A bond where a father dies, but the son lives on, carrying the guilt of his father over the damage done to his best friend's father. Playing the hero, the son severed ties and a best friend's trust. As he tried to mend the damages done, he also tryi...
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It was a blazingly hot day today as Blake sat down on a chair, a school desk in front of him with a piece of loose-leaf paper and a pencil sitting flat on the cold, wooden desk. He stared down at the algebraic problems that were printed on the paper. Looking around, he saw the other group of children moving their pencils against the paper, answering the questions without much difficulty. He heard the slight buzzing of a nearby fan as it rotated around the room, blowing fresh air toward them that occasionally caused his own paper to flap up as it hit it.
This was pathetic. Ever since they bombed the cities, hope for normalcy was gone. This was all just busy work to distract these naive children from the reality of this world, that things were normal beyond these walls and that everything was going to be okay. Blake glanced down at the paper again, the questions somewhat familiar from back when he himself was in school. Some trigonometry questions also littered the paper, requiring students to use either sine, cosine, or tangent to find the missing length of one side of a given triangle.
He hadn't touched the number 2 yellow pencil as it rolled a little when the fan blew in its direction. He hesitantly grabbed his pencil, deciding to just get the stupid work over with as he tried to recall how to solve the questions again. His fingers fumbled around with the pencil, taking a moment to get used to holding a pencil as it had been quite a while since he last had to write anything with a pencil. He remembered doing this back before the dead. He remembered finding these problems simple, but now he could barely wrap his head around them. He couldn't blame himself, however, for not doing math in quite some time. Gripping the tip of the pencil with his fingers, he began to jot down some numbers, his hand shaking as he wasn't used to writing in so long. He struggled to write out the equation, his handwriting sloppier than he recalled. It took a lot of effort for him to write as his left hand became exhausted after a mere few moments.
Frustrated, he turned his attention outside the window, watching adults outside smiling whilst holding drinks and listening to music. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. It didn't make any remote sense. He understood why the Governor did all this, to make people get back past that they were familiar with, and not fear or grieve anymore, but it wasn't going to work, especially since their leader was becoming really sketchy the more he was being interrogated and spoke. "Blake, was it?" He heard one of the elderly ladies ask, scaring him out of his thoughts as he looked up at her frail figure, her posture curvy and short-lived whilst gray hair curled overhead on top, making her look stereotypically teacher-like. The bright pink lipstick was the one thing that got his eyes' attention first before quickly looked up at her gray eyes.
He nodded. "Do you need some help? I've noticed you haven't moved your pencil much. Are you stuck on any problems?" He wanted to voice his outrage and frustration at the lady, but he knew she was only doing this because she had nothing better to do and was simply listening to the Governor. Lying, he shook his head. "Just hot," he partially lied, giving her a straight face before feeling a wave of cool air hit the side of his face. "Do you want to move up a desk and be closer to the fan?" He shook his head no. "I'm fine."
