Aiden sits patiently on the park
bench watching the birds at the river's edge. His phone buzzes. He removes the
phone from the pocket of his hoodie and flips it open. There's a single text
message: done. He stands, deletes the text, throws the phone into the river,
and heads for home.
Fergus is waiting for him when he
arrives.
“We’re leaving in an hour. Be
ready.” Fergus growls. “I’ve been waiting long enough. An opportunity like this
may never happen again.”
Aiden walks past his brother,
ignoring him. Fergus settles deeper into the couch and puts his feet on the
table. His black motorcycle boots are well-worn but clean. He runs his hands
through his wavy black hair and asks, “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard you, Fergus. You don’t
need to worry about me. I know what needs to be done.” I hate the living room,
mostly because that’s where Fergus spends all of his time but also because it’s depressing.
Fergus’ favorite spot is a secondhand couch faded to a dull brown, the original
pattern barely discernible in the low light. In front of the couch sits a
battered table covered in old cigarette burns. An overhead fixture tarnished
with grime and a decade’s worth of bug carcasses casts a weak glow. Adding to
the interior gloom is the dark cloth that covers the large front window.
I hurry upstairs to pack. I reach
under the bed and pull out an old backpack. I throw in my clothes and, just like
that, I’m done. I have no posters or pictures on the walls. Nothing to show that
I’ve called this room home for the last few years. I’m not really surprised that
I feel nothing about leaving. I’d bet all my money that no one at school will
even notice I’m gone.
I take one last look around, grab
my backpack, and head downstairs.
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