Dancing Between Reality and Reminiscence: Short Stories

Burn Me Down

The red flame ate greedily at the papers, blazing defiantly against the frost that had paralyzed the ground. It matched Devon's mood perfectly, that angry fire. Shuffling closer he wrapped his arms around himself in defiance of the cold. With nothing to see in the dull city landscape painted in grey, his eyes were drawn to the fire as it smoldered black print and angry red pen. He watched it burn all the equations and problems that came with every test and assignment.

"Make you feel better?" a sarcastic voice behind him made Devon jump. Spinning around he found Mr. Crossby standing tall, arms folded, signature horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked at Devon as if he could see into his soul, and the teen turned his back, unnerved.

"What are you doing in this part of town?" growled Devon.

"Visiting a friend," answered Mr. Crossby, his educated tone clashing with the teen's slang. "You know, burning all your failed papers doesn't make them go away."

Devon flinched at  his words, embarrassed that the teacher guessed so easily that his papers would be failing. He had no clue how to respond though, because the reason he was burning the papers was because he was cold. How was he supposed to explain that to Mr. Crossby? That he had nowhere to go. That part of the reason he failed all his classes was because he was so hungry it hurt. He would never explain that, because he didn't want pity, or charity.

"None ya business," mumbled Devon, wishing he would just go away. On the contrary he heard footfalls behind him. Terror suddenly seizing his heart he turned on the teacher, stuffing a hand in his pocket. "Don't come near me! Get lost! I have a gun!" he lied.

Mr. Crossby studied him calmly for a moment and Devon started to fear he would call his bluff. The man, however, simply offered, "I could tutor you. I have time. All you would have to do is stay after school."

"I have to watch my sister," mumbled Devon.

"Bring her." With that Mr. Crossby walked away, down the windblown streets.

Devon huddled back to his fire, muttering darkly under his breath. Crazy old man. He insulted Devon, then offered help expecting him to take it. What did he know? Nothing. He knew nothing about anything. Not about Devon, or his sister, or anything that's happened to them.

At the thought of his sister he checked his watch. 4:00. She'd be warm for another hour yet, since the library closed at 5:00. That gave him an hour to find someplace safe for them to stay the night. He could never stay at the library himself because the librarians got suspicious. Squinting at the sky he prayed that the first snowfall would hold off for a couple of weeks.

"Hey you look cold," came a familiar voice. At the sound of it Devon's heart lept. Turning he saw his constant guardian angel, Xaviar.

Xaviar had found Devon and his sister one night huddling underneath a crude cardboard box in pouring rain. He had offered for them to come to his gang's pad, no strings attached, and had been helping them ever since. His kindness offered a little warmth in a large stretch of darkness.

"Hell, yeah!" laughed Devon, clapping hands with the tall, beefy boy.

"Where's the sis?"

"Being warm."

"Wanna stay at the house? I smell snow"

Devon sighed with relief, but paused. He had always been wary of Xaviar's boys. They were a tough bunch with crass attitudes, but looking into Xaviar's warm smile his worries melted away.

"Let's go fetch Bethie."

~~~~~~~~~

 He didn't know why he was here. Standing in the middle of the history classroom, decked out in posters with famous sayings on them, Devon mulled over the reason in his mind. It's warm here. Yeah that's it. Satisfied with his reasoning he walked up to Mr. Crossby's desk with a defiant expression on his face, sister in tow.