by H.B. Corse

Created on: June 19, 2009

"He'll never miss it. He probably doesn't even know how much is in that thing," Brian said not expecting an answer. There was no one else in the room after all, so when the answer came it was a bit of a surprise.

"You know that's not the point Bri-man, don't you," his father said.

"Ya know, it's a bit weird to hear from you now. There were a lot of times I really wanted to hear from you, and you never said a word. You never helped me when I begged you, so why do you care now?"

"You know why Bri-man. It's not just you this is hurting."

"Hurting my ass. He's got a job; he doesn't need it. Besides, your the one who didn't care enough to stick around, so don't tell me to worry about who I'm hurting. You never did," Brian said and reached for the shelf.

"You know this is wrong, don't you Bri-man. Don't kid yourself."

"Just leave me alone like you always have. I've always done just fine without your help," Brian said and picked up the bank off the bookshelf.

It was surprisingly heavy for something so small. It was a black pig with a red nose, and it's four little legs hung just over the edges of Brian's palm. It had to weigh at least three pounds, maybe more. The little swine was stuffed so full it didn't even jingle when Brian shook it. He flipped it over looking for the rubber plug on the pigs white underbelly. It wasn't there. The thing was solid. There was only one way to get inside this little Pork Knox.

"Of course. Just my frickin' luck right? Why'd I buy him this stupid pig anyway, I can't even remember," he said and set the bank back on the shelf.

"You remember perfectly, don't you Brian," a softer, familiar voice said in his ear. It was May.

He hadn't heard her voice for two months now. The last time he'd been in the house. The night she told him to leave.

"Come back and get your stuff some other time Brian. I just can't see you like this anymore," she had said before shutting the door in his face.

Now she was talking to him again, in a soft sweet tone. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard it. Why now?

"His third birthday. You remember how much he loved pennies. He'd snatch them from the counter or off the edge of the table and run away to hide them. You used to chase him and he'd giggle like a mad man."

"That was a long time ago May. Over thirteen years. He doesn't even remember it. Hell, I barely remember it."

"Don't lie, Brian. At least don't lie."

"This is your fault you know. If you hadn't

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