Solar

Chapter 4

   After packing clothes and essentials, we mounted our bikes and set off for our destination, releasing all control into the hands of fate. We lent a Razor scooter to Leroy, whose house we were going to drop him off at before we went to Pastor Cranear's. His house wasn't far so it would only be a quick detour. The haze in the sky hadn't grown much, but the red and orange strands had turned into ribbons, dancing around the purple center. My parents, having just seen it for the first time, were perplexed by the event and immediately began sharing theories on what the phenomenon could be.      

     After a couple of minutes of riding, my little sister began to fall behind and Papa dismissed Leroy and I to ride ahead. We began to ride at our own speeds until I noticed Leroy going a little faster. A challenging smirk grew across my lips.     

     "Hey, Leroy," I drew the words out menacingly.     

     "Already on it," he turned his head back with a grin and winked before taking off on his scooter. We took turns gaining on and taunting each other for the next couple of blocks until we reached his street. We turned down the corner, both determined for the bragging rights and the free pass to a shoulder-punch. We darted past two houses and it looked like Leroy was going to win, but of course, I gained on him at the last second.      

     "Ha!" I exclaimed, breathing heavily as I jolted my bike to a halt. "Take the 'L' Le-"     

     "Shh!" Leroy cupped his hand over my mouth, his brows furrowed.     

     "Hey!" I attempted to slap his hand away and prepared to lick it until he batted at my arm and pointed towards his house. There was a crash and the sound of shattering glass. Two masked figures with full, black trash bags jumped over the gate to the backyard and ran down the street at full speed. One of them had a gun.      

     "Dad," Leroy whispered before dropping the scooter and running towards his house. I followed suit and within seconds the door was busted open and we were in the house. The place was ransacked. There were shards of glass everywhere. The living room windows were broken and every piece of decoration on the walls, from clocks to expensive paintings, was gone.

     "Leroy..." I grabbed onto Leroy's arm, who was frozen in shock and horror. We were both staring at the same thing. Fresh, bloody footprints that led from the staircase to the broken window in the living room. Leroy began to run but I pulled him back.      

     "There could still be people here, we should go quietly," I urged him with a whisper and a reassuring squeeze of the arm. "Stay calm, okay?"

      He only stared forward silently, a resolute and somewhat angry glint in his eyes. I let go of his arm and we walked forward, following the footsteps slowly. The carpet released a wet, squishy sigh as we came to a stop as the stairs led to hallway. There was a horrible groaning sound- the kind in horror movies when someone is dying a slow and painful death. The lamp lighting the hallway flickered, followed by a sudden, soft shaking through the floor. A muffled gasp breathed in through clenched teeth and cheeks that were once pale with a touch of red suddenly nearly purple.

      The color reminded me of the Tulsa State Fair that Mr. MacQuoid used to drive us to every year. He would drop us off at the entrance with money to buy tickets and all the funnel cakes and rides we wanted. He would always take us out for ice cream right after he picked us up and ask us how riding the Ferris wheel 50 times was - we were too scared to ride anything else. He would pick me up from soccer practice when my parents were too busy and then take Leroy and me to the park every weekend, and the skate park when we started riding skateboards. He would laugh and ruffle our hair, saying, "Fun is challenging, eh?" as he cleaned off our scraped knees and cut elbows. He would always sneer and tease me when I brought up the boys I liked in 5th grade and he dealt with my 6th-grade bully because my dad had to work overtime that month. Mr. MacQuoid was always like a second father to me.

      Alas, there lay my second father, surrounded by pools of blood, the floor trembling with the uncontrollable shaking of his only son, whose eyes leaked no tears, yet held all of the sorrows a 16-year-old can bear. The loud cry of a boy who has just lost his father to the hands of man and the red rings that surround his pupils of which are lit aflame with confusion and anger at the wrongfulness of humankind. The eyes that once held much joy and eagerness to be in his father's arms would never light the same way again, but the light to be replaced by a dark so black and empty that the eyes would no longer be recognizable as human. Or, perhaps they would be so black and empty that the eyes would only be recognized as human.