I.

~ Up on the hill across the blue lake,
That's where I had my first heart break
I still remember how it all changed
My father said
Don't you worry, don't you worry child
See heaven's got a plan for you ~

~ Swedish House Mafia ~

A felt-tipped marker successfully crossed three lines through the Rockwell population sign. The '421' number was marked in equally thick black and replaced with a big 420. Hogarth, clinging to the metal post with one hand and triple-knotted shoelaces, stuck his tongue out and rubbed the capped end up and down his cheek as he contemplated his work. He quickly added '422' and, with three "expert" flicks of his wrist, successfully crossed that out too and wrote '420' in under it. Hogarth managed to underscore it three times before wiggling his way to the ground.

Once safely earthbound, the boy spread his red and white converse shoes apart and looked with some apprehension up at the sign. He could get into trouble. He might have done a crudy job. No, Hogarth saw, it clearly looked as it should. Two people were gone. Well, one was gone and the other was leaving. He loosened his strings and shuffled back a little, feeling that his work was done Hogarth unscrewed the cap from the back of the marker, then at the last moment he had another idea and reached up to underscore the marked out '422'. Hogarth then reached to undo his shoelaces altogether when they caught and he fell to his back. The cap he had pulled off fell onto his nose and circled about. He plucked it off and stood up. A final look up showed him the results he wanted. Hogarth gave a little curt, self-righteous nod and turned around with his nose in the air to walk over to a broken fence post where he had all his belongings in a hunter green pull string. His laces still dragged loose as he took his seat.

Hogarth pulled out a spiral notebook and flipped through his sketches. He made a face at the brown crayon puppy he had drawn at age six and tore it out. Hogarth then spied a picture he had drawn of him and his family that was at least two years old and he tore that out too. The sight of a new old picture suddenly angered him and Hogarth started ripping his old drawings out one-by-one. He only stopped when he got to two curious eyes staring up at him. Hogarth moved his eyebrows together. He flipped open the next page to reveal a rock, tree and deer.

A small drop wet the unfinished buck's face and Hogarth sniffed hard, rubbing along his eyes and small nose. He quickly put down the notebook beside his knapsack and pulled out the only possible source of comfort he knew would help: a twinkie. Hogarth gave a big sniff, rubbed the back of his hand across his now red nose, and opened the wrapper up. Ripping off a bite and glancing down at his notebook, an idea came to him. He munched sourly and picked it up. The stubborn nine-year-old flipped to a fresh page and picked up his mighty marker. Hogarth ripped the cap off with his teeth, spit it to the side and drew up a mean-faced, marker-lined man. Three circles of expanding size also featured in Hogarth's parody piece. He then found a nail and rock.

"Kent," Hogarth muttered as he pounded the piece of paper into another white fence post.

The boy sat back, tore off another bite of twinkie and took out an old cigar box. Hogarth pulled a red spaceship dart which held six and made an aiming motion at the man's face. "Booked just like a gangster," he said to himself. He threw the dart hard and it landed square in the center. Of course, it wasn't enough.. Hogarth took the large, round stone and pounded the tip in very hard.

Still unsatisfied, Hogarth tossed the rock at Kent's face and panted hard. His small chest started hurting and he clutched at his racing, empty heart. Looking back up his eyes gave the faintest of shimmers as the air picked up with a chilly breeze; Hogarth barely shivered. Snow from the day before had melted off as rain from the previous night had washed away the remains. A rumbling of thunder in the distance made Hogarth look up expectantly. Lumpy gray clouds were lingering in the far distance and formed a slight white line between themselves and the ocean. He sighed.

Just as he readied himself to move on Hogarth spotted a little tan dog sniffing at his sack with hungry eyes. The boy only grew further saddened and sat back down with his knees drawn in. He closed his eyes and hung his head. The dog whined. Hogarth sent him a look of resentment.

"No," he said. "Can't you see I don't have any food to give you? I already gave food and for wha-?" his words caught on a breathy inhale. Hogarth huffed out a breath and buried his face in his hands. He gave another shaky breath into his palms. The boy brought them down, gave a sniff and started to stand up. "I don't have anything for you, boy, I'm sorry." It whined again.

Hogarth looked back miserably at the creature and sighed quietly. He took what was left of his twinkie and held it out to the skinny mutt. The canine trotted up to him cautiously before giving it a sniff, meeting his eyes once and then gobbling it up whole; in it's haste the dog nearly took the wrapper along with it's snack. Hogarth actually managed a smile and started to stroke it's head.

Unheeding of the boy's earlier hidrance, the dog reached up to lick his face. Only a minute ago Hogarth would have shoved him back but he allowed his new friend to clean his lips. This did little to assauge his deeper issues and so he guitily pulled back, giving the dog one final stroke.

"Sorry boy, but I gotta get goin'." He stood up, swung his pack over one shoulder and left.

Just as Hogarth was barely out of the Rockwell townlimits, a loud blare made him jump. He jerked his head around just in time to see a logging truck coming right at him. This scene made an instant connection to one three days earlier. A train coming... a truck coming. The scrawny dog's loud barking cut through his reverie and, fearing being flattened or found out, he ducked for the wet grass below. Hogarth rolled shoulder first under one of the chipped wooden fence's final white planks and landed with a safe, soft thud at the base. Panting, he got up on his hands and knees. The truck did not pause but only continued to rumble off into the distance. Hogarth thought he might have seen a flash of blue out in the distance as he scurried back up to the road.

He stood up and watched the tiny shadow of truck disappear down the gravel lane entirely.

The boy grinned a little, his bag still flung over one shoulder, and turned on the gray rocks.

"Bye boy," he waved at the dog behind him and started to leave again.

"Followed your trail," Dean was perched on his motorcycle, leaning sideways. Hogarth felt like he'd been flattened. "Next time," the leather-and-jean wearing man held up a clear paper to a twinkie Hogarth had munched on while walking out here; this was one four he had eaten as he had skipped meals the previous day. "Be sure to cover up your tracks a bit more thoroughly."

To be continued...

~ Lavenderpaw ~