《Windy Town》


 Prologue

    Prologue


    Somewhere, somehow, everything begins.


    It has to, right?


    When you look at life on a basic level you can say that everything has a story. No, that everything is a story. No matter if it¡¯s just a flower blooming or the complex way of a human trying to get somewhere on his paths, no matter in what angles you look at it - basically it¡¯s a story.


    And a story always has a beginning. Beginnings are interesting, because in contrast of the endings they seem way more inscrutable.


    More cloudy. More foggy.


    It¡¯s like watching a red line fading, slowly getting more and more pallid until it¡¯s eventually gone. You try to find the point on which you can certainly say that the red line is not there anymore, but the more you¡¯re trying to find it, the more you¡¯re staring at this red, neat line the more unsure you get. Until the point you give up because you realized that there is no sense in finding something you can¡¯t.


    I really like beginnings. In uncertainty there is so much room for more. Endings on the other hand are completely different. I like to compare them with stone, because they always seemed like something extremely solid and unmoveable. Once you get to an ending it¡¯s just there, this huge rock where you know exactly that there is no further going on. I can¡¯t tell if I dislike endings, but I certainly don¡¯t like them as much as beginnings.


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    Endings make me sad and melancholic, knowing that an adventure ends. I was never good at saying goodbye to things, never good at letting go. That¡¯s why I love beginnings - it¡¯s a new start, an unknown land yet to be discovered, grabbing me by my curiosity and pulling me away, binding me to it.


    But isn¡¯t it ironic that without endings there wouldn¡¯t be beginnings and without beginnings there wouldn¡¯t be endings? As much as I wish I could only live in beginnings, I know very well that I have to deal with endings. This dependency, this interplay of two different but at the same time related things has fascinated me for all my life. It makes me appreciate the beginnings and hold the endings close to my heart, value the stories as a whole. What I think about stories, beginnings and endings is not only a fact, but a philosophy, a way of life I decided to go.


    Now, to this story there is no real beginning either - of course there is somewhere - but it was difficult for me to find a point where to start, it¡¯s a very uncertain one. But I want to tell you anyway even if I¡¯m not sure about the time where it actually began...

 Chapter One

    1.


    Maybe I¡¯ll just tell you something about me. I haven¡¯t introduced myself properly yet and I¡¯m sorry for that, it makes me seem like a rude person. My name is Sean Collister currently a junior in Highschool, nineteen years and one month old and living in Windy Town.


    I¡¯m a bit old to be a junior. That¡¯s because my parents initially thought about homeschooling me, but gave up after a year or so.


    I have a dog, a mocca-white colored American Pitbull Terrier named Basta I got as a puppy about three years ago. My mom had retrieved him from my grandparents farm, their dog had birthed him and three others. It was common on farms to simply kill the puppies by drowning or breaking the neck because the farmers couldn¡¯t afford having so much dogs and with my grandparents it was no different, but mom stepped in to at least save this one, which I¡¯m eternally thankful for because he¡¯s the nicest dog on earth. Well, to be honest he doesn¡¯t like other people, but that¡¯s okay because he likes me and that¡¯s the important thing.


    My dad is Irish, he immigrated here when he was twenty-one. I have clear memories of me and him sitting in the car, driving way too fast on the bumpy roads listening to old celtic punk. He was in the military for a long time, but then worked as a car mechanic.


    Wild circumstances lead my mom and dad to be together. My dad hit mom with his car and that¡¯s how they met the first time.


    My mom was born in a village a few miles from here, but her parents are from Serbia. Because of this weird mix my hair is black, thanks to mom and my eyes are grey, thanks to dad. But that¡¯s the only cool thing about my looks - I¡¯m not really that pretty. My granny, on her good days when she¡¯s nice for once, always calls me ¡®a handsome boy¡¯, but every granny does that with their grandkids. On any other occasion she only grunts insults at me in Serbian, like ¡®brat¡¯ or ¡®bastard¡¯ because my parents weren¡¯t married yet when I was born. Thanks to that hag I was able to speak Serbian - very simplified and on a day to day conversation basis, but it was something. Not that many people know it and even less know I¡¯m from Serbian descent. I guess you¡¯re one of the lucky few.


