Flame On Fire Boy | a Tronner Short

Chapter One[The Smoke Shop]

Troye walked to to his home. The smoke shop. He had called the shop his "home" since his house was a busted up, molding, sick ridden, apartment. An apartment owned by his mother and father; a drunk and a cancer patient. All Troye needed was somebody to help him; of course he didn't know that, he thought all he needed was a distraction, a sedative. Which is why he was walking to Franta's Smokes. To get his daily pack of death-sticks.

He walked down the sidewalk to the corner of 8th and Washington, then stepped into the old smoke shop. He went to pick up his usual brand of smokes and stepped to the counter, setting them down along with the correct amount of money. He searched for the usual cashier, but to no avail. Mr Franta wasn't there. Troye stood at the counter for another minute before a young boy walked to the register. Maybe he just looked young. After a second of analyzing his face Troye came to the discovery that he had to be about his own age.

The boy lifted his head up and looked at Troye. It took him a moment to realize that Troye was actually there, at which point he jumped lightly.

"Oh," the boy said. He picked up the smokes and the money, then gave Troye back his change and walked to the back. Troye waited another minute until the boy came back to the counter holding what seemed to be bills. His lips we pursed and seemed tired. Troye coughed to get the boys' attention. He looked up.

"You're still here?" The boy said, hiding the papers.

"Who're you?" Troye asked. "I've been coming here for years, I've never seen you."

"I'm Connor."

"Connor who?" Troye asked, already frustrated from this boy, "what's your last name, why haven't I ever seen you before?"

"I'm Connor Franta." He said, looking down, "I just moved here."

"Franta."

"Yeah. "Mr. Franta"'s son. Or late "Mr. Franta"'s son." Connor looked back down.

"He's dead?"

"Yes. He died yesterday."

Troye stood silently. He grabbed his things and walked away, he opened the door but before he left he looked back, "I'm sorry about that."

Connor sighed. "Thanks."

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Troye returned to his house after the news from the Franta kid, Connor. He stepped inside the old yellow apartment quietly, although it didn't really matter anyways, his mother was sick and couldn't tell the difference between a scuttle and a scream, and his father was a drunken monster who was never even home. His siblings, Steele, Tyde, and Sage, were never home. Steele was getting drunk with his friends, and Tyde was always with him; Sage was off doing whatever it is that poor, neglected, lonely, teenage girls do; probably out having sex with someone she didn't know, or standing on the side of the road with her friends, caked in makeup, trying to get people to pick her up.

As he walked through the debris filled kitchen he picked up a small cup and filled it with water. He stood for a moment waiting for the milky substance to transform into a clearer, more watery liquid; at which point he picked it up and walked to his mother, placing it on the box next to her mattress, substituting for a nightstand. She stirred in her sleep, making him look up. She used to be beautiful, mesmerizing apparently-according to her brothers. The brothers who had taken their car and driven it off of Crest Cliff, the one who survived shooting himself in the head the following month-but now she was dying, and her skin was cracking; her face was yellow and purple. Troye stood, walking back into the hallway. He pulled the pack of cigarettes out from his pocket and placed one in his mouth, gently lighting it, and shaking out the match.

He peered out the dusty old window, searching for anything. He found, and watching more, figured out who it was: Connor. The chestnut boy was walking down the breaking street, and behind him were three men. Troye casually raced down the steps, coming out from the stairway, coming up behind Connor, and placing his hand in a guiding fashion on the small of Connor's back; who simply just stiffened.

"Shh," Troye said quietly, "it's okay."

Connor said nothing, but stayed stiff.

"Connor, calm down. There are three men behind you. Stay calm, please."

Connor's body relaxed, still feeling reluctant, but compliant.

They walked away from the men, turning and taking another road.