Generations
Gary tugged on his brand new hat. Today he'd turned sixteen, and was finally leaving his miserable home.
After the War, Mom had never been the same. She'd waited for weeks for Dad to come home...
But Gary was sick and tired of her staring at the TV all day. He might not be the legal age to leave, but he couldn't stay any longer. Silently, he put a Potion into his bag and walked out of his room. As he walked out, he glanced back. His rumpled bed, his gamecube, his TV, his computer... He gave it all up for a chance at truly living. It seemed so little to be his entire life. Gary slammed the door shut without a word.
Downstairs he didn't bother to explain where he was going, or why. She didn't look away from the television, her blue eyes blood shot and highlighted by wrinkles. He made and packed three sandwiches into his bag, then made to walk out. Dimly, Gary wished she'd say something, anything. He opened the front door—
"All boys leave home someday."
Gary paused, and looked back. She hadn't turned away from the screen.
"At least, that's what it says."
As the front door slammed shut, she turned off the television. As her son left, she began to cry. Gary did not look back.