    I¡¯m kind of a punk kid, known here in Windy Town, but I¡¯ll get to that later.


    Now, as you may have guessed, Windy Town isn¡¯t the real name of the town, the village I live in. It has a real one, a official one, but it seems like most of the citizens including myself have to think a while before remembering the name it had a long time ago.


    Windy Town makes its nickname proud. It is always windy here, it is often raining and we see the sun almost three times a year, but it¡¯s okay we¡¯re used to it. This village kind of has its own seasons: Summer and Everfall. Everfall is what I call it, a fall that never seems to end. Not during winter, not during spring and sometimes even our summers feel like everfall. Maybe this town doesn¡¯t really like changes and maybe it¡¯s good that way. I think Windy Town would break apart otherwise.


    I don¡¯t like to talk that much. I am more of a listener, a watching person. I wouldn¡¯t say I¡¯m an introvert, I¡¯m too loud mouthed for that, but I can¡¯t really confidently say that I¡¯m an extrovert either. I didn¡¯t talk a lot, but when I talked I voiced myself loudly. I like to watch people because it gives me much more information about themselves than just plain talking about things that are forced and that doesn¡¯t matter. Don¡¯t get me wrong, most of the time I¡¯m just too lazy to talk. I don¡¯t get much sleep, I have to focus on breathing and being awake first before I can interact. I¡¯m not all the time this deep talk, presumptuous ¡®Oh-I¡¯m-so-special-I-hate-people¡¯ teenage kid, but let us both be honest here. Aren¡¯t you sometimes sick of it too? Aren¡¯t we both thinking the same thing?


    ¡°Did you do the math homework?¡±


    ¡°How was your weekend?¡±


    ¡°Blue Bar is definitely better than Red Snack¡±


    Pointless things no one really wants to talk about at least I guess so. Yes, I did actually do the math homework, my weekend was just fine and yes, Blue Bar is better but I like the little hint of spiciness in Red Snack.


    Maybe it¡¯s due to the fact that I despise mornings. That¡¯s probably just it. But I did notice something outside my blind rage in the early morning hours: When you just watch people going on and on you sometimes get to know them better than by talking to them, sometimes you get to know them better than they know themselves. You don¡¯t think that is possible, don¡¯t you? I don¡¯t blame you for not trusting me.


    I am just the protagonist, the narrator of this whole...thing, who you just met and the only thing you really know about him is that his name is Sean. But let me give you an example.


    My example¡¯s name is Aine Flowerday. I¡¯ve been watching her for years now and I probably sound like a huge creep, but it¡¯s just very comfortable to look at what she¡¯s doing. Basically she is crossing my way from time to time, probably without noticing or caring, but because I see her several days a week for the last years by accident, I discovered lots of things that makes this person ¡®Aine Flowerday¡¯.


    First of all there are infos that you get by rumors at the school. Aine is not a talkative human being either, but in contrast of myself who is just being a quiet boy from time to time, she barely speaks at all really, so that is the only way of getting knowledge about her without observing that person. Not that I give rumors a real value, I know they¡¯re rumors after all and most of the time not really true, but after a time I figured some things out that might be pretty accurate.


    She lives alone with her father in an odd house at the outer circle of the village.


    Her father is supposed to be an author, but to be honest who else would name their kid ¡®Aine¡¯ when your second name is Flowerday.


    Who would name their kid ¡®Aine¡¯ initially. Make it more dramatically.


    It¡¯s a very lonely neighbourhood out there, Aine is always the first on the bus when I get in and she is always alone, day by day sitting in the same seat, on the right row the second last. I assume she doesn¡¯t have any siblings, but I¡¯m not really that sure about it. She always has earplugs in and listens to music while staring out of the window. I don¡¯t really know what music she¡¯s into, that is a thing I haven¡¯t found out yet. Because everyone on my bus line and probably everyone in this city has their seats in the bus and that won¡¯t change. I just can¡¯t go up to her and ask ¡®Is this seat taken? And oh, by the way, what music are you listening to everyday?¡¯ simply because it would break the unspoken rule of the Windy Town School Bus Line Nr. 3. I haven¡¯t even caught a glimpse of her music taste, she always takes her earplugs out before the bus arrives at school - she could be listening to anything: Pop, Metal, Reggae, Country. One day I¡¯ll find out for sure.


