Mr. Forgettable #Wattys2016

13

Jacob didn't want to think about what he had just done. That would require standing up and coming to his senses. That would require feelings, which he had decided to turn off.

All Jacob could think about was the conversation he had had with Larkin on Sunday night. He'd been walking to where his parents were parked to pick him after his band concert. She had been out, probably waiting for criminals, when he had stumbled upon her tense form leaning against the wall of a building downtown. She was Coalescence at the time, and he was just Jacob.

When he was with Larkin, he always felt unimportant. She made him feel that way.

Before he approached her, he debated whether or not she would actually want to talk to him. He last talked to her on Friday, when he revealed his identity to her.

Sitting where he was now, that night felt like ages ago. However, it was only Monday.

Finally, he decided that he should talk to her. He had something important to say, and it could not be ignored, or a life would be lost. So Jacob went up to Larkin.

"Coalescence," he said.

Larkin smiled a wry grin. She pushed herself off the wall and stepped a bit closer to Jacob. He noticed that she was still tense, as if waiting for someone to pop out of the shadows, but for all he knew, that could be exactly what she was doing.

"Jacob, I hope you're keeping out of trouble," she had said.

Her lilting voice made Jacob smile. "Band concert," he mumbled. It was the only response he could handle. "I play the clarinet," he said, gaining control of his tongue once again.

Larkin nodded once. "I've heard."

Then silence. And Jacob tried to say the words he had come to say, but his vocal cords weren't working and his lips were glued shut. I have to kill your father.

Before he could attempt to tell her, Larkin stood rigid. Her back was ramrod straight, and he could see her concentrating to hear something. He backed away a few steps, and then opened his mouth, hoping to get the words out before she left. Larkin, I have to kill your father.

He never got the chance. A slight breeze brushed across his face. She was gone. She'd probably disappeared through a wall to go save someone. He shut his mouth in defeat. Or my father will kill me.

()()()

Jacob didn't know how to use a gun before he turned 15. Now, just a couple months away from being 16, he had shot at more people than some do in their entire lives. Had he killed someone?

Not quite.

Did he want to kill someone?

He hoped it didn't have to come to that.

Jacob decided that he had been running away from his problems for far too long, and it was time to turn around and face them. He stood up. He brushed of his pants and tucked the gun into his waistband like they did on the TV shows. Except, this wasn't a TV show, this was his life.

He walked out of the old, cinder block building with its stucco trim beginning to crumble and headed toward his old elementary school. The streets were relatively empty because school was out and most people had already gone home after work.

J. Francis Elementary's parking lot was desolate, so Jacob circumvented the building and made a beeline for the swing set on the familiar playground. He sat on a swing and slowly pushed himself backwards.

He wondered what it would look like to a passerby. They wouldn't be able to see him at all. They would only see the swing rocking back and forth on a windless night without someone to propel it. It would be eerie.