniffles
A/n: I changed the summary a little & thanks to my one reviewer Sue-AnneSparrow. I'll try and get the last chapter out by next Saturday or maybe even earlier. I hope you guys like it. And even though the chapters for this story aren't that long, I work pretty hard on them. So if you read, please review! Pretty please? Those are the only things that keep me going!
Fourteen-year old Sheldon Sands was no longer that, but just Sands. He sat on his new bed in his new room in his new foster home and stared long and hard at the plain white wall across from him. Lately, he had been unable to control his anger and he'd let it out by first, yelling every curse word that he knew (and if he was at a loss for colorful language, then he'd make it up), then throwing whichever inanimate object that was closest to his lithe hands, and finally, staring unblinkingly into space, his eyes steel-like.
And not only that, but he had been reminiscing over his mother. His mother who had left him and this world four years ago. He had tried suppressing his pain, but damnit, it had become so hard. So frikkin' hard to not cry, to live under the pretense that he didn't miss her. And godamnit, he did. He missed watching her long brown hair flying in the wind. He missed observing her soft brown eyes that were so foreign in comparison to his intense ones. He missed hearing her strong, confident laugh that rung as clear and pure as a crystal bell. He missed her scent of chamomile mixed with vanilla and a hint of the violets that she would tuck behind her ear. He missed her in all her entirety and damnit, his lies that he didn't weren't working any longer.
And it showed in his newly acquired behavior. The changes, at first, were subtle. And gradual at that too. But if his fourteen-year old self and ten-year old self were to be compared, then anyone who saw the changes would've been astonished. He had shot up from around four and a half feet to five and a half feet and was still going. His face had become more stone-like, his eyes even more unyielding, and his stubbornness had grown with his height. Not only that, but his choosing of friends had become even more critical and altogether, he was labeled as a 'bad boy' just at first glance.
Slowly, the pained adolescent's mind drifted to the day of his mother's burial. The morning had started out bleak and as the day progressed, the sky got even duller. By the time that Laura's coffin was to be placed under the rich dirt, it had started pouring. And thank god, for the heavy sheets of rain covered the ten-year old's own procession of tears. The dismal weather reflected the turmoil that was unearthing within him and did nothing to lift his mood. Eventually, he had looked up to watch everyone else, as so many ten-year old's do.
But what he saw only helped to light a full blown fire of anger inside him. No one else seemed even remotely phased by Laura's death. Sure, there were a few tears here and there, but all the emotions were decoys. Did anyone even care about his beloved mother? No,damnit, no.And so the boy's eyes dried themselves of tears and instead conveyed a stiff and silent rage. The rain continued to pour itself freely and soaked the miniscule and yet handsome Sheldon, the only one that held any genuine sentiments for the woman that was soon going to be six feet under. The only one.
Sands was brought back to reality as his foster mother, Beatrice, called him for dinner, her voice twisting itself up the stairs and floating into his room. The sheer unfairness of life hit him as he wondered why.
Why did the one person that I loved leave me? Why can't plain old Beatrice change into my doll-like other. Why?
The thoughts were like belligerent pieces of rock and bombarded him one after another. He ignored Beatrice's constant shouting of 'come down here right this instant' and continued to wonder why. And as his unmoving eyelids slowly relented themselves to sleep, the answer came to him. Because that was the way that life worked.