"For god's sake, Clarence. How much did you put in there?" Mrs. Realy asked, peeking up from behind her desk, eyes wide with the likeness of an owl.

The boy in question peered back at her through the thick cloud of smoke, his knee digging into my back.

"Ow." I yelped at the sensation, and much to my non surprise, he continued as if he hadn't just attempted to carve out my intestines. With a firm hand on the desk, feigning courage, Clarence pulled himself to his feet and cautiously looked around the room. I stood up soon after, coming to the conclusion that if he hadn't exploded into a glorified array of blood and flesh, the beaker on the desk in front of us was done with it's fireworks show.

"Two containers full." He said like he had done nothing wrong, yet the entire class erupted into fits of sighs and groans. Something that the boy was definitely not unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of.

Mrs. Realy smacked her hand to her blemish-free forehead, coming to her feet. Her once perfect ponytail now disheveled and hanging hard to the left. "It said two cups, Clarence." The teacher enunciated exasperated. "Cups, as in the measurement. Not cups as in the actual cup." She shook her head, then looked up at the clock as her delicate fingers ran over her plaid skirt in a unavailing attempt at straightening the rumpled fabric . "Well, you only have about a minute left anyway. Clarence, you stay here and help clean this up."

"But I have practice-" The red head began to protest, but our teacher silenced him with one of those looks that left you pondering all of your life choices. Should I really have treated my little cousin like that when I was six? That time in fourth grade, would it have been better if I had bought the salad instead of the pizza? All of your life choices. "Which can wait." He finished, his head hanging almost to his knees as he walked to the back of the class to grab the broom.

"Indeed, it can." She stepped forward and began inspecting the charred ceiling with a scrunched nose, when something loud and booming sank through the walls of the classroom.

Students looked up, and we all felt the shift in the mood from laughable anxiety to full blown panic. Many ran to the windows. "It's just an airplane." She said, trying to defuse the situation.

Now, I'm all about rationality and that good stuff, but even I had to admit it was pretty loud to just be an airplane. Students around me pulled out their phones, some trying to take pictures of the plane that was already long gone and others attempting to see if anyone else knew what was going on.

"Phone's up!" Mrs. Realy yelled, her voice breaking in the middle of her last word. The bell rang, signaling the end of yet another day at public school. "Don't forget about your test Monday. Have a good weekend, and Elliot," She pointed at the boy who was beginning to walk through the door to leave. "Actually study this time."

The boy nodded, then rushed out, hitting my shoulder. My books fell to the ground, spiraling out around me in a circle. "Hey!" I called out, but he was already gone, disappearing into the abyss of hyped up teens.

…

Daryl

"Get the other car in here!" My boss screeched, smacking his hand together so that a cloud of dust erupts from his fingertips. The other men began to bring in a pretty polished truck, their dirty hands smudging the doors. Owners aren't gonna like that. "Daryl," he tells me, so I look over my shoulder at him, "when you get in tomorrow, I want you to work on the Dodge. Those folks want their truck ready by six."

"Six? I'll get it done by two." I replied, grabbing my rag and keys that were laying over the back of our work shelves.

Dale gave me a stern look that wasn't any tougher than a pup, making me pat him on the back while I fought a grin. "I'm serious. Take a break from the ladies, or whatever it is you do in your spare time, and make sure you get here early tomorrow." He turns back around, closing the hood of a red Toyota. "I don't pay you to forget to set your alarm."

I chuckle. "Yeah, I'll be here bright and early and get it done. See ya' tomorrow, Dale." I sit down the wrench that one might think was glued to my fingers, then walk out into the bright sunlight. The sky is blue and there isn't a cloud in sight. My hands go to my hips as I look up just in time for a jet to soar above me.

The noise roared, and my head rotated rapidly as the building began shaking and shuddering, giving the slight impression that it'll fall, although it had survived much more than that.

