Chapter One
"Leave me alone;
leave me ruined, exhausted from the journey of this night,
writhing in a wave of passion till the dawn.
Either stay and be forgiving,
or, if you like, be cruel and leave.
Flee from me, away from trouble;
take the path of safety, far from this danger.
We have crept into this corner of grief,
turning the water wheel with a flow of tears."
Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī
Riley stood in front of his suburban home in Woodcrest, staring at the softly falling snow. It was dusk, a deep orange sky illuminating the thickly drifting snowflakes in a brilliant gold that shimmered and refracted through frosted prisms. He was drawn to the glittering color, and he looked about him with the starved eyes of a blinded man gifted sight. The world was gold too, the houses, the trees, even his bare feet which didn't flinch as the cold settled within them. It was a sight beautiful enough to bring tears to those with even the coldest of hearts, and the scene inarguably would've done the same to him, if it weren't for the silent dread building up intangibly.
He shook his young, barley rounded head. He must be delusional, tripping, because nothing could ever be wrong in a world as wonderful as this.
Sudden impulse drove him to lift his calloused feet, and walk in a trance-like state down the dimly golden street. His movements left clear, impressionable footprints in the otherwise unmarred snow, ones which were quickly filled behind him. All was well, for one mustn't taint the resplendent world.
As he moved, his focus lessened on the monochromatic colors of the evening, and turned instead to the awaiting home. The door swung abandoned, open, without thought of preventing the cold drifts of air from creeping into the house. It should've been dark, Riley felt, it should've been black and wrong because that heinous sticky feeling of dread was seeping out of the creaking doorway like syrup, and it seemed he would drown. Despite his fear his limbs in all their pure, untouched nakedness weren't his, and he entered the golden, horrible household.
The inside was lost in dark shadows, and through slitted blinds the golden light drifted, striping the walls and Riley as he walked. Occasionally a wasp would buzz by him, blackened wings stirring the chilled air over his bare shoulders and chest, rushing further into the house with destructive, alien intent.
For the first time since he stepped inside he wondered where everyone was, and a sharp turn towards the sunless stairs took away his sight. It was too dark, and his stumbling form must've stubbed his toes six times before he made it to the second floor. The only light was what poured in through the bedroom windows, and he peered through each empty doorway as he passed. The photographs on the walls were coated with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, making their depictions indiscernible. He swallowed, and the sound echoed around loudly. He noticed how quiet it was, unnaturally so, and he nervously inhaled the dread soaked air. It choked him, and despite his coughing and sputtering and murmured protests he entered the last room, the source of it all.
Inside there was a woman, her form outlined in light as she stood before the window. The sun made her curls near transparent, and as such they shone with gold. Riley couldn't breathe, couldn't move, only watch with panicked eyes as she slowly turned, tears streaming down her face and glimmering in the still air.
"Riley…" She gasped, seemingly unable to inhale through her trembling lips and reddened nose.
He was scared, something he hated to admit, and he wanted to run as far away as his eight-year old legs would take him, through the hall, down the stairs, across the house, past the yard, down the street, further and further until the image that filled his vision was gone. No matter how hard he strained against the futility of it all he couldn't escape, and so he was forced to look into those wrongly saddened eyes that paled those of the downtrodden.
He didn't know her, she was too old, a teenager who he hadn't ever seen before. Her features were barely discernible in the light, but he knew he didn't know anyone that horribly sad, salt water dribbling from her nose and chin, arms wildly scrubbing away at the moisture.
She reached out to him, desperately, fair features twisted with remorse. "Don't let me lose you too, please.." She choked on her words, crying out and grabbing at her chest as though it pained her. Suddenly he found his strength, his voice, and he charged forward, leaping into the delicate woman's transparent arms and out through the window. Glass fell as he did, glimmering with the light of a sun which had before seemed so beautiful; floating tears refracting the pain of the woman who mercilessly stole his contentment with the raw world.
Just before he hit the pavement, he awoke, shooting up forward in bed and flailing comically in his sheets, as though trying to slow his nonexistent descent.
It was still morning, blue light barely filling the shared bedroom. To his right lay his brother, still sleeping with his back to the younger Freeman. The silhouette of his exceptionally large afro was lost in the shadows, and normally Riley would've laughed.
His young fists tightened in his sheets, distressed features twisted in a grimace.
