Wasteland

"Leave me out with the waste
this is not what I do.
It's the wrong kind of place
to be thinking of you…"
Damien Rice

X

Midnight.
A period of intense darkness or gloom

Listening to the silence of the unforgiving desert outside and the even more unforgiving tent he lay in, Squid blinked back tears and concentrated on the sound of the other boys sleeping.

For a painful second, Armpit's snores fell quiet and Squid found himself holding his breath – holding back the choked sob that was trying to force itself out into the silence. He turned his face into the pillow in desperation and attempted to muffle the rush of escaping sound in the thin fabric.

Squeezing his eyes shut and biting down hard on his bottom lip, he took a deep breath, desperate to stop the tears that spilt from beneath his lashes. Armpit was still silent and he was suddenly all too aware of how quiet the tent had become. His breathing was heavy and his eyes stung from unshed tears but he thought that if he pressed his face hard enough against the pillow, it might just look as if he were dreaming.

'Hey, Squid – you okay?'

His breath caught in his throat as Caveman's voice drifted across the tent, full of quiet concern. He was so terrified of someone else hearing that he could hardly find it in himself to be angry with the other boy.

He managed to choke out a muffled "yeah" and hoped it was enough to make Caveman just roll over and go back to sleep. He didn't question him any further, but Squid was pretty certain he didn't go straight back to sleep either. The other boy's breathing was too quiet and his body too still as he lay, no doubt listening for Squid to start sobbing again.

Humiliated, Squid forced himself to remain silent, swallowing down the crushing need to just scream. After what seemed like forever, he thought he heard Caveman's breathing grow slower and heavier once more.

On the bunk across from him, Zigzag shifted and rolled over, unaware of the exchange that had just passed between his tent-mates. Squid wiped away the clammy feeling of dried tears and risked a glance in the younger boy's direction. In the dark, all he could make out was a long, dark mass on top of the bunk he knew belonged to Zigzag. It could have been anyone but for the boy's unusual height and the ridged position he'd become prone to sleeping in.

His breath stuck in his throat again and he rolled over, staring at the tent wall instead.

…If he knew…if anyone found out…

His breath escaped him in a tiny hiss through his teeth and he pulled his knees up to his chest, hoping that the smaller he became, the less likely anyone was to see who he really was.

Because it was wrong…and no matter how hard he tried, Squid couldn't find a way to make in better.

X

Mirage.
Something that appears to be real but is merely imagined

'Hey, Zig – you okay?'

Kicking the dust up with his boots and squinting against the glare of the desert, Squid crossed the wasteland of dust that stretched away from the camp and approached Zigzag. The other boy was seated on a pile of dirt – long ago removed from the five foot hole that his legs hung inside.

He wasn't sure why he had come out here – leaving the hustle of The Wreck in search of Zigzag – when he'd managed a thousand times before to leave the other boy to himself.

But today had been different – had felt different. Today he had found himself drawn out into the dazzle of the evening sun and the drifting mirages of heat.

Zigzag didn't turn at his shout and when Squid finally reached the unintended sand dune where the other boy sat, he saw that he was squinting out into the heat haze that shifted in waves across the sand.

'You looking at something?'

Zigzag's frown deepened, as if he was irritated by Squid's interruption. For a moment, Squid considered returning to camp and leaving him to it, but found himself also transfixed on the point of nothingness that had so captured Zigzag's attention.

'Mirage.'

Zigzag's answer came so long after Squid's question that, for a moment, Squid didn't know what the meaning of the word was. He frowned in confusion, thinking that if Zigzag knew he was looking at a mirage, how could it possibly be a mirage at all?

'What is it?'

Zigzag's sharp intake of breath made Squid stiffen involuntarily and he regretted the question without knowing why. Zigzag still didn't look at him.

'Can't tell you that – won't come true.'

Squid didn't question this, even though he was certain that Zigzag was confusing mirages with something else. He stood for a moment longer, staring out at Zigzag's illusion, before turning his gaze almost reluctantly back to the younger boy. Looking intently down at the frizzy blond hair and stiff, narrow shoulders that should by now be too familiar to warrant such a stare, Squid felt something horrible twist in his gut.

