He guys! Long time no see. Sorry, I've been busy.
Here's another section for my 'atmosphere' experiment. Once again, this was originally a song story piece, a story inspired by music, in this particular case the song What's A Boy to Do by Matt Kearney- all lyrics are his if I directly quoted any and this is meant purely as a literary experiment. This one is a bit different than the last one I think I posted, the song itself follows the story of a young man through the major mile stones of his life but I didn't write all of them. These are primarily the first three mentioned in the song, correct me if I'm wrong, this is something from the archives! I hope you enjoy!
Boxes were stacked everywhere. Most of
them were only half filled with trash and trinkets that didn't mean
quite enough to be kept through a move. But they were all coming
along, the furniture was draped with white sheets and dust. There
were only two pieces covered in bubble wrap to be loaded into a truck
and taken along.
Before the big white truck came to
cart everything away, a boy walked into the open house. He was tall
for his seven years, dark haired and his intense blue eyes scanned
house with a mixture of sorrow and rebelling anger.
“Alex! Alex, come here.” A woman
crashed through the house holding a paper in her hand and a cell
phone in the other.
“Here, honey, now let me explain...”
The boy, Alex, resisted her tender
touch.
“No- mom, I get it. You couldn't pay
again, it's fine.”
“Alex?” His mother looked
confused.
“Where's my bag?”
“In the closet, as usual. I'm really
sorry.”
“I told you, it's okay.”
Alex dragged his feet to the little
closet at the back of the house. He opened the creaky door to
discover a grungy backpack filled with practical joke trinkets, a few
pocket knives, some school books he wasn't supposed to have.
Alex looked over everything and kicked
the backpack over, letting the insides spill out and make a mess on
the closet floor.
“Alex! He's here, c'mon, we've got
to go!”
“'K mom!” Seizing the pocket
knives, the boy rushed out of the door and tumbled into the white van
with his mother. Their life was packed up and ready to go. The van
was their one way ticket, bound for Saint Louis...
The school yard was nearly empty. Only
Rags and his gang hung around, unawares of Alex crouched in the
shadows of the garbage bins. Rags yelled about something. Alex looked
down, a rough piece of rubble took up the palm of his rough hand. The
gang shifted around, Alex knew they would start playing their game
soon. Rags would take out a gun, the gang would inspect it and voice
their approval. Rags would tuck the weapon away and they'd leave.
Alex looked around cautiously before he boldly stuck his head around
the dumpster and aimed.
The rock skittered across the pavement
after striking Hands on the wrist. He howled with rage. Rags' hand
was up in a split second, gun cradled between his thumb and pointer
finger, cocked and loaded. Alex knew though, Rags didn't have money
for more than one or two shots. Bullets weren't cheap if the teenager
could've even found a dealer. The yard echoed with the rock's
reverberating contact with the stone. Rags relaxed and put the gun to
rest as well.
The gang left swiftly and Alex was
left alone in the yard, idly holding his old pocket knife which was
hinged open and tucked into his sleeve. He pulled it out and put it
away. He left, kicking rocks in front of him in a dispirited manner.
Time to go home.
“Hey Alex, coming over tonight?
We're having a little extra celebration for Selena's promotion too.
What'd you say?”
“No, I'm busy.” Alex said
reluctantly, taking a swig at the glass in his hand. He was dressed
up. He hadn't dressed up since middle school, for the orchestra
concert. He grimaced at the thought, remembering his mother fussing
over his hair beforehand. His mother had loved fussing. He downed the
last half of his drink and put it harshly down on the bar. He left
the club, eyes stinging with buzzy tears.