Normally he would sleep in well past the sun's arrival, and normally he wouldn't fight these dreams as restlessly as he had been for as long. They weren't scary looking back, but he knew they were getting worse. No matter what decision he made within the dream, it always ended with him falling, be it through the floor or out a window. Once, he succeeded in calming her, only to look into her eyes and fall into their golden hued depths. A shiver worked its way down his spine and he found himself looking hopefully at Huey, an awakening question poised on his lips. Albeit he instead closed his mouth, shaking his head and crawling out of bed.
If he told Huey about these dreams, he would belittle them and tell him to get over it, despite any sympathy he might feel. After all, there are others going through events far more traumatizing. If he were to tell Granddad, the old man would simply laugh at his childish nightmare. It was likely nothing in comparison to what they dreamt about, and Riley didn't wish to act like a pathetic little kid who still, on occasion, wet the bed.
He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and went into the hallway bathroom, scowling as he shut the door. There he was met with his glaring reflection, shoulders barely seen above the sink. "I can't be seen actin' like a bitch ass little kid, cause I'm a real nigga little kid. We dont's have dreams about cryin' bitches, we dreams about stompin' bitches and keepin' our paper. Cause that's how we do." He then proceeded to smile cockily, almost convincing himself behind the tired eyes and worn features. His exhausted state made his gaze hard to meet, guilt washing against his consciousness as though his nightmares were his happier self's doing.
Riley sighed and proceeded to brush his teeth, wishing silently that something would change. He was too young to worry about lack of sleep, he was supposed to be living free and creating a name for himself before he reaches the confines of adulthood. He washed out his mouth and ran the facet, dimly hoping nobody bugged him today and forgetting about the dream.
He left the bathroom and nearly ran into a groggy Huey, who glared menacingly at him and entered the restroom, mumbling political profanities to himself over the rudeness of the new generation. Riley didn't think he'd ever understand his oddly driven sibling, who seemed to understand everything himself. The door slammed, and the younger Freeman wiped his brow, still sweaty and slightly shaken from his nightmare. He winced, inwardly reminding himself not to think about that as wet, broken eyes appeared in his vision. It was just too hot, he decided, Grandad's discontent old self shutting off the A.C. in an attempt to make everyone just as miserable as he.
The Freeman approached the stairs, then grinned proudly at his genius as he sat on the railing. He slid down, an instant breeze cooling his sweat soaked face. Just before his small form collided with the post he leaped off, throwing himself to the ground where he landed with a loud thud. Sudden pain hummed in his leg, and he laughed it off, picking himself up from the floor. A loud, irritated shout rang through the home. "Boy!" Other than a slight wince at the volume, Riley didn't react to the sound, walking to the kitchen and swinging open the fridge. The cold air washed over his pajama adorned body and he shivered, wine eyes scanning for a fight provoking beverage that has long plagued the Freeman family. Spotting it, he lifted the carton and twisted off the cap, a tilt of his head sending the tangy beverage past his smirking lips and down his parched throat. A flicker of unpleasant bitterness, where the remnants of toothpaste met the golden drink, washed down his throat away from his grimacing taste buds.
Just as he swallowed and pulled the container from his lips, his muttering Grandfather rounded the corner, tying his robe. The man froze with a gasp, eyes widening at the misbehavior so early in the morning. He hadn't even made coffee yet!
Riley snickered at his horrified Grandfather, and, licking his lips, he put the drink away. "Morning Granddad." He greeted, figuring his stunned elder wouldn't react if he tried to walk past him. Albeit he figured wrong, and with the second enraged cry of "Boy!" for the day, the old man quickly grabbed his arm and proceeded with hitting him repeatedly upside the head.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to drink my expensive orange juice? That is a full days' worth of vitamin C taken right from under my nose! What am I gonna do about my missing Vitamin C? Do you want me to get scurvy? I ain't no damned pirate!"
The eight year old struggled to break free from his iron grasp, crying out each time he was struck.
"And now the damn container has had your nasty ass lips all over it, I swear, it's like you've been wanting a beating all week. Drawing on your classroom windows, pulling cutie-pie Cindy's hair, shoot."
He stopped hitting the now crying child, hands on his hips. "There had better be a good explanation for this, and you're gonna start the explaining."
