One. sick of seventeen

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I. sick of seventeen

      It's hard to forget the past when it is written all over your body

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      It's hard to forget the past when it is written all over your body. To forget the tragedy when it flows through your veins like when it's emitted into your bones. Scars of nail shaped marks and cigarette burns mark your skin and make you bleed. It's hard to forget when your body language shows others that you've been the long hell and back; shoulders slumped, head down, hands in pockets. When your eyes are tired and your smile is nonexistent.

What is a person to do when they feel nothing?

The July sun was swallowed, gold with the old of summer, honey combing through the trees. The heat seller under the skin-surface in swathes of gilded clouds. An ablaze of soft aurelian blanketed the morning sky and beamed down on tiny speck that was earth. Bridger's back was pressed against the rough pallets that was his roof, the warm morning sun glimmered against his face and coated his skin in a thin layer of sweat. Smoke arose toward the clouds as it escaped his lips. He watched as the grayish white aerosol gas swirled around in the sky in a sickly beautiful way.

Fom below him, he could hear the shuffling and murmurs of people as the walked along the grass by his house. It was the morning after Hurricane Agatha hit Kildare. Bridger had no knowledge of the damage till he woke up. He was dead asleep. Although it was always hot in Kildare, the humorous increased drastically over time, making today brutal.

He took another puff of his cigarette and let the smoke invade his young lungs and let the world go on around him. Climbing onto his roof in the early morning was part of his morning routine. He liked watching the sun peak from above the horizon. It was also the only time of day he could smoke without being scolded by other people.

"Bridger!"

Ignoring the familiar voice, he inhaled more of the smoke and closed his eyes at the releasing feeling.

"I know you're up there, asshole. I can see the smoke!"

Huffing, Bridger sat up from the roof and peered down, seeing Topper, Rafe, and Kelce standing in front of his house. "The fuck do you want?" He shouted back, his voice sharp and annoyed.

Topper pointed up at him. "Don't get snappy. Get your ass down here!"

"And hurry up!" Rafe shouted this time. A pair of black sunglasses covered his face, increasing the douche bag look that he already had.

He gave them the middle finger before carefully back through his bedroom window. The curtains were open and the morning sun peered right inside, creating a hot surface. He quickly got dressed and rushed downstairs, seeing that his dad was gone, and he walked outside to see them impatiently until waiting.

"Bout time." Rafe commented while chewing a piece of gum.

Bridger rolled his eyes and shoved his head when he walked by. "Shut the hell up." He held his hand out. "Give me a piece."

Favorite Crime, JJ MaybankWhere stories live. Discover now