The Monsters We've Created

1

When Mason got home nobody was there.  Radio silence to say the least.  The only sound that echoed through the house was the dishwasher with its light hum and and the soft padding of his cat, Whiskey's feet.  The brown fur ball prowled up to him and gave a soft purr as he rubbed against his legs. 

Walking to his room, it was obvious he wasn't going to go anywhere.  The tracker on his ankle making light beeps that were spaced out perfectly every thirty minutes.  As he walked up the stairs the silence threatened to consume him, it was intoxicating.  The vibrations came first, then Losing My Religion by R.E.M. started screeching through his phone.  Knowing immediately who the song belonged to he let the buzzing continue.  Once the song subsided he looked at his phone.  One voicemail.  Taking a deep meditative breath he pressed the play symbol.  Deep breathing echoed on the other side of the phone.

    "Hey man," Max sighed, "I know it's been a while."  The words were like a bullet to his train of thought.  Immediately stopping the curse words that were flowing freely in his mind.

"I heard you got put in the pound again."

The rest of his friends voice fell on deaf ears, more preoccupied with the door knob in front of him than the voice of his best mate.  It'd been a while since he'd been home; a couple months maybe.  More specifically, his room.  There hadn't been much of a choice in the matter, as his mother was the one to kick him out.  She went on and on about how he needed to learn responsibility and independence, yet still managed to cough up the money for his bail whenever need be. 

Turning the doorknob he walked into the room; the walls were ghostly white and bare.  A bed with plain white sheets was in the center of the room and a grey carpet lay over the hardwood flooring.  If anyone else would've seen the room they wouldn't have realized it belonged to someone.  Nothing was how he had left it.  The psychedelic posters were so obviously ripped off the wall and his clothes were picked up off the floor, washed and returned to his closet.  His television has been taken out, replaced with a glass desk and a wooden bookshelf.  His mother must've demanded Theresa, the maid to clean his room and reorganize it as she saw fit. 

Returning his gaze to his phone he contemplated calling his friend back.  From what he gathered in his zoned out state, Max had asked if he wanted to meet up.  Apparently he wasn't enjoying the silent treatment Mason was so obviously giving him.  The shrill sound of the default iphone ringtone pulled Mason out of his thoughts.  However, his screen was filled with No Caller ID rather than the familiar and insistent name of Max.  It wasn't uncommon for him to have random numbers calling and asking for various things, specifically money for whatever foundation or charity.  With frustration embedded in his fingers Mason picked up the godforsaken phone that wouldn't stop screaming at him.
    "Hello," he breathed, the undertones of frustration seeping into the word.

"I need a favor," Joshua asked, "some dumbass tried to jump me.  Could you come pick me up?"  Mason choked a little on the air he was about to inhale.  This wasn't the only occasion Joshua had asked him to pick him up from a situation gone awry.  In fact if he recalled it had been less than three--no four weeks since Joshua had last called him to pick him up.  Giving a groan Mason felt a tinge of guilt that persuaded him to agree.

"Sure I'll be there in a bit," thinking about it for a second, Mason didn't exactly know how far his ankle tracker would let him go.  Ten, fifteen miles at the most.  "Where are you?" 

"I'm off of 115th and Elm," came the response.

"Okay," with that he effectively ended the phone call.

Walking down the stairs Mason grabbed his keys and continued to walk outside of the house.  In all of the madness, all Mason could think of was why the fuck someone hadn't texted him rather than the insistent phone calls he was receiving.  Was it that hard to send a quick text rather than a fucking lifetime long of a call.  At least then he'd have the choice whether or not to respond without coming off as a prick.  His jeep made a roar as he stuck his key into the ignition.  Turning the radio on and up My Own Worst Enemy blasted through the speakers, bringing a stupid grin to his face.