Blooming Wounds

•[Breakfast Bun]•

    The two young boys struggle with all their might to hoist a bag of compost across the greenhouse, congratulating themselves upon completing the task. [M.n] smiles fondly at his siblings' antics, slinging a similar bag over his own shoulder with ease.

    "Go get us some juice, I'll finish up here." He commands, shooing the pair away. Immediately, they bound off, collecting the stray action figures they had left baking in the sun along their way. This leaves the eldest brother with his father, a stout, bespectacled and soft spoken man. An awkward silence hangs in the air in the absence of the kid buffers, so the two continue their chores without uttering a word to each other.

    He doesn't forgive me.

    The same phrase repeats in [m.n]s mind, urging him to not lift his face to meet his father's eyes. Unbeknownst to the teen, the others' eyes are filled with longing, begging and pleading for his son back. A classic miscommunication.

    "Hey, son, mind giving me a hand over here?"

    [M.n] holds a pregnant pause, before deciding to resign himself to the compost bin, the area furthest away from his father.

÷÷÷

    "Let's skip today," [M.n] begins, looking onto the group of students pouring into class, feeling superior over the nameless heads bobbing and weaving through the corridors. "It's not like we have any reason to be here."

    His best friend, Hojou, stops drinking her strawberry milkshake, before throwing a melodramatic fit.
    "No way! You know we have a school trip today, and you know I cannot afford to miss this," She shakes his shoulders, making [m.n] choke on his breakfast bun. "And you know who's in our group." She hushes the last sentiment as to avoid drawing attention.

    "What I know is that I don't even need to go to school, let alone go on some dumb local history trip."

    "Too bad, I already signed us up to be in the same group as the love of my life."

    [M.n] scoffs.
    "Teenage romance is so idiotic, why waste your time on someone you're going to abandon weeks later?"

    Hojou retorts, making [m.n] suppose that maybe, just maybe, he should give school a chance. It's not like he'll actually be learning anything on this trip, he reasons, so there's no harm in attending, right? If he were to skip, all he would do is stroll about town for a few hours, so it's not like his day would be all that different if he decided to go.

    After his quick deliberation, he follows Hojou to their classroom, where they join their group.

    They all hate me.

    The three other students stare at the duo, not accustomed to seeing them in class, save for the few classes Hojou and [m.n] favoured.

    They think I'm filth.

    The most outgoing of their squad - the man of his best friends affection - introduces everyone, before the entire class is led to the heart of town and then dismissed. Each group is given an itinerary: a museum, a national park, and a local river to attend. To prove you have been to each place, a slip of paper is available to collect at each information deck. No teachers are stationed around the area (they are not particularly bothered as they claim to not be payed enough to deal with rambunctious young adults), so the two students who had been gossiping about [m.n] the entire trip decided to slink off, in search for their friends. They said they can just pick up slips on their way and not bother to do any actual research.

    "Wow, we're sure lucky with the weather today!" The remaining classmate stretches his arms, basking his sun-kissed skin in the blazing, Japanese summer heat. Hojou agrees, despite the clear look of irritation on her face as makeup threatens to run down her cheeks.

    Throughout the day, Hojou tries to flirt with their oblivious classmate until [m.n] got the hint and let them be alone. Now he's wandering aimlessly around the city, absentmindedly ambling until he finds himself navigating the back alleys.

    "The fuck?" The victim of his daydream absorbed state says.
    "Watch where the fuck you're going, asshole!" The stranger yells.

    Unflinching, [m.n] checks the time. It's already far into the afternoon, school being let out a while ago. He grumbles an unapologetic "sorry" and tries to carry on his way, but another person extends their arm, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar.

    "I'm not letting you go until you say sorry and mean it." Their commanding tone instigates [m.n]s brawling instincts. He was bored and itching for an outlet for all of this negative energy, the classmates who'd been whispering about him earlier only fuelled this.

    "So what if I didn't mean it?"

    The middle schoolers barrage him with verbal harassment, completely oblivious to the wall of puke green emerging from behind the blond. That is until the bullies run away with their tails between their legs.

    [M.n], on the other hand, is immovable, paralysed in fear, replaying that crucial moment from his past over and over again. The viscerally putrid stench of smoke, burnt oil, rotting skin... He gasps for breath, clutching his own throat, collapsed on the floor. He repeats a well known mantra in his head: It's not my fault, it's not my fault, it's not my fault. He taps his fingers in time with the beat, eventually regaining his senses.

    He comes to, but it's all still the same. Fire scales the concrete walls, bursts car windows and leaves smoking execution in it's path. A scalding, defensive wall protects the villain and it's prey, cackling madness, mimicing the soaring flames.

    Stay here, close your eyes. I'll be back.

    She's here. She's really here. [M.n] can hear her voice with indisputable  clarity. He desperately rushes toward it, each word growing louder the closer he gets to the calamity. He stumbles over rubble but pays it no mind, scrambling on his hands and knees to reach her voice--

    "Kid, get out of the way!" Shouts and car alarms blare, resounding throughout the city. No one attempts to grab him, too afraid of the heat oppressed death trap the teen had somehow clawed his way into.

    It's okay, I'll protect you.

    Disregarding the debris assaulting his vision, he hones in on her golden hair. It's oddly short, but he doesn't care, not when the person he loves most dearly is mere metres away from him. [M.n] grasps at the sickly sludge, a wretched attempt from redemption, to right his greatest wrong.

    "What the fuck are you doing, get out of here!" A coarse and rough voice booms, a voice that seems so incredibly close; that can't be the case, she's right there, the anguished boy reasons. He doesn't need to care for his [h.c] tresses being singed at their tips, nor for the grinding and nauseating migraine clawing at all sides of his skull, if he can just get a little closer.

    Come here, brother dearest. Join me in the eternal flame of the afterlife.
    You let me die, now it's your turn to embrace death.

A young boy rushes to his sister, leaping into her arms. Her saintly white dress furls at the hem as she spins him around. She'd been at her first ever long weekend sleep over. Her brother had waited three long days for her to get back. 'I'm going to take you to the movies' she promised him, planting a kiss on his crown as they share a giggle.

That was the last promise she would ever make.

÷÷÷

1264 words
We're jumping right into the angst today, folks!
Why not tell me about a good thing that happened today, to negate all this angst?