While the irate yet concerned guardian listened his grandson's rambled mess of nonsense excuses, shouts of anger rang outside, originating from a large, albeit bland household. Inside was the source of the noise, an interracial married couple arguing profusely. Although the neighborhood was used to these rowdy fights, they usually took place in the evening, not when the sun just broke the horizon. The Dubois' were typically morning people, which was why this oddly timed conflict shook the prestigious neighborhood of well-kept lawns and polished bird feeders.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU THOMAS! I thought you of all people would know better!" Sarah Dubois yelled, blonde hair flying as she shook her head in disappointment. She was a stern but pretty woman, who seemed to be discontent with anything and everything her lawyer husband said or did. Currently her fair face was twisted with anger, and her soft voice strained at her forced volume. The victim of her verbal assault resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing it would only anger her further. Why she insisted on yelling at absurd volumes rather than talking out their problems eluded him, yet he always was reeled into her arguments. This one was serious, however, because it concerned their only child, Jazmine.
"Sarah calm down and let talk this out!" He tried, buttoning his white dress shirt. She turned around in their bedroom and slammed the dresser drawers shut, the violently shaking furniture banging against the beige wall. She groaned, tossing her hands into the air and jabbing a finger at her husband. "Oh no, not this time Tom. You are going to fix this!"
He tossed his pillows back on his now made bed, straightening them out. "And just how do you propose that Sarah? We'd have more money if it wasn't due to your sudden love for vacationing."
She scoffed, blue eyes narrowed in outrage. "Don't try to shift the blame onto me, you know you screwed up. You're going to destroy her future with all you've been donating." She reached into his closet and pulled out a yellow tie, throwing it onto the bed behind her for her husband to retrieve.
As she searched for a cardigan to match her striped dress he adorned it, tying it as angrily as he could without choking himself. "The charity donations? I thought that was a good thing, you approved that!"
His now fully dressed wife went into their shared bathroom, checking her makeup in the mirror and messing with her hair. She glared at his watching reflection behind her, straightening herself. "Once, Tom. Once. Not every month of the year! And this isn't even the whole of it, to make matters worse, you just had to tell our dear neighbor Robert about the Cook Off, didn't you!"
"Seriously!" Tom exclaimed, slipping on his shoes. He began tying the laces while he spoke, voice deepened from the odd, bent over position. "You're mad about that? Robert's a phenomenal cook, he deserves to have a place in the Woodcrest Spring Fling."
"That's the point Tom, you never seem to consider how your big mouth is going to affect me. I actually had a chance at winning this year with Mrs. Johnson visiting her son in Florida, and you had to take that win away from me." She sighed, leaning against the bathroom counter. "I'll always be second place." She muttered, a bitter taste in her mouth as she looked up into the blinding ceiling lights.
He swallowed, finishing tying the last shoe. She was wrong, he did think about how she would feel, only he had assumed she be glad. She seemed to enjoy cooking with Robert during the holidays, and he certainly liked it when she cooked some of his recipes. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and Robert was open to it when he brought it up, the old man did enjoy the attention. Albeit it was clear that his wife didn't want to hear any of that, so after a moment's consideration he spoke. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'll do my best to fix this."
Sarah's blonde head snapped back to him, face scrunched in a loathing scowl. Right, Tom thought. She hates it when I apologize.
Tom braced himself for another verbal attack, only to be met with silence. Sarah simply sighed and applied her perfume, the clouds of vapor misting her neck and wrists, dissolving at contact. She didn't continue their argument, however angry she still may be, and opening their bedroom door she progressed down the hall. Her soft voice traveled across the wood floors, and as a result her husband heard her knock on their daughter's door. "Jazmine sweetie," She cooed, acting as though she wasn't previously waking up the neighborhood with her screeched discontentment. "It's time to wake up." She opened the door to her daughter's room and Tom could make out laughter, Jazmine pleasantly surprised by her Mother's cheerful intrusion. Tickling likely commenced, and with a sigh Tom stood and made his way down stairs. He couldn't stay mad at his wife, for she somehow had enough love in her heart to be kind to their child despite any frustration she might feel. She was truly a remarkable woman when she wanted to be.
Perhaps he should bring flowers on his way home from work.
Reaching the kitchen he poured himself a second cup of coffee for the morning, opening the tall fridge and pulling out french vanilla creamer. His actions were purely driven from habit, seeing as he and his wife's argument had woken him up plenty. Still, he had a new client coming in today and he wanted to be at 100%.