    You¡¯re probably thinking: ¡®If he knows her so well because of the whole creepy stalking this weirdo does, why can¡¯t he just conclude what she¡¯s listening to? Wouldn¡¯t it be easy for him then?¡¯.


    You see, it¡¯s not that simple. The way I described Aine until now maybe gives you the picture of these strange emo kids every High School in this country magically has. To this point it would be just natural for you to assume that she¡¯s one of this kids who want to be different and special, a unique snowflake. These kids who have tons of hairspray in their edgy cut, black and neon dyed hair and who do nothing in the lessons except sitting in the back of the class drawing mass killings in their notebook with their black Dollar Store pencil. I can¡¯t put Aine in the same box with them, because she isn¡¯t like them.


    She dresses black and grey only, that is true, but that¡¯s the only thing she has in common and I think that¡¯s just how she rolls. She sits in the first row in class, silently but tidily taking notes of everything that is said, passing all tests and exams with a score of at least 90 or A-. And I don¡¯t think she ever missed a class, was sick or skipped school. She has friends, is sitting with them every day in the cafeteria and listening to their conversations. I studied her friends for a short while, very humble and modest, but energetic and straightforward persons. Not necessarily people I know well. I found it weird that Aine had picked them, because it seems that she had actively, directly chosen them to hang around with. I know that she is intelligent, why pick such simple people like them? She doesn¡¯t really talk to them either, only giving them faint smiles or nods, but it looks like they don¡¯t mind too.


    It still confuses me.


    It¡¯s not like Aine¡¯s mute because of an accident or an condition, I just think she is mute by choice: I personally have the theory that she doesn¡¯t has much to tell or she thinks that the others might not be interested. I think I last heard her talk in grade nine, where a teacher pushed her into a presentation because he thought it would help her ¡®breaking out of her shell¡¯, at least that is what I highly assume he told her would be the reason. Guess the teacher was just curious about hearing her talk too. The memory is fading and I can¡¯t get a hold of what her voice sounded like though.


    Before I get to the point that in my opinion makes her so interesting you have to know something about me: I¡¯m a cyclist. I¡¯m really passionate about riding the bike, not in a club or on a race bike, but with an simple BMX. It just makes me feel free whenever I can ride through the streets even if the weather is shitty I¡¯m outside. Plus I stay fit. On the bike I¡¯m not confronted with my depressed and strict mother who I dearly love, but pulls my mood down incredibly at the same time or my little sister who just turned twelve and is a annoying little shit. I¡¯d say that cycling is my greatest hobby next to gaming and thanks to that I¡¯m out a lot. I think I started cycling at age twelve or thirteen and since then I¡¯m seeing Aine, just by wild coincidence.


    You know, Everfall is a really nasty weather especially when it¡¯s around the time where anywhere else it¡¯s normal fall or winter. It¡¯s cold and grey and the wind makes it worse, you¡¯re shivering and faint even colder rain hits your face. It just plain sucks. So it¡¯s natural when people avoid to go outside at that times at all cost. Over a long period of time a huge part of the streets of Windy Town are as dead as in ghost towns. Except for two people. Me and Aine Flowerday.


    I¡¯m not nearly as much outside as she is.


    Every time I¡¯m cycling through every corner of the city, I see her somewhere. Walking through the park, watching rain drip in puddles, kicking around rocks, sitting on a bench on some lone side street with hands in the pockets of the sweater she always wears, standing in the middle of a road with eyes closed and face lifted to the grey sky letting the rain drop on her face.


    She¡¯s here and there, in places no one would find if they weren¡¯t outside such a long period of time every day and it¡¯s fascinating. Thanks to her I found places I never even knew it was possible for them to exist in Windy Town. I don¡¯t think she does anything else. She probably only goes home for food and sleep, the rest of the day she¡¯s in Windy Town doing whatever she¡¯s doing. If anyone wants to find anything or anywhere in Windy Town, they¡¯d go to Dick Washington the self proclaimed ¡®King of Windy Town¡¯ and the biggest cