To Long and Belong

The boy stared out across the arrays of yellow daises that dotted the plush green field. He knew his surroundings were beautiful, but he could feel a piece of himself break away every time he thought about the place he'd called home for sixteen years.

The countryside had long lost its appeal to him, especially since his father had died. He winced as he thought of how fresh the pain still was. He could hear the mournful howling of his dog, Poppy, as though she wanted to give voice to how he was feeling. "Poppy," he called softly, bending down to touch her soft black head as the loyal animal walked soundlessly to the boy she adored.

"Far out," said the boy in an exhausted sigh as he lay defeated on the ground. Poppy licked his face affectionately. "What have our lives come to?"

His point was fair. Since his father's death, his mother had gone cold on him. All their relationship consisted of was a daily call for breakfast, a reminder that he had to take his homework in to school on time, and angry shouts of things she didn't mean. They'd had a blue just hours before, which still ate away at him now. Poppy whimpered sympathetically. The boy swore she could understand English sometimes. She understood him better than anybody else did, anyway.

This was his routine whenever his mother upset him. He would come outside, right in the middle of their gigantic farm, and lie there. Sometimes Poppy would come with him; others, she knew he didn't want company. She was a beautiful dog, the most loyal black Labrador anybody had ever had. He remembered getting her as a puppy when he was thirteen. It'd been the happiest day of his life; he'd arrived home, when his family was still intact, when his father was still alive—and he'd connected with that tiny ebony puppy better than he had with any person.

Be strong, son. He could hear his father's voice in his head. The boy had been fifteen at the time. In fact, his father had passed just weeks before his "sweet" sixteenth. "Some birthday that was," he chuckled sadly as the memories came flooding back. He was a handsome boy; not overly tall, with a strong jaw and a good nose, and beautiful, thick black hair that his family was renowned for. Strangely, he knew of no one who'd ever taken an attraction to him. He didn't blame women for not wanting him. He carried more baggage than they could handle, anyway.

Of course, there was the girl he loved—but he didn't want to think about her now. Alyssia was a piece of the past. It felt so empty now, all this big green space. After all, it was just the boy, his brother Willy and his mother, Kylie. But she'd blanked out on him now, hadn't she? She was his ex mother. She didn't deserve the title of mother after the things she'd said today. But whatever. She wasn't worth being upset over, not anymore. Tears filled his eyes as he thought of the days when his mother had loved him, when their house had been full of colour and life.

But none of that mattered anymore. Not Alyssia, not his mother, his family...all that mattered were his ambitions. And he'd leave this horrible countryside soon enough. He had no place here now. No sense of belonging. He'd find a place to call home. He'd be hitting the stars.