The Disappearance Of Will Black / REWRITING /

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If I listened hard enough, I could hear the sound of the 8 AM truck that passes by my window, rumbling away in the distance.

I had to listen carefully. Usually, I liked to be prepared and check my phone every few seconds to make sure that I didn't miss it. When the clock hits 7:59 and the teacher continued his rambling about Shakespeare, I'd press my cheek against the frozen window and look out for the truck.

I don't know what it is about that damn truck. Every morning when I had Literature, I did the same exact thing, looking like a sadistic weirdo to Lydia, the girl that sat beside me, and probably the whole class. But I couldn't give two flying shits; something about that truck gave me a feeling of stability.

As strange as it sounds, it was true. The truck was labeled under a symbol that has something to do with decomposing or some dirt work. It was an off-white color, with no hint of what's hidden inside it apart from the logo.

The truck was never seconds late.

So that's why I was pressing my cheekbone against the window in Literature at 8 AM, my heart pounding. Mr. Barron's voice blurs in my ears and all I could hear was the jackhammer of my heart. If the truck didn't pass by in the following seconds then everything would burn. The truck was an image of my stable life before Will's disappearance, a symbol of sanity.

My cheek was numb. I was beginning to lose hope.

That's when the stupid truck came in all its glory — it slowly moved across the street, meters away from my window, taking its time. Something about the way it moved reminded me of a sly, arrogant panther. Silent but deadly. Quiet but unsustainable.

But just before it drove out of my vision, a blurry picture passed before my eyes. I saw this truck before. I have, of course, several times before from the same position — but my brain tells me else wise. I have seen it from a different angle, and the sky was five shades darker.

The memory hit me like a slap in the face. I pushed my face away from the glass and stared at my limp hands, which lay uselessly on my lap.

"Sarah?" Mr. Barron jolts me awake, "You okay?"

His voice was soft and kind, but I knew that he was only being gentle because he pitied Will's absence and my presence.

I felt a hundred pairs of eyes on me and my skin began to crawl.

"May I please go to the bathroom?" I croaked, looking away uncomfortably from the hot stares of my classmates. I heard Mr. Barron reply, except I didn't really listen to it. Whether he said yes or no, I pushed my chair away and stalked out of the class as quickly as I could, head down.

As I speed-walked down the hallway, I saw the scene more clearly. I remembered holding a fluffy mess of candy floss on the day Will poofed in my hand, and a cup of alcohol in the other. I think that was my third. Julia was asking me something about compensating between buying candy floss for herself or watching her weight. I don't remember answering, but I do remember seeing my brother threading through the crowd of drunk teenagers with someone by his side.

They were heading towards the Ferris wheel together. I couldn't see my brother's face, but I knew the back of his head. For a split second, the person beside him in a tank top looked around. I remember recognizing his face, but everything wasn't clear at this moment.

I barged my way into the bathroom and splashed cold water onto my face. I don't feel fresher.

The man walking beside Will was covered in tattoos. That strikes me as weird. Why would Will hang out with a badass, someone who wasn't his type? I closed my eyes and thought hard. It couldn't be a surprise. Will got along with anyone.

But that was about it. If I wasn't roaring drunk, maybe I could've been more useful. But something about the guy my brother was walking with gave me the chills.

The last thing I remembered is watching them disappear into the darkness behind the Ferris wheel just before someone bumped into me and spills my drink all over my dress, leaving me to stare at the golden-yellow tinged liquid dripping down my torso and onto the crumpled grass.