Marmalade Sunset

Chapter 3

The young boy watched as the town grew tinier and tinier into the night. He found his eyes struggling to adapt to the darkness.

The train picked up speed erratically and the droning sound of the engine seeped through the racketing windows. An occasional backfire kept Glenn on his toes, like it needed him to be awake. A thick layer of suspense shrouded his mind after stepping into the station and he had to dig deep into his head to keep his composure. Everything around him seemed misconstructed; the rivets undone and the structural adhesives slipped off. Glenn listened intently to the drone echoing in his ears, and in that tingling message was a haunting realization.

His parents sacrificed so much of their time and energy to raise him that eventually the duo simply couldn't do so any longer.

They weren't just overworked, socially deprived and hopelessly lost - each parent had to embrace, day by day, that they were expending their life for a child they never wanted. Glenn could sympathize with them deciding to leave their responsibilities behind, but that mentality left a sour taste in his mouth. In order to save themselves, their only child was left to rot as a substitute. Suddenly, Glenn felt sick.

He could feel the blood leave his head and a deep growl in his groin made him squirm.

For so many years, he's had an irritating grudge against himself.

He was convinced the reason his parents never got along (in lieu of all their other issues) was because of something within him.

The shock of coming home to an empty home jostled the pillars in his heart and he made irrational conclusions. He was just a child, after all.

There were so many other possibilities his mind refused to accept. It must've been my fault. His thoughts reciprocated.

That was how desperate he was for a reason because even the slightest answer eased his mind, but now, with a clear answer in sight, he could rest at ease knowing his life was in his own hands.

It was noon when the train pulled into its final stop.

Stepping off, he was hit with a wave of warmth from the sun and the stench of the sea stuck to his body like hot glue. He walked out of the gates and found himself on a hill overlooking the town and the ocean. From a small sign next to the station, he realized that the town had two names. He brought out his ticket and examined it side by side with the sign. On his ticket, it said he was going to a town called "Luco's Coast" but the sign had "Morrison" written on it with bold letters. Was it named after James Morrison? Glenn never got the chance to ask.

The town was built around a pier and several fishing boats were anchored to the coastline with men unloading the contents from an earlier rendezvous. Each boat's bow was littered with all varieties of barnacles and algae that reflected the age of the vessels. A stump lighthouse across the pier kept watch of the calm ocean for any disturbances in the distance. From a nearby park, Glenn spent some time absorbing the scene. He'd never seen the ocean so close in his life so he was naturally taken aback. Several people gave Glenn a wave from their verandas as he gazed to the open waters. He waved back with a half-smile. He ventured around a market area and inspected the various foods the vendors had up for sale. In particular, a plump fisherman was selling an absolutely colossal Pacific halibut, though hardly anyone batted an eye. Another vendor across the street sold papayas the size of melons. The scrawny grandpa behind the counter was quietly enjoying his cigar under the warm sunlight.

His sea-worn face demanded attention. Some of the townsfolk let Glenn taste a variety of local delicacies and he offered to pay for their generosity but none of the people wanted his money which pleasantly surprised him. Perhaps it was their form of pity towards him. He slipped into a neighbourhood a fair distance from the market and admired the different styles of living in this far-off town. Some homes were very distinctive; with high roofs and gardens filled with fruits and vegetables. Others who wanted a simple life had a squat house with little to no decorations, maybe a wind chime or two, but the difference from house to house was minimal. There was a clear disconnect between expectation and reality that resonated with him.