1. The tracks rumble overhead, like some clanging metal beast, all horns and whistles, coal-smoke and flying sparks. There is a kind of violence to the movement, to the ungraceful speed. Like something awful just happened down the road. Like something better lies in the other direction, if just safety.
Boruto sits under the awning, in the shade, watching. From this distance, the train move more like a comet in the sky, with an almost austere silence, with unimpeded movement.
Taking a sip from his mocha, he stands up and stretches his back.
2. Sometimes, I imagine myself hanging out with people I used to hang out with. But this time, I am as old as I am now and they are as young as they were then. And I am quietly more mature around them, picking up their messes, making little observations about their social intentions. Slowly, like something unfurling, they realize how much of an adult I compared to them, and so they respect me.
Boruto is only twelve, but he already feels this way. Muttering to himself in his bedroom, trying not to give in to his adolescent hormones.
3. DIDIDIDI
That's the sound of his video game, as he mashes the buttons, as the lights and colors flicker on the screen, and his face is illuminated with a faint haze. Something happens, something passes, and Hinata calls him to dinner.
4. A spit of oil, the scent of gas. A crooked burnt match lying on the table's surface. The crack of an egg, the spill of yellow yolk. Sputter, flame. In the morning, sunlight looks so wet, so dewy, as it hangs In the window-pane, and falls upon the sill like a drowsy, napping thing.
Boruto and Himawari, with sleep sewing their eyes closed, waiting patiently in their wooden chairs while their mother stands, back turned, at the stove-top, her hair tied in a tiny bun, her elbows moving in rhythm with the spatula.
Father is already gone to work, again - Boruto wants to intone this, to make it known that his thumping feet will not be heard on the stairs this morning, that there will be no crinkle of the newspaper or snapping lid of the pill bottle or nauseous scent of black coffee. That this morning, there will be a capsule of femininity in the household, and that is where Boruto feels most at ease. Despite his outwards hatred, despite his arrogance towards his father, Boruto prefers it when it's just the three of them: Mother, sister and himself, because there, in that forgiving realm, he finds the restlessness calmed, and without need to prove himself, and just a small drop of freedom - he feels okay asking for runny yolks when its just mom - he feels okay talking about his studies when its just mom in the room - and, yet, this gnawing thing inside him, this ditch being dug inside his chest, it compels him to speak aloud about their father's priorities - or, it would if he weren't so tired, still. Maybe later, in the afternoon, where things are always a little more somber, maybe there he'll say something mean about dad.