"A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."
-Walter Winchell
•
I awoke to the sounds of rocks hitting my window. I turned over in my bed to look at the time on my digital alarm clock.
3:05.
I groaned and sat up groggily, rocks still hitting my window.
I ran my hand through my hair and stood up walking to the curtains. I drew them, seeing the person I expected.
Tom.
He was standing on my front lawn, and I could barely see him in the mist of the night. Although, the streetlight offered a bit of assistance. He looked as if he'd just gone to Hell and back. His hair was a mess, his face wet with tears, and his close showed a horrid amount of stains.
I turned on my light and held up a finger and signaled him to wait. I drew the curtains closed again and changed into jeans, tennis shoes and a t-shirt. I put my hair up in a messy bun and grabbed my backpack which had my phone and some water in itz. Then I crept down the stairs and snuck out of the back door, careful not to wake anyone. Then I ran to the side of our small backyard and opened up the gate. After making sure the gate was locked, I turned and saw Tom on the driveway. I ran and embraced him. He winced at the impact.
I drew back, "Tom, are you ok? What happened."
His face was expressionless, then he said, "how 'bout I explain on the way there?"
I nodded, then we started our journey to our favorite spot to talk and Tom began his story.
YOU ARE READING
TOM
General FictionWhen I was six years old, my friends and I found a bird that had been pushed out of it's own nest. We carefully picked it back up and placed it back in its best again. An hour later we came back only to see the bird on the floor again, it's wing br...