I turn when I hear a box of tools fall to the concrete behind me. "God damn. What on Earth was that?" Zach, a younger man with short blonde hair asked, walking out of the tin building to stand beside me. He smells of sweat and stale beer, partially ruining the feeling that the world was currently giving off.

"An F-22 maybe?" I responded, bringing my hand to my forehead to block out some of the sun as I search for the plane. Yet, there's nothing but the clear blue out there. No sign that the plane ever made an appearance.

"That's a fighter jet, yeah? The fuck is it doing here?" The short blonde haired man asked, his eyes flickering all over the sky before they came to look at me.

My eyes fell from their place in the sky to look at him too, taking in his slicked back hair and the grease stain that goes from one corner of his forehead to the other, before I shrugged. "Maybe they're just testin' the thing." I offered helplessly before turning around and scooping up my dirty jacket. "I gotta get home and mow before it gets dark out."

The men in the garage looked up at me and mumbled their goodbyes. I lifted my hand slightly and flicked my wrist before changing my path and leaving for the day. My boots kick up some dirt on the concrete outside, and as I'm looking down, I notice something funny. The flowers that usually line the road are brown, sitting crumpled on the ground.

Flowers die, I tell myself. But, all of them? In twenty-four hours?

Since when do you give two shits about flowers? Since... Well, I guess I don't. 'There's more important things than flowers.' My mind reminds me, making me roll my damn eyes that I have to tell myself something like that. Or that I have to tell myself anything at all. Can't be healthy.

I avert my gaze and focus on more important things, like where the hell my truck is.

Spotting it in the parking lot, I gave a verbal sigh when I realized I had parked it farther away than usual. "Shit, Daryl. What were you thinkin'." I immediately wished I had decided to fix my truck's air conditioner. It's not like I don't got time for the damn thing, it's just that I keep forgetting.

Actually, in all honesty, I don't remember parking so far away. I always try to get on the first row, and by try, I mean I am always on the first row. I'm one of the first one's here. Why would I park on the last? You're being paranoid.

"Dixon!"

My body jumps before I can even form a thought, and I swing around, nearly knocking Zach down in the process. The guy stumbles back, but I quickly grab for his arm, catching him before he hits his head on the curb. There he sits, the back of his head hovering mere inches above the concrete, as I look at him like I didn't do a thing wrong.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"You could have killed me, man!" Zach shouts, shoving my chest. I don't respond, or even look at him really. I did almost crack his head open. "Whatever. I was just coming out here to bring you your keys." He says, pulling them out of his pocket.

That catches my attention. Sure enough, when I reach into my pocket, my keys are gone. "Did you take 'em from me?"

Marcus tilts his head to the left making me feel like a moron, still holding my keys in his left hand. "No-o? You left them on the back shelf."

"Nah, I grabbed them. I'm sure of it." I correct him. I remember grabbing my rag and my keys.

The other man just laughs, tossing the keys at me. "You're losing your mind, old man." Then he leaves me with my mouth open and my keys hanging out of my hand. Maybe he's right, maybe I'm just losing my mind.

When I'm finally prepared to turn around and get in the truck and get home, I find it less than ten feet ahead of me, parked on the front row. My feet stop and I look around me. Somehow the air seems thicker, and a cold breeze blows up my arms through the sleeves of my shirt. "Alright, who is it? Zach?" I shout to the air, my hands out in front of me. "Neat trick. Now, can we stop this bullshit?" But there was no reply. "If I catch one of you, I'm gonna kick your ass for touching my truck." I continue, walking to the vehicle. But, I hadn't heard it being moved.

Groaning, I open the thick metal door of my pickup. The seats were hot enough to fry on, and the compressed air inside made me feel like a rotisserie chicken, but I started her up anyway and got on the road, when another, less loud, jet flew above me. To the right, I see a few women on the side of the road talking rather loudly and gesturing to the sky, not one under the age of fifty.

"Excuse me," I say as I pull over, wiping some of the sweat from my brow. "You ladies wouldn't happen to know what is going on, would you?"