Zigzag's back heaved with breaths that were unusually erratic and his shoulders were hunched and rigid as he leant forward as far as he could, still staring out into nothingness.

Squid's hands curled into fists without him noticing. His skin prickled in the heat.

And suddenly Zigzag released a long, relieved breath and relaxed his shoulders, leaning back and meeting Squid's gaze with an unwavering blue stare that knew too much.

'What is it?'

Squid stared back for a moment too long – unsettled by the sudden change in Zigzag's temperament. He inhaled; the air seemed suddenly thick with heat and sand, whipped up by the barely-noticeable breeze that skittered across the desert.

'Mirage.'

Zigzag didn't question and Squid found himself walking away before he could explain.

To most, it would look like a retreat…

X

Desert.
A place or situation that is devoid of some desirable thing or overwhelmed by an undesirable thing

It was strange to think of going home after all this.

Squid shoved the handful of items he owned into a holdall that he definitely did not and wondered where home even was for him now. He supposed it should be back at the trailer park, with his mother. But he was certain a phone call from a would-be friend would change nothing there.

The paint would still be peeling, the sink would still be full and her breath would still smell of drink.

He looked up as Zigzag brushed past, an empty rucksack trailing behind him. He'd been wandering in and out of the tent for the past hour, looking lost but at the same time seeming to know where he was going. Each time he'd entered Squid had tried and failed to think of something to say.

He'd never had to bother with goodbyes before.

Zigzag finally seemed to give up on packing and dropped the empty bag on the floor by his bed. He sat down, making the bunk clunk in the familiar way that Squid now found almost comforting.

He swallowed and looked back down at his own bag. There was nothing in it – nothing worth keeping.

'Bus leaves soon.'

Squid turned back to the doorway, only to realise that it was Zigzag who had spoken. It hadn't sounded like him.

'Yeah.'

He shivered, even though the desert was as hot as ever. Despite the recent rains, there was still an uncomfortable heat that lingered in the air. Squid thought it was worse than before.

Now that he was looking at him, Squid could see that Zigzag must have been caught in the rain. There was a wet trail on the floor that led to Zigzag's bed and his usually frizzy hair was sticking to his forehead, dripping raindrops down his face. Outside, the sound of rain as thick and stifling as the heat before it could be heard.

Squid's throat felt dry, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the tent in search of water.

'I think I'm going to be Ricky again.'

Squid only realised that he was staring at Zigzag now that the other boy stared back so boldly. Something twisted inside of him and his gaze slipped away.

He didn't want to be Alan again. Alan was nothing.

'Why?'

Zigzag shrugged, still looking at him.

'Makes things easier.'

Squid didn't understand. But then, when had he ever understood anything Zigzag had said? He gazed down at his bunk and tried to think of the other boy using his real name.

Ricky.

He supposed it suited him, but he wasn't sure why.

'Can I call you Alan?'

He looked back, shivering as he did so. He hated that name – hated everything about it. But when Zigzag…Ricky had said it, just then, it had sounded bearable.

'I, err…yeah… I guess."

'Good.'

Ricky stood up and picked up the rucksack. Walking to his crate, he scooped everything that was on it into the bag with one movement, before zipping it up without even bothering to look at what he'd put in it.

He didn't seem to care that he had nothing – Alan wished he felt the same.

Their paths met at the doorway and both stood aside for the other to go first. Alan stared down at the floor and Ricky stared down at him.

Suddenly, the younger boy seemed unsure of what to do.

That awkward silence stretched out again and seemed to wrap itself around Alan's throat, making it impossible to speak. He stiffened when Ricky stepped closer.

'We'll see each other again, right?'

He looked up and met a worried blue gaze that felt unfamiliar.

He swallowed.

'Sure.'

It was a convincing lie and Ricky seemed to believe it. He nodded and tried to smile. It was strange to see Ricky struggling to do something. Then he walked out of the tent, into the wasteland that they'd come to call home.

Alan wished he'd said goodbye, but it was too late now.

Desert.
To leave or abandon somebody