Sequel to the Wattpad novel The Age of Aquarius
E.J. Thompson, a reclusive author and former journalist, recalls the tales of four teenage criminals as Brooke King, Caleb Wolfe, and Nessa and Johnny Phoenix had exposed a corrupt billionaire for ille...
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When I was a little boy, my grandfather told me that life ends in death. I didn't understand his quote until my late grandmother died unexpectedly.
According to some of my relatives, they believe my grandmother drowned herself in the bathtub. For a while, she had been too depressed to eat, sleep, or get out of bed to feed Georgia-her newborn kitten.
But none of them believed that grandma had the urge to kill herself.
Despondent, I attempt to ask my father how she died, but my solemn mother handed me a bowl of mashed potatoes, so I can serve it to my five-year-old cousins.
Beyond the cold window, black velvet roses found solace in the moistened dirt; tears slither down withering skin. The tension became so unbearable that my mother couldn't swallow her helping of macaroni salad.
Out of all my relatives, my grandmother was the first person who supported my decision to write.
If it hadn't been for her, I would have torn the pages from my journal and set it ablaze. Hell, I would have given up the desire to write a novel as gruesome as Edgar Allan Poe's.
However, if Brooke, Caleb, Johnny, and Nessa were actual people, I wanted to see them live happy lives.
In an alternative universe, the kids would find high-paying jobs, get married, and tell their young children what life was like during the 90s. Still, as I said before, not everything has a happy ending.
Many were ambiguous, while others were colorless and sullen. Furthermore, despite my best efforts, it was difficult to picture a world where the kids can live together in peace.
All I can do is sit on my wooden chair, pluck a single page for my typewriter, and prayed for the teenage outsiders as they prepare for the unknown.
Stepping into the brilliant red Acura Integra, Johnny starts the car while Brooke and Caleb climbed into the back seat.
They rechecked their supplies to see if the children need anything important.
Waterbottles, ammunition, guns, and medical supplies rest comfortably inside their bags, whereas Johnny attempts to stuff his sword inside his black backpack.
"Jesus." Nessa finishes her water bottle and shoves it in her dark red backpack. "You seriously need a new bag, Johnny."
Johnny looks down at the worn, black fabric and sighs very glumly. His bag is adorned with vibrant pins—Pac-Man, The Goonies, a bold red Anarchy symbol, and New Kids on the Block.
He had this backpack since his first week of Idlewild. Now, it looks like it has been torn apart by a pack of wolves.
"I know," he grunts sheepishly.
Nessa leans her back against the front seat. "I have a purple backpack in my bedroom. You can borrow it if you want."
"Thanks," Johnny smirks, scanning the cloud gray road. "But you need it for your stupid Pearl Jam magazines."