They all turn to me, some getting a bit flustered. "Sorry, sweetheart. You're just as clueless as we are." One replies, running her hand through her aging hair.

"Maybe it's a sign of the end." One of the oldest of the group mentions in a hushed tone. I laughed, nodding.

"Maybe you're right." I respond, looking up.

Another one wearing a sundress hushed me with her hand. "Don't go feeding her fantasies, son." She said more to herself than to me. This started an argument among them, each one bickering about their own reasoning for what they believe in. I quickly decided that wasn't where I needed to be.

"Well, thanks. Y'all have a nice day." I rest my arm on the outside of my window as I pull back into my lane and drive.

Another jet flies above as I pull into my driveway, and I look out of the open window quickly. Now, I'm certain. That's definitely a fighter jet. But, what the hell is it doing in Georgia?

"Hello, Daryl!" A chipper female voice calls from beside me. I turn, seeing my neighbor. A blonde woman in her late forties who has a daughter in high school.

"Afternoon." I respond, waving as I walk over to where she is perched on the porch. "How are ya?"

She smiled even brighter with each step I took towards her. "Never better." She stated with her hands under her chin. "Are you going to be mowing today?" I almost asked how she knew, when she continued. "It's Tuesday." She told me with a hint of mischievous, taking a sip of what I assumed was iced tea. Possibly spiked.

A laugh fell from my lips as I looked down. "So it is." I had guessed she liked me, but I didn't think she had memorized my mowing schedule. I looked back up, trying not to seem uncomfortable. The women around here liked to ogle and feast their eyes upon whatever they could. Calling them out on it would just cause a further hassle. "How's Beth?" I asked in a subject change. A preferred one.

Annette bit her lip, nodding. "She's great. She graduates next month."

"That's great." I said, catching myself smiling. "She's doing pretty well in school, right?"

Annette grinned at the thought of her daughter. "Oh, yeah. She's brilliant. I'm very proud of her, and so is her brother."

Brother? "I didn't know she had a brother."

"Yes. His name is Shawn." Annette sat down her glass of tea, and I watched as water trailed down the side and began to puddle on her table. "He should be coming in today, so perhaps you'll meet him?" Annette took another tip, and I nodded.

"That'd be... Interesting."

She leaned back and howled in laughter, momentarily catching me off guard. "He'd love you. Shawn was always friends with men like you."

I leaned on her railing now, my shirt getting stuck on splinters of wood. "What do you mean, "men like me"?" I question, my tone a bit harsher than intended.

"Older," She said first, looking down at me. "Quiet, strong, someone who'd be reliable." Her eyes flickered to the upper right, as if she was remembering something. "You remind me of someone, Daryl. Someone who I miss very much."

My curious smile fell then, I knew who she was talking about. Beth had told me small details about her father. One of which was the reason why he wasn't here with her and her mother. "I'll see you later, Annette." I told her quietly, pushing back from the railing to go get my lawn mower.

"You should come to the graduation!" Annette shouted, jumping up and grinning brightly with pleasure at her idea as her hair flew around her in the wind.

I lifted my hands and shook my head. "Oh no. I wouldn't want to crash Beth's occasion on her big day or anythin'. I'm sure there will just be close friends and family, and I'll probably have to work-"

"Don't be silly! Beth loves you. You are practically family!" She insisted.

I struggled with the urge to stop her. Annette had no idea how Beth felt about me. The only times we speak are when Beth is getting home from school, or if Annette sends her over to invite me to dinner. It would probably embarrass the girl to have me hanging out with her mom up in the bleachers during her graduation. Not to mention how uncomfortable I would be.

"I'll check my work schedule and get back to you." I promised. And it was true. I would check my work schedule and see if I could pencil in someone for that Saturday, and if not, I'd go. After I was sure Beth was alright with it first.

Thank you for reading! If you have anything to suggest to me or would like to talk to me, leave a review, message me, or talk to me on tumblr at sacrificiallame . tumblr . com