Jazmine, now fully dressed, bounded down the wooden staircase and into the kitchen, her signature nutmeg pigtails bouncing. "Good Morning Daddy!" She cheerily greeted, hugging her father who inwardly thanked the Good Lord above for keeping her asleep during his and his wife's fight. It's not like she hasn't heard them argue before, but Tom felt it was wrong for a child to begin their day with a silent burden like that.
She unwrapped her arms from his waist, smiling as she opened the fridge. "So what's the plan for today Daddy?" Her rounded nose hooked upwards and she reached for the milk carton, cooled air dusting her freckled cheeks.
"Peaches, your Mother and I have to go to work." He turned to her now disappointed face, her jade eyes wide and pleading, he knowing she had wanted to spend the day with them.
He knelt down, putting both hands on her small shoulders. The pink frills from her shirt bent beneath his palms, rubbing against her lowered chin. "But it's the last day of spring break before the weekend..." She murmured, clearly disappointed. "And you promised we would have family time..."
He smiled in the face of her frown and said, "And we will, I cross my heart. But guess what? You get to stay with the Freeman's all day today! Does that sound fun?" She squirmed inwardly, humming as she considered the offered compromise. Settling on a decision, she grinned a toothy grin, nodding. "I can play with Huey all day." She said as a matter of fact, clearly pleased with the thought.
Thomas didn't fully understand why they were such good friends, but he figured his daughter's curiosity had to be a part of it. She hadn't ever met anyone like Huey (neither had he if Tom was being honest with himself), but it was better than her spending all her time with foul mouthed Riley, whose poor behavior had worsened of late.
"That's right sweetie, just behave yourself and try to stay out of Riley's way."
That bright smile of hers which rivaled sunshine grew, and she nodded happily, pulling out a box of cereal from the pantry. "Yes Daddy."
She turned away, leaving her Father unaware of the guilt vining darkly into her expression.
[glassy.sky]
Skipping pleasantly, Jazmine made her way to the Freeman home, hands tightly clutching her new IPod. She didn't want to risk it breaking, but thought it to be a good idea to bring over to the Freeman's anyhow. She needed something to entertain herself with just in case Huey was still mad at her over yesterday. The ten year old didn't mention her conflict with her friend to her parents because she didn't want them to worry. They had been fighting so much lately, it didn't seem right to bother them with petty things. She slowed as she neared the large, neighboring house, the flower bed overloaded with spring daffodils.
Subconsciously paranoia driven, she looked down at her digital device, running her nail painted thumbs along the side. The early sun shone across the darkened touch screen, and she tilted it to see her reflection. With her wild hair constantly pulled tightly away from her face, she always felt she looked plain, despite her Mother's constant assurances of her beauty.
Jazmine sighed and raised her jade eyes towards the house. Huey's blinds were shut, hiding the contents of his shared bedroom.
She walked to the large, wooden front door and knocked, her soft tapping resonating throughout the home. She felt a sudden flare of fear clouding her rational thoughts. She bit her lip and held her iPod tighter beneath white knuckles, hoping Huey wouldn't answer the door. She could feel the weight of his impending gaze already; that hardened stare as though her very existence insulted him.
The ten year old girl shook the chills from her form, forcing a small smile as the door abruptly opened, revealing an irritated looking Riley. "It's just Jazmine!" He yelled into the home, turning sharply on his heel and leaving her alone in the open door. Looks like his attitude hadn't improved any.
She shut the door behind her and kicked off her sandals, wondering just what to do with herself. Mr. Freeman stood behind the counter in the kitchen, talking irritably to himself as he prepared his breakfast. Riley sat in front of the TV, seeming extremely bored as he surfed through their many channels. She had been coming over so frequently as of late it wasn't necessary to make a big deal of it. In fact, she was normally ignored. Huey wasn't anywhere in sight, which meant he was likely somewhere on the second floor.
Jazmine took in a deep breath of air and marched up the stairs, turning sharply to the left towards the open door at the end of the hall. She would pretend everything was normal and see if he was still mad, and if he wasn't then everything would be okay. She was so focused on maintaining normalcy she didn't notice when she walked past the older Freeman brother, who silently watched her dutiful trudging. A few more determined steps and she froze, realizing her mistake and slowly turning to look at her quiet friend.
