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Clint, baby, what IS you doin?

-----

Clint sat idly on the wooden bench, his heart heavy. He can't believe how dumb he was thinking everything would change just because he was bigger. Of course nothing would.

He was a gullible idiot for believing that.

Clint closed his eyes, eyebrows pinched and pursed upward in a mock sort of frown mirrored by his lips. In his mind, the scene of him and Paloma plays like a broken record: repeating, repeating, repeating...

Clint was anxious with a nervous excitement as he was welcomed into the house by a bustling Paloma. He watched his blue friend dart around, using stamps and feather pens to create all sorts of images and words on long pieces of paper. Never the best at reading, Clint stood dumbly in the house. He couldn't make out the words.

After some time, courage came to him.

"Hey, Pao!" The blue wyngro is questions paused momentarily, watching him. Clint swallowed, continuing," I was wondering if... you would like to go bird watching? With me. Bird watching with me? L-like we used to?"

Paloma's earlier curiosity was smashed by a rather deadpan and annoyed expression." No." She says simply, and Clint's entire world sank. His heart seemed to stop.

"I have more important things to do. Feliciana is missing."

Clint watched as she exited her own house, piles of those papers in her arms.

Nothing changed after all..

Clint's eyes slowly reopened. The usual sky blue of them seemingly tinted by something grey. The candle illuminating his workspace flickers impatiently, like it was also done with his presence. Clint bit back a sob. Up this late and in the Nook? Alma would find him and ask him why he was up so late. Or would she? She hasn't made an effort to talk to him since he grew up and even before that. He wasn't wanted here. Nobody wanted him here. He wasn't necessary. He was just a waste of space.

Clint breathed out, but it came out more of a stagger. Like he'd been crying. Had he? He raised a purple clawed hand and touched his eye. His fingers came back wet. So he had been crying. Great.

Clint let out a small wimper and buried his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Everyone he cared about... Everyone he still cares about... They don't seem to care about him anymore. He was just an inconvenience. He just breathed air that didn't belong to him. They're not hanging with him because he's burdening them. That has to be it. Kurt, Jemik, Paloma... He isn't worth their time or presence.

Clint sunk further into his arms. His eyes slipped closed again and he could feel the dampness on his cheeks. He was so weak. It was his fault, any way, that everyone left him. That didn't stop the pain in his chest though. The pain that made him not want to be here. Maybe he...

Maybe he would have been better off not born at all.

Clint started himself, sitting straight up, at that thought. His hands were shaking. He didn't want that. He looked down at the paper. Parts of it was now stained with his tears. Wiping hastily at his eyes, Clint breathed in a slow and unsteady breath. He's made up his mind. It wasn't worth staying. He'll leave! That way the pain in his chest will go away and he won't be a bother anymore. Everyone will be happy.

It was perfect. There was just one last thing to do. Clint looked down at the stained piece of paper. He blinked away some of the tears that gathered in his eyes, and took the feathered pen in his left hand. He sighed and and got to work.

"Dear Paloma," he started to write," I'm sorry..."

---

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Description
Clint, baby, what IS you doin?

-----

Clint sat idly on the wooden bench, his heart heavy. He can't believe how dumb he was thinking everything would change just because he was bigger. Of course nothing would.

He was a gullible idiot for believing that.

Clint closed his eyes, eyebrows pinched and pursed upward in a mock sort of frown mirrored by his lips. In his mind, the scene of him and Paloma plays like a broken record: repeating, repeating, repeating...

Clint was anxious with a nervous excitement as he was welcomed into the house by a bustling Paloma. He watched his blue friend dart around, using stamps and feather pens to create all sorts of images and words on long pieces of paper. Never the best at reading, Clint stood dumbly in the house. He couldn't make out the words.

After some time, courage came to him.

"Hey, Pao!" The blue wyngro is questions paused momentarily, watching him. Clint swallowed, continuing," I was wondering if... you would like to go bird watching? With me. Bird watching with me? L-like we used to?"

Paloma's earlier curiosity was smashed by a rather deadpan and annoyed expression." No." She says simply, and Clint's entire world sank. His heart seemed to stop.

"I have more important things to do. Feliciana is missing."

Clint watched as she exited her own house, piles of those papers in her arms.

Nothing changed after all..

Clint's eyes slowly reopened. The usual sky blue of them seemingly tinted by something grey. The candle illuminating his workspace flickers impatiently, like it was also done with his presence. Clint bit back a sob. Up this late and in the Nook? Alma would find him and ask him why he was up so late. Or would she? She hasn't made an effort to talk to him since he grew up and even before that. He wasn't wanted here. Nobody wanted him here. He wasn't necessary. He was just a waste of space.

Clint breathed out, but it came out more of a stagger. Like he'd been crying. Had he? He raised a purple clawed hand and touched his eye. His fingers came back wet. So he had been crying. Great.

Clint let out a small wimper and buried his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Everyone he cared about... Everyone he still cares about... They don't seem to care about him anymore. He was just an inconvenience. He just breathed air that didn't belong to him. They're not hanging with him because he's burdening them. That has to be it. Kurt, Jemik, Paloma... He isn't worth their time or presence.

Clint sunk further into his arms. His eyes slipped closed again and he could feel the dampness on his cheeks. He was so weak. It was his fault, any way, that everyone left him. That didn't stop the pain in his chest though. The pain that made him not want to be here. Maybe he...

Maybe he would have been better off not born at all.

Clint started himself, sitting straight up, at that thought. His hands were shaking. He didn't want that. He looked down at the paper. Parts of it was now stained with his tears. Wiping hastily at his eyes, Clint breathed in a slow and unsteady breath. He's made up his mind. It wasn't worth staying. He'll leave! That way the pain in his chest will go away and he won't be a bother anymore. Everyone will be happy.

It was perfect. There was just one last thing to do. Clint looked down at the stained piece of paper. He blinked away some of the tears that gathered in his eyes, and took the feathered pen in his left hand. He sighed and and got to work.

"Dear Paloma," he started to write," I'm sorry..."

---

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