Welcome, Carter

one

one

THE outside world cries and groans in anger as Walker tries to sleep. It's not going to stop. Nothing could make it stop. Lightning flashes through the dark sky, and then a rumble erupts. Walker's eyes peer behind his heavy eyelids. He whispers out an annoyed sigh and turns his body away from his large window. It was showing him too much of the outside war.

He can't sleep. Maybe the crying and the groaning and the flashing coming from the sky is an excuse for it. Probably not. No, that's a lie. It is an excuse. Everything is an excuse. It isn't the world keeping him awake, it's himself. He can never go to sleep. And it isn't because he doesn't want to, it's just that he can't. No matter what he does, his mind just stays awake. That isn't an excuse. His mind isn't an excuse.

Reaching over, he presses his finger against his phone's screen to see what time it is. 3:28 a.m.. "Great," he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fantastic."

His bedroom is eerily quiet. There is no crying or groaning or lightning that is flashing anymore. It's just soundless. And then the taps against his window start again. He lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes. He keeps them shut for a long time, but that doesn't mean he falls asleep.

•|•

Walker didn't sleep. It was obvious that he wouldn't, but he wanted to. He kept his eyes shut the rest of the night, or at least tried to. It was the rain. All it did was tap against the window all night long. The funny part is that now, the storm is gone. Sunshine glistens through his window and into his bedroom. How annoying and sad. The rain wanted a friend but all it got was sunlight.

Tossing the royal blue sheets to the side of him, Walker slips out of his bed. He lets out a quiet yawn and runs a hand through his messy brown hair. Rubbing at his eyes, he jerks off his pair of gray joggers and pulls on a pair of ripped jeans. Not caring or worrying about his plain black sweatshirt, he grabs his phone off of the bedside table and steps out of his room. He heads down the wooden stairs, causing a creaking noise every time he takes a step.

His home is silent except for the sound of his feet hitting against the ground. He trails into the kitchen and stops at the doorway. He stares at his mother; Ramona McGrady is a pretty, pale, dark headed lady that has her nose stuck in book. A cup of coffee is placed in front of her and so is a red pen.

"Hey, good morning," she says, her voice coming out in a feather. "Did you sleep well at all?" She questions. Two fingers grip the handle of her coffee mug as she waits for him to reply.

"Yeah, I slept for an hour," he lies, moving forward into the bright kitchen. His mother glances up at him with a raised eyebrow. He sends one back to her as he grasps the refrigerator handle.

"Walker."

"Mom."

"Please don't lie to me." He stares at her for a second.

"I'm not," he simply tells her, shrugging his shoulders. He pulls a bottled water and a cup of peaches out of the fridge. His mother stares back at him, a look in her eyes.

"Tell me," she begins, closing her book. "Are you really ready for a new school year to start?" She questions, causing him to roll his eyes. "I'm being serious, Walker. Tell me."

"You ask me that every year. I'm being serious, mom. I'm fine. I'm okay," he tells her, looking around for his book bag. He spots it hanging over a chair and grabs it.

"Promise?" A second goes by.

"No."

She nods her head and pushes her mug away from her. "Okay. If you're fine with not being okay, then okay."