He had one eyebrow raised questioningly, a glint of humor in his wine colored orbs. Albeit he didn't smile, that was a neglected practice he took into hard consideration. She blushed in embarrassment, hands shooting to cover her mouth where a squeak of surprise had escaped.
"Morning Jazmine." He routinely greeted in his monotone voice, walking past her and into his shared bedroom. Without hesitation she followed her friend, carefully stepping over Riley's systematic mess until she reached the tidy half of the room. Huey's neatly hung poster's glowered down at her, the eyes of Malcolm X and Ernesto "Che" Guevara staring into her small form. She shifted uncomfortably and looked elsewhere. Beneath their iconic pictures were shelves packed tightly with books. They weren't alphabetically organized, but the afro headed ten year old undoubtedly had his own personal system. She felt him watching her and guilty moved her gaze to the floor, remembering why she didn't want to be reminded of those books.
She heard him sigh and glanced up, listening attentively to his words. "Stop acting like a kicked puppy, I'm not mad at you." He sat at his desk, the blue light from the computer screen reflecting off the bottom of Malcolm X's hand and shoulders, glaring across the glossy paper. Huey's dark eyes flicked over to her, waiting a reply, then returned to the screen. Relief flooded and she smiled, barely resisting the urge to hug her wonderful, forgiving friend as tightly as she could. "Oh Huey! Thank you so much! I thought you'd never forgive me and I'd end up having to spend the rest of my life alone with no friends."
Tears began to slide down her cheeks with her overly dramatic words of gratitude and he shifted uncomfortably, wishing she would stop. "Jazmine!" He interrupted sternly, brows furrowed over his glare. "Pull yourself together, I said I wasn't mad and that's the end of it." She smiled in the face of his scowl, nodding with obedience and scrubbing at her dampened cheeks.
Still sniffling slightly, she moved closer to the desk and asked, "What're you looking at?" She tried to read the digitized words from over his shoulder, standing on her bare tiptoes curiously, but found it incredibly boring and full of words big enough to make her head spin. Not that she'd ever say that aloud, it would give her large haired friend too much satisfaction.
"Nothing." He said, and with a click of his mouse he closed the page, his stark, red star wallpaper staring back at her disappointed eyes, glazed across the glassy surface. She lowered her jade gaze, the elation from before fading away like the heat from a fire spat spark, drifting for seconds before dissolving into ash.
So he was mad after all.
Jazmine's eyes traveled to the one spot she had been avoiding, the thin, black spined book resting tenderly on Huey's nightstand. Although they weren't defined as they were in yesterday's afternoon light, she could make out the worn edges and slightly warped pages from past water damage. The corners were fuzzed and softened from onyx to gray from many falls and roughened hands, nicking the first few pages. The cover had no title, which was what irritated her in the first place; it's deeply embedded, gold emblem of hands cupped miniature humans who danced like flames.
The sun glinted across the cover and she found herself reliving yesterday's uncomfortable events, sitting beneath the large, twisted oak tree which was just beginning bud early spring leaves. The wind lazily swept through the park, twisting through greening grass, its breeze still carrying the biting sting of winter despite the nearing sun.
Huey was sitting with his back against the trunk, reading silently. Whenever he needed to turn the page he did so painfully slow, something which irked the bored ten year old beside him. She didn't speak, knowing he wanted silence, but the effort to constrain her wild thoughts built up intense frustration within her, and she watched each of his movements for a sign of any desire to play with her. Brows unfurrowed, he lowered the book into his lap, eyes closed with thought. There was a strange kind of peace in his expression, the almost constant creases around his eyes smoothed and unseen.
Jazmine leaned forward a bit to look at the worn pages, ever an opportunist, only to be disappointed in their familiar texture. The way the pages have wrinkled from wear, the soft corners where gentle hands have attempted to smooth out old dog ears, she had seen this particular book before. She didn't understand why he would read the same thing all the time, especially something seemingly so boring. It had pictures at least, but they were all faded drawings of naked people, and she felt it wrong to look at them.
"Jazmine..What are you doing?" Likely sensing her heavy stare, the older Freeman brother opened his eyes, the slight daylight making them glint like darkened almandine, irritation glimmering in the facets. Awkwardly she leaned back, skin heated from beneath in mild embarrassment. Her stare met the grass smothered beneath her sandaled feet, finding distracting wonderment in the stark border of shadow and light the thin blades shared.
"I was just, wondering what you were reading..." She quietly murmured, unsure of herself. He said nothing, and the ten year old girl took a deep breath, raising her volume by a hair. "And I was also thinking, I mean it would be nice . . . if I could read it too, since you like it so much." It was a gamble, but maybe he'd let her borrow it and she could read it then pretend she loved it; giving the pair something to talk about. She sighed, picturing the scowl he undoubtedly wore. It would give a reason for the constantly downturned corners of Huey's thin lipped mouth towards the sky. And who knows, maybe her falsified joy would turn genuine when met with the words he carried so very close.
"No." He dismissed, closing the book just as she raised her gaze.
To his surprise her timid stare hardened, clearly offended. "Why not?" Jazmine demanded, suspicious of his reasons.
Albeit the ten year old boy wasn't deterred, and he glared right back. "Because you aren't actually interested, that's why."
She put her hands on her hips. "How dare you! I am too interested."
"Really? If that's true then why won't you read any of the other books I recommend, some of which are by the same author?"
She was stumped by his argument, vaguely remembering several times she'd dismissed his offered books, stating that they were, and would always be boring. "Well this time I really want too. So you should stop being stingy and share."
He raised an eyebrow, superiority communicated through his posture. "You think insulting me will change my mind?"
A thin opportunity presented itself with the passing of a breeze; his grip slackened. . .he wasn't paying attention. She lunged forward, reaching desperately for the book, fingers outstretched. He lifted it away from her grasp and let her fall to the rooted soil, frowning. "Nice try." He deadpanned, unfazed.
Ignoring her now scraped palms which hissed in their minor, subsequent pain, Jazmine grit her teeth, pushing herself up. "Why can't you just let me look? Do you think I won't understand it? That I'm not smart enough!?"
He shrugged, squinting into the park below. "You said it, not me."
She narrowed her jade eyes, looking down at her hands. The curved, leaflet shadows from the warped tree above danced hypnotically across them, the blades of grass stirring with her each, subtle, movement. Huey was the only person she knew who could get her this aggravated, who could belittle her every spoken word and unspoken thought. He would mock her not for twisted pleasure but for the sake of mocking, all the while claiming to be whom she should aspire to be. What hurt most is that, in a way, she did look up to her large haired friend.
She stood, fighting tears. "You're too mean Huey! Why do you act like you're better than me? What puts you so far above everyone?" Her nutmeg curls pooled up around her head, tickling the thin bridge of her nose as they loosened from her ponytail.
"Nothing." He stuttered, clearing his throat. "I'm no different from anyone else, aside from the fact that I think before I speak." He thrust his free hand into his pocket, fidgeting with the spare change inside and avoiding her gaze.
"You sure don't act like it." She spat. "You think you're the only person who deserves anything good in life, and that you know everything, but it frustrates you that nobody cares what a little kid thinks. Because that's what you are; a stupid kid who thinks he's grown."
For once, her words got to him, she could see in his eyes, and she couldn't deny the small amount of pleasure it gave her. Beneath all her hot anger was enjoyment in watching him squirm. That victorious feeling was squashed in the next instant, however, as his eyes narrowed dangerously, flames of rage lighting their dark hues. She flinched and stepped back, expecting to be at the other end of his wrath, (which was a first), the side which left many kids injured and crying.
Instead, Huey turned on his heel and left, making his way angrily home.
She had tried to follow him, to apologize, but he wouldn't acknowledge her presence, slamming the door in her face as he entered his house. Never before had he shut her out like that, ignoring her despite the many tears and apologies. She had really feared her friendship was ruined, and though it seemed he was willing to move on, it was clear he hadn't yet let go.
Dummy. She inwardly reprimanded, stomach sinking. Of course he's still mad, you would be too.
During her reflection into yesterday's occurrences, Huey had left the room, probably to watch the news. For some reason he felt it important to know what was happening all across the world, and because of this desire he surrounded himself in digital and tangible sources of the headlines. Jazmine felt it to be overly tedious, and didn't understand why he seemed so devoted to something he vocally deemed corrupt.
She looked about the room once more, guilt and loneliness tugging the tides of her well-being. She would have to tiptoe around the subject of their conflict, and patiently await the return of normalcy.
[glassy.sky]
Thomas Dubois sighed, sinking deeper into his leather office chair. In his hands he held a proposed case, one which would make or break his career. He let the paper fall softly to the desk, rubbing his dry eyes.
The frequently elected Governor was a role model to society, someone to look up to, if you ignored the rumors of adultery and lobbying, and Ed Wuncler had personally requested Thomas to defend the Governor's son. This marked the fifth time the twenty three year old had been charged with drug possession, and the third with petty theft. The odds were against him, but with the many connections the Governor had and the never ending supply of money, it would be a simple matter to lessen the charge, if not strip his record clean entirely.
This case reeked of corruption, so much so he felt the film of it coat the roof of his mouth. He was hoping to avoid things like this as a lawyer, especially since he had made the personally difficult change from prosecutor to defense attorney. Normally he would say no as politely as possible, offend anyone he had to, and go on his merry way.
His brown eyes flicked over to the framed picture on his desk, his beautiful smiling wife and daughter laughing as they played. His thumbs rubbed the edge of the fallen page, the sliding motion slicing thinly into his skin, leaving a stinging paper cut.
The extra money though, it tempted him more than he would care to admit.
He leaned back, sticking the tip of his bleeding thumb into his mouth and sucking absently on it, relieving the pain. It was probably the second worst decision he had made in his life, and if he chose to do so he didn't think he could forgive himself.
He reached across his desk and lifted the phone, bringing it to his ear as he dialed an all too familiar number. As it rang, he looked down at his brightly colored tie, the one his wife had both purchased and picked out. He had always hated it, the mustard color seeming to reek of poor professionalism, but Sarah insisted it to be the height of fashion.
"Ed Wuncler's office." A bright female secretary chimed, pen at the ready to write down anything important he might say.
Meanwhile back at Wuncler subdivisions, the grandfather and sole caretaker of the Freemen boys was internet chatting a very lovely white woman. Her picture was extremely filtered, making her freckles disappear and her blonde locks turn platinum. He wasn't too interested in her face, however, her low cut top drawing his perverted eye more than anything else.
The conversation was just small talk, neither wanting to indulge in their personal lives more than necessary. She had kept him entertained with her quick replies and occasional selfies for weeks, and her name was Ashley Higgins.
Robert couldn't place it, but something about her features was familiar, somewhere beneath the filters and makeup. It didn't bother him too much, however, because he had seen many different faces on the internet since it's installment into his life.
He had probably run into her profile before, nothing else.
[glassy.sky]
Riley pulled his most prized possession from the garage and into the sunlight, doing his daily inspection of its condition. It was late afternoon and, as soon as Granddad forgave his earlier misbehavior, he was permitted to venture outside. Naturally this excited him, but the happiness he felt faded away as he continuously fought off his body's desire for sleep. Perhaps riding his bike would help, but he couldn't do that until he was sure that it looked better than brand new.
Kneeling down, he rubbed his fingers along a smudge, diligently scrubbing away at the blemish.
As much as he enjoyed Christmas mayhem and icy pranks, he was excited for the warming of spring, needing only a light jacket as the school year waned. The only thing keeping the weather from perfection was the drought, the fruitless sky offering nothing despite anxious eyes questioning it.
Finished, he skillfully mounted the bicycle, practiced movements lurching him forward and away from the driveway. The cool air brushed his exposed face and hands, and Riley smiled genuinely, ignoring the slight metallic clanging from his shifted bookbag. There wasn't anything he found more peaceful than riding his bike.
Around him were many people, either returned from work or on break, who chatted and gardened and cleaned, preparing for summer and enjoying the weather. Children laughed, playing wildly but at a safe distance from their parents, staying within sight. Bikes and scooters echoed loudly off the garage doors, screeches of pleasure bubbling from their open mouths as they chased one another.
Golden flakes of snow flashed in Riley's eyes, the memory of this empty street corrupting his mood.
He stopped his bike, feet planted on the ground and arms rested across the handle bars. He lowered his head into the comfort of his blue sleeves, eyes open yet unseeing. No matter what he did, he couldn't escape his nightmares. They were as much a part of him as his shadow, waning and waxing with the light of day.
The girl's tears rolled down her cheeks, overflowing.
He needed an outlet, some form of trouble he could cause to distract him. He began anxiously tapping his foot, brows furrowed darkly as his gaze shifted towards his bag. Granddad would kill him.
Glass fell like snow, drifting as the pavement rushed towards him.
A voice broke into his thoughts, forcing him to raise his head in acknowledgement of the newcomer. "Afternoon Riley, is something wrong?" Mrs. Dubois stood beside him, a stack of envelopes in her thin hands as she retrieved the mail. He wasn't sure what she did for a living, nor did he care, but whatever it was allowed her to come home ridiculously early. Riley scowled, shaking his head. "I uh..I was, just thinking about how your food look like throw up, yeah, and it made me feel nauseous. Why you gotta cook so bad it haunt niggas Mrs. Dubois?" Riley stopped his tangent before it began, no matter how far he wanted to take the insults. His glare softened, and he looked at the ground, knowing his heart just wasn't in it.
Sarah seemed to sense this, and she put a comforting hand on his shoulder, ignoring the look he shot her. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. You know that right?"
He shook her off, righting himself on his bike. He felt cornered, she had seen too much. She knew something was bothering him despite his efforts to hide it. Had he really become this weak? His small hands gripped his handlebars tightly, irritation forcing him to lash out. "You gay Mrs. Dubois! Is this what you get a kick out of? Making little kids talk about their feelings like some wack ass therapist?"
She took a step back, startled. "R-Riley!"
He raised his voice. "That's sick Mrs. Dubois! You sick! I can't believe I have to defend myself from perverts in my own neighborhood! Does Mr. Dubois know?"
Her thin brows furrowed, blue eyes narrowing. "That's enough-"
"Fuck you Mrs. Dubois!" He interrupted, fully aware of the many eyes on him. He was making a scene. "Stay away from me!" One strong kick and he sped away, rims spinning shinily, leaving the flustered and embarrassed mother alone in the street to fend off the awkward stares from the now silent neighbors.
[glassy.sky]
Tom entered his gold painted key into the door, struggling to unlock it as usual. The sun was just beginning to set, and the shadows lengthened towards the darker end of the sky. The rose bushes to his side casted shadows across him, dividing the house between the symmetry of night and day.
He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and turned to greet the newcomer. It was none other than the infamous Woodcrest fifth grader, Huey Freeman, whose family seemed to attract trouble like honey did flies. "Hi-ya Huey!" The local lawyer greeted, all smiles despite his frustration with his key. "Beautiful evening, isn't it?"
He looked up at him, wine eyes glistening with betrayal beneath his anger. When he spoke his voice was clear and demanding, conveying to Tom just how he felt, stirring swells of guilt and irritation within the man. He knew just what the self-proclaimed revolutionary wanted to discuss, and it shattered his mood completely, the grin withering away. How did he find out so quickly? It must've been Wuncler's doing.
"What happened to standards Mr. Dubois? To decency! Think of the example you're setting by allowing yourself to fall victim of bribery over unjust cases! Is this the kind of person you want Jazmine to admire? Some Uncle Tom whose resolve crumbles in the face of the enemy over a few hundred dollars! You-"
"I'm doing this for Jazmine Huey!" He cried, interrupting the tangent the child had begun. Who was he to accuse him of lowering his standards, and the Uncle Tom comment was uncalled for. "You wouldn't understand, you aren't a parent. You don't have to worry over the future of your child, the only thing that matters. I suggest you stop talking like you know everything and leave other's private affairs private." Tom's outburst left him winded, anger fading away with his mild burst of adrenaline. He never did like to shout, too much emotion, he became drained. He took in Huey's startled expression, and reminded himself once more that this was a kid he was addressing, not the inner objections he had oppressed within himself. He knelt down, putting his hands on the ten year old's tense shoulders. "The world isn't black and white Huey, there isn't a simple solution to everything, and we sometimes have to make tough decisions to stay upright. You'll understand that one day."
Huey shook the man's hands off of him, backing away. His intense glare disturbed Tom, and he quickly looked away under its weight as the Freeman spat his response. "No, I won't. I find it hard to understand why adults feel the intense need to complicate matters of utmost simplicity. If it's wrong it's wrong, Mr. Dubois, and that's the end of it. Speak to me with that damned condescending tone again, and I may have to bring up these bribes to the Governor in a very public fashion, ruining your reputation and your career." He began to haughtily walk away, heat practically radiating from his proud little form. "The media would love that," He called over his shoulder. "It is his son you're defending, after all."