Ethereal | Twilight |

003

Sora looks up from his previous position, engrossed in his final class assignments—math. The resounding echoes of doors slamming, clasping, and locking in the hallway of his home reverberate through the thin walls, interrupting his focused solitude. He raises an eyebrow, forcefully shutting his math book.

Despite their stark differences in every category and hobby, Sora and his mother share a common thread—a shared pursuit of addictions, seeking solace in fleeting moments of normalcy they both yearn to discard.

Yet, an unsettling anger creeps within him, unfamiliar and twisting like a hellish grip on his ribs, expanding across his body. Inhaling sharply, he acknowledges the sickening truth that his anger stems from an uncharted abyss. The ache in his body, an unfamiliar and demanding strain on muscles, propels him towards his mother's room.

Standing before the closed door, his hands clench into fists before relaxing. A rhythmic knock echoes—once, twice—yet his mother remains silent, withholding any response. Shifting away, weariness settling in, he decides not to force his away in; he's too fatigued to muster more than the present numbness.

He walks back to his room, his muscles straining and aching. In the silence, he hears his mother's frustrated groan from within her room. Her footsteps, an audible accompaniment to his own sigh, resonate through the hallway. His tight muscles ache in a painful familiarity. Hovering his hand over his room's door knob, he contemplates, only to let it fall to his side. The door to his mother's room swings open in a burst of fury, bouncing off the wall in a recoil of anger. "You're a fucking piece of shit."

The hairs on Sora's neck rise, delicate tendrils sensing the tense atmosphere enveloping him. He suppresses a bitter smile, turning to face his mother, who stands just feet away. Her chin tilts upward in a silent plea, her eyes heavy with the weight of sorrow—swollen and puffy, lashes like rain-soaked tendrils casting shadows over dim, glossy chocolate brown orbs. A shaky sigh escapes her, chapped lips pressing into a thin line, the back of her hand grazing against rose-kissed, tear-stained cheeks.

"I need money. Find a job, and help me out at least," she implores, disappointment and dissatisfaction seeping through her tired voice. The unspoken words of his recent suspension and school fight linger heavily in the air. She leaves behind a sinister echo of her struggles, a fading melody, before sealing herself away with a resounding door slam. The ensuing silence isn't merely void; it's an oppressive weight constricting Sora's essence.

In the solitude of the shower, he seeks refuge amidst the cascading streams, embracing the absurdity of the moment. The water, a torrent of warmth, engulfs him, its rhythmic dance echoing in the tiled chamber. He waits, suspended in the watery cocoon, for his bones to dissolve, yearning for comforting release. The persistent ring in his ears becomes a dissonant ring, a distant grenade exploding with echoes, underscoring the complexity of the emotional fallout. The showerhead's steady rhythm a retreat from his suffocating reality.

The next morning he stands before a man that took hours to get here. The bakery wasn't too far, but he could tell it used to be a house by the way it looks. He was surprised people even knew of this place, not mentioning how it sat right in front of endless trees, a forest with creatures that could come around one day and perhaps storm in by the delicious smell of food.

"How old?" The older male raises a brow in question, a deep line of exhaustion appearing in his features. "Seventeen, sir."
"ID and social?"
He slips his hand inside the pocket of his sweats, flipping his wallet open and his dark eyes take in the bit of money he had and his information. He hands it over, the older male taking it and leaving for a few minutes before coming back.

"You can call me Charles, you don't mind starting today don't you?" He shakes his head, shifting his weight to his left leg. Strands of dark hair cascade to the side of his ear, teasing the sliver of skin they reach. The older male grunts, signaling him to follow, and without hesitation, he takes action. The first day at work unfolds at a pace slower than he expected, revealing a noticeable gender imbalance in the workplace.