by V. Z. Marcus

Created on: September 22, 2009

Breeze left him. His mother was standing by the porch with her arms crossed. His father was near the little pond with a cigarette. His sister was still inside, probably in her room with the blinds open, looking down into the yard. His brother was different. Sitting in a white plastic chair reading a comic book. He was always reading.

His aunt was speaking with a neighbor over on the far side of the house. He couldn't see her, but he knew from the sound of her voice that she was happy to be there. His Grandmother was perhaps tending to the food in the kitchen with his cousins. His Grandfather was dead.

His bike was in the garage next to the car, and his books were on a shelf in his room. His school was just down the street in a neighborhood that was a closed and comfortably place, which has never changed; not since he has been alive. His thoughts are vague and he knows little. But he is content.

His friend was there next to him, talking about something he wasn't sure of. He held out his hand as to give some sort of gesture, but rebuked from the glint in his eye. His friends name was Thomas.

Thomas walked slowly to his mother, who had something fuzzy in her hair. He reached up and pulled a gray fuzz from her red locks. He flicked it to the ground and never saw it again. While reaching in his pocket, he asked her what time they were planning on leaving, because he was always impatient. She told him "soon" but didn't turn around. This frustrated him. He pulled from his pocket a white slip of paper with bold purple lettering that read "Chance."

Thomas had discovered something. Only a night before, while laying awake in his bed, he noticed something about himself. It didn't occur to him then as it does now, but the way his hands move when he talks was slightly different. So small; almost benign if he wasn't so sharp. His hands would seem to grow out longer and become stronger when he spoke. It might have been in his imagination. He wasn't sure. It wasn't a particularly pleasant experience, nor was it something causing him an exuberant amount of stress. It was merely there. Eventually it became such an apparent phenomenon, that he forgot about it all together, and talked with the knowledge of his queer limbs intact. This gave him confidence.

The day was ending and members of the family were slowly leaving. The sun left an imprint on a thick cloud that appeared to be melting. Thomas looked over towards his mothers minivan and wanted very much to be inside

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