(1) Morning Jog
It was strange how the sun no longer hurt his eyes. There was a time when all he knew were the dark confines of his room. There was a time when the sun's chipper ambience made him want to vomit. But now, as rays of sun seeped in through the kitchen window, Brady Black's habitually sour disposition tolerated and accepted it.
He pulled the venetian blinds back, revealing the small city of Salem surrounding his family's cozy apartment abode. The morning light seemed to shine in every crevice of the town, disclosing information about everyone's lives.
But not mine, Brady thought to himself. Because I won't let it. I won't let the light into my life, not after what it has taken from me. His convictions about life and its unfairness were cut short as his half-sister stepped into the kitchen yawning.
"Brady," Belle asked him, "what are you doing up so early on a Sunday? Isn't your designated waking time at noon?" She tossed him a mischievous smile as she reached for a bowl from the cupboard.
Brady flicked her right shoulder with his fingers as she walked by him. "I'll have you know that I'm trying to fit a cardiovascular activity into my schedule today." He grabbed his navy sweatshirt from the sofa in the living room and headed for the front door.
Belle scrambled after her older brother, a bowl of Cheerios in hand. "Where are you going? It's nine in the morning and Mom was hoping you would drop by church today."
"Tell your precious Marlena that her estranged son isn't about to become any less estranged," Brady snorted as he pulled the sweatshirt over his head. "I'm going for a jog, seeing as how the weather's been working in my favour today. Plus, the virtues of God don't exactly run through my veins, as we both know, Belle."
"Stop doing that, Brady," she told him sternly.
"Doing what?"
"Playing the role of the indifferent stepson to Mom."
Brady shot Belle a sharp glare and said, "Believe me; I'm not playing." And as he headed out the door: "My mom's dead, Isabella. Be sure to get that through your thick skull."
So the sun wasn't completely after him, as he had first thought following his mom's death decades ago. Angry and isolated, Brady had locked himself in a self-constructed cage of grief and sadness. The cage somehow absorbed into his demeanour as he aged into a young man.
He jogged languidly through Salem Park, not a soul in sight. Trees moved past his running form and faded behind him into the west. He headed towards the sun, pumping his thighs up and down, racing towards a solution for the loneliness he felt every morning when he woke up drenched in a cold sweat, never remembering fully the dream that caused him such fear.
He just ran and ran, letting his sneakers pound the dirt path with every connecting stride. He ran, thinking of his mother gently sweeping the icy beads of perspiration from his brow at night. He ran, thinking about being a jailed teen in St. George's Academy for Boys filled with young men lacking any moral or ethic. He ran, thinking of two haunting blue eyes that had been teasing his convictions at night recently.
The sun was rising higher up into the sky now and Brady could not stop moving his legs. He could no longer feel them as they cut into the cold autumn air. His breath condensed into a misty vapour before him. His steps carried him out of the park and into a picturesque neighbourhood with quaint elm trees dividing driveway after driveway.
Brady ran, knowing full well where his feet were taking him.
Finally, his running venture halted at an aging house with dark green ivy running over the gutters and down the wooden pillars that supported the decorous beige porch. Upon hearing a singsong chirrup exiting the house, Brady quickly forced himself behind the house's complementary elm tree.
"And he stares / Through a murky window..." the raven-haired girl sang, "and the figure resembled her / Resembled him. And he stared / Knowing what to say / But the words could never / Do her right..." The young girl's song carried on for another verse, containing no conventional structure but creating its own accents, twists, and turns. Her long hair swung by her curved hips as she strolled down the driveway of the house. The words were her own, flowing from her mouth in an instinctive expression of every thought and memory floating through her mind.
Still, Brady leaned against the elm, peering from the side at the Siren whose eyes he knew from the late of night. Those eyes made him ache, made him hurt, but still he coveted them; they made him dream of something richer than all his desires could conjure in a lifetime. He peered at her, black plastic-framed glasses resting on her face, her nose crinkling at the sight of the bright sun as she headed to the side of her house. He found himself furtively following her, hiding behind thorny rose bushes leading to the back of the ivy-covered house.
Finally, he reached the rear area. She was no where in sight. Slowly, he emerged from the rose bushes, revealing his presence to the unkempt backyard.
Without warning, a solid object connected with the back of his head. Brady fell facedown to into the tall grass, his knees hitting the ground hard.
"Who are you?" a shrill voice came from behind him. "Why are you following me?"
Brady got on his knees, rubbing the back of his head with a soft hand. "Ah, the indispensable Chloe Lane strikes again," Brady joked as he twisted his head to the side and noted the thick tree branch clenched in Chloe's tight fist. "Are you going for the Armed and Dangerous look today? Please let me be the first to inform you that it went out with Michael Jackson's career."
"Brady?" Chloe breathed. Her eyes widened and for a second her foot moved to help him up. Quickly, she stopped herself and carried on her accusations. "What the hell were you doing? Trying to scare me by following me back here?"
