69 Short Stories

Part 12: Unrest within the shelter

"What?! You fucking write like a three-year-old!" Mrs. H. screamed. I feel sorry for her kid, really. Mrs. H. is one of the fakest people ever, and you will not discover that unless you're her family. Me? Not quite, I'm just her neighbour....

Scowling at her kid all day long, I really feel sorry for the boy next door. I have no idea what he did wrong. Because really, childish handwriting, does it really matter? If you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, then why should you judge a person by their handwriting?

I've been living next door to them for something like 3 months, and I really had enough. Sometimes I will wake up at 2 am just to hear Mrs. H. arguing with her husband, who turns out, rarely comes home now. 

Anyways, I looked out from my kitchen window into their front yard. In the past three months,  Mrs. H.'s boy, Zane, has really gone through some pain.

 Two weeks earlier, I was staying up late for my project, and around 12 am exact, the main light of their house closed, only to be opened again in another few minutes with scowling of Mrs. H. As horrible as it can be, Zane was kicked out. He just sat there on the doorstep, he didn't dare to move. 

It's not like I don't want to help, but I know how Zane feels. He's this shy kid who sometimes gets bullied at school for his good grades. Jealousy, maybe. 

But what I know for sure is that if I go out right now, he will never want to see me again, or would even want to destroy me. Just because he doesn't want anyone to see him like this. 

Tonight's another restless night. 

Yes, I'm working on finishing another one of my projects and Zane is kicked out once more. I mean, I don't pull late nights that often, but I've seen Zane like this twice this month, which means he actually gets kicked out quite often. 

Through my window, I looked at Zane from behind my document. I don't want him to know that someone noticed him. When he buried his head into his pajamas, I stood up to open the light. 

I know it may scare him a little, but I guess a little brightness will make him feel better. 

Hopefully.

I'm sorry Zane. I apologized. I know it's not really my fault he's like this, but I also know that I shouldn't stand by and watch. 

One of the conversations I had with Zane on the bus flowed back into my mind. 

What do you want to be when you grow up?

...

Zane?

A good parent.

Anything else?

A doctor, maybe?

Why a doctor?

My parents want me to be one.

And the other time when it's the end of Term and I had a few extra chocolate bars leftover from our class party

Do you want a chocolate bar, Zane?

I'm fine, but thanks

Why not? It doesn't have peanuts

Mother will get angry if I can't fit in my dinner

Dinner? Wouldn't that be ages away?

Not really, Mother eats dinner at 5 pm.

Why?

I don't know, Dean, I guess she wants to

Come on, take one, save it for school tomorrow

Are you sure?

Yes, of course, Zane, it's the end of Term, so be happy for the holidays!

Thanks

Are you not excited for the holidays?

Not really

Are you guys not going anywhere?

Oh we never do, we never go on holidays

What, why not?

Things go wrong when you're on holidays, Dean, no holidays are perfect

What do you mean?

Problems happen

Oh yeah, but what about the fun besides the problems?

There will be no fun if your companion always complain about the problems

But since you're a kid I don't think you'll have to......

Not at all, Dean, in my family, my mother is the kid who has the skills and body of an adult. And I'm the adult who has to face all the consequences the kid made while listening to the kid as a kid. 

Are you okay, Zane?

What if I'm not? It's not like you can do something.

"Damn it Dean," I spoke to myself as I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. But before exiting, I returned to my room and placed a costume mask onto my head. Then I grabbed another one, just to in case.

With a pack of tissues, I rushed out onto the night streets. 

"Zane!" I whispered. I do not want to face Mrs. H. at all. I don't want her to know my existance as someone who's helping her son who deserves to be punished. 

"Who are you?" Zane looked back, concerned. Obviously no one can tell it's me with my skull mask. "Are you Death?"

"No, Zane," I held out my hand. "I'm not the Grim Reaper."

"Then who are you and how do you know my name?" The dark haired boy didn't raise his hand, instead, he shrank one step away from me. "Go away, stalker."

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I just wanted to help."

"I saw you walking down the street," Zane whispered between his sobs and hiccups. "Who are you?"

"Someone you can trust, Zane," I repeated his name, wiping his tears. "Someone who won't throw you away."

Zane remained silent as a new wave of tears rushed down his cheek. 

"Let's go, I promise you'll be safe,"

Zane stood up beside me, trying to wipe away his tears with his sleeves. 

"I want to die," Zane declared as we walked down the deserted streets. I took out the other costume mask helped him to put it on.

"No one will mind if you cry, Zane," I gave a bitter smile. Zane's morality almost collapsed as he broke out crying, howling in between the sobs.

Poor kid. But guess what, he's damn right.

There's nothing I can do.