"Thanks for the apology," Brady muttered inaudibly. His eyes sheepishly dropped to the grass as he picked himself up. "Following you?" he replied to Chloe's questions. "Now why would I waste my time doing that when I could have just as easily put on a Halloween mask and yelled, 'Oogey boogey?'" He chuckled to himself, obviously hitting a sore spot in young girl before him.
"Oogey boogey?" she snickered. "This coming from an almost adult." She crossed her arms in front of her chest.
"What's the matter, Chloe? Too old for the likes of your Diva self?" Brady took a step towards the girl's solid stance. He closed the distance between them in one stride and loomed over her almost protectively, though Chloe told herself it was a vain attempt to intimidate her.
"You're not fooling me, Brady Black," she told him. "I know why you're here."
His heart was suddenly stabbed with fear. "You do?"
Chloe nodded. "And let me tell you that my parents won't allow you hitch a ride with us to church, no matter how hard you beg," she explained, pushing her black frames snug against the bridge of her nose. "Mooch," she added for emphasis.
Brady laughed uneasily. "Well, one can only hope to rely on motor vehicle transportation for a change. Seeing as how I already have a car," he sardonically stated, "and you still being the pitiful young learner that you are."
"So, do you need a ride or not?" Chloe interrupted Brady, cutting his egotistical monologue short. "I guess I could convince them to let you come to church with us, as long as you keep your snide remarks to yourself."
"My apologies, Ms. Diva," Brady replied, "but I won't be needing your services. Anyone who has an iota of intelligence would know that church is a crock of shit."
"How can you say that? Your whole family believes in--"
"And that relates to me how?"
Chloe's mouth meekly clamped shut.
"Look, Chloe," Brady continued, images of his mother flashing in his head, "God has never given me a reason to feel grateful for anything. Not a thing, you understand?"
They stood there for a moment, both motionless in the swaying tall grass of Chloe's unusually tranquil house. Brady stared at her eyes. She could only stare back at his as she tried to unravel something concealed far behind them. He couldn't let her know what he was feeling; HE didn't even know that he was feeling. Brady tore his eyes away from hers.
"Chloe," Brady said, cutting the silence, "I know what you're going to say, so just save it." His hands went into the pockets of his sweatshirt. "And seeing as how this just got boring, I'll be sure to make my exeunt as quickly as possible. You wouldn't want your parents to see you conversing with an ungrateful brat."
Chloe made no attempt to stop Brady as he continued his jog through Salem, although a voice from deep within her honestly wished that she had.
(smallfries@muted.com)
It was strange how the sun no longer hurt his eyes. There was a time when all he knew were the dark confines of his room. There was a time when the sun's chipper ambience made him want to vomit. But now, as rays of sun seeped in through the kitchen window, Brady Black's habitually sour disposition tolerated and accepted it.
He pulled the venetian blinds back, revealing the small city of Salem surrounding his family's cozy apartment abode. The morning light seemed to shine in every crevice of the town, disclosing information about everyone's lives.
But not mine, Brady thought to himself. Because I won't let it. I won't let the light into my life, not after what it has taken from me. His convictions about life and its unfairness were cut short as his half-sister stepped into the kitchen yawning.
"Brady," Belle asked him, "what are you doing up so early on a Sunday? Isn't your designated waking time at noon?" She tossed him a mischievous smile as she reached for a bowl from the cupboard.
Brady flicked her right shoulder with his fingers as she walked by him. "I'll have you know that I'm trying to fit a cardiovascular activity into my schedule today." He grabbed his navy sweatshirt from the sofa in the living room and headed for the front door.
Belle scrambled after her older brother, a bowl of Cheerios in hand. "Where are you going? It's nine in the morning and Mom was hoping you would drop by church today."
"Tell your precious Marlena that her estranged son isn't about to become any less estranged," Brady snorted as he pulled the sweatshirt over his head. "I'm going for a jog, seeing as how the weather's been working in my favour today. Plus, the virtues of God don't exactly run through my veins, as we both know, Belle."
"Stop doing that, Brady," she told him sternly.
"Doing what?"
"Playing the role of the indifferent stepson to Mom."
Brady shot Belle a sharp glare and said, "Believe me; I'm not playing." And as he headed out the door: "My mom's dead, Isabella. Be sure to get that through your thick skull."
So the sun wasn't completely after him, as he had first thought following his mom's death decades ago. Angry and isolated, Brady had locked himself in a self-constructed cage of grief and sadness. The cage somehow absorbed into his demeanour as he aged into a young man.
He jogged languidly through Salem Park, not a soul in sight. Trees moved past his running form and faded behind him into the west. He headed towards the sun, pumping his thighs up and down, racing towards a solution for the loneliness he felt every morning when he woke up drenched in a cold sweat, never remembering fully the dream that caused him such fear.
He just ran and ran, letting his sneakers pound the dirt path with every connecting stride. He ran, thinking of his mother gently sweeping the icy beads of perspiration from his brow at night. He ran, thinking about being a jailed teen in St. George's Academy for Boys filled with young men lacking any moral or ethic. He ran, thinking of two haunting blue eyes that had been teasing his convictions at night recently.
The sun was rising higher up into the sky now and Brady could not stop moving his legs. He could no longer feel them as they cut into the cold autumn air. His breath condensed into a misty vapour before him. His steps carried him out of the park and into a picturesque neighbourhood with quaint elm trees dividing driveway after driveway.
Brady ran, knowing full well where his feet were taking him.
Finally, his running venture halted at an aging house with dark green ivy running over the gutters and down the wooden pillars that supported the decorous beige porch. Upon hearing a singsong chirrup exiting the house, Brady quickly forced himself behind the house's complementary elm tree.
"And he stares / Through a murky window..." the raven-haired girl sang, "and the figure resembled her / Resembled him. And he stared / Knowing what to say / But the words could never / Do her right..." The young girl's song carried on for another verse, containing no conventional structure but creating its own accents, twists, and turns. Her long hair swung by her curved hips as she strolled down the driveway of the house. The words were her own, flowing from her mouth in an instinctive expression of every thought and memory floating through her mind.
Still, Brady leaned against the elm, peering from the side at the Siren whose eyes he knew from the late of night. Those eyes made him ache, made him hurt, but still he coveted them; they made him dream of something richer than all his desires could conjure in a lifetime. He peered at her, black plastic-framed glasses resting on her face, her nose crinkling at the sight of the bright sun as she headed to the side of her house. He found himself furtively following her, hiding behind thorny rose bushes leading to the back of the ivy-covered house.
Finally, he reached the rear area. She was no where in sight. Slowly, he emerged from the rose bushes, revealing his presence to the unkempt backyard.
Without warning, a solid object connected with the back of his head. Brady fell facedown to into the tall grass, his knees hitting the ground hard.
"Who are you?" a shrill voice came from behind him. "Why are you following me?"
Brady got on his knees, rubbing the back of his head with a soft hand. "Ah, the indispensable Chloe Lane strikes again," Brady joked as he twisted his head to the side and noted the thick tree branch clenched in Chloe's tight fist. "Are you going for the Armed and Dangerous look today? Please let me be the first to inform you that it went out with Michael Jackson's career."
"Brady?" Chloe breathed. Her eyes widened and for a second her foot moved to help him up. Quickly, she stopped herself and carried on her accusations. "What the hell were you doing? Trying to scare me by following me back here?"
"Thanks for the apology," Brady muttered inaudibly. His eyes sheepishly dropped to the grass as he picked himself up. "Following you?" he replied to Chloe's questions. "Now why would I waste my time doing that when I could have just as easily put on a Halloween mask and yelled, 'Oogey boogey?'" He chuckled to himself, obviously hitting a sore spot in young girl before him.
"Oogey boogey?" she snickered. "This coming from an almost adult." She crossed her arms in front of her chest.
"What's the matter, Chloe? Too old for the likes of your Diva self?" Brady took a step towards the girl's solid stance. He closed the distance between them in one stride and loomed over her almost protectively, though Chloe told herself it was a vain attempt to intimidate her.
"You're not fooling me, Brady Black," she told him. "I know why you're here."
His heart was suddenly stabbed with fear. "You do?"
Chloe nodded. "And let me tell you that my parents won't allow you hitch a ride with us to church, no matter how hard you beg," she explained, pushing her black frames snug against the bridge of her nose. "Mooch," she added for emphasis.
Brady laughed uneasily. "Well, one can only hope to rely on motor vehicle transportation for a change. Seeing as how I already have a car," he sardonically stated, "and you still being the pitiful young learner that you are."
"So, do you need a ride or not?" Chloe interrupted Brady, cutting his egotistical monologue short. "I guess I could convince them to let you come to church with us, as long as you keep your snide remarks to yourself."
"My apologies, Ms. Diva," Brady replied, "but I won't be needing your services. Anyone who has an iota of intelligence would know that church is a crock of shit."
"How can you say that? Your whole family believes in--"
"And that relates to me how?"
Chloe's mouth meekly clamped shut.
"Look, Chloe," Brady continued, images of his mother flashing in his head, "God has never given me a reason to feel grateful for anything. Not a thing, you understand?"
They stood there for a moment, both motionless in the swaying tall grass of Chloe's unusually tranquil house. Brady stared at her eyes. She could only stare back at his as she tried to unravel something concealed far behind them. He couldn't let her know what he was feeling; HE didn't even know that he was feeling. Brady tore his eyes away from hers.
"Chloe," Brady said, cutting the silence, "I know what you're going to say, so just save it." His hands went into the pockets of his sweatshirt. "And seeing as how this just got boring, I'll be sure to make my exeunt as quickly as possible. You wouldn't want your parents to see you conversing with an ungrateful brat."
Chloe made no attempt to stop Brady as he continued his jog through Salem, although a voice from deep within her honestly wished that she had.
(smallfries@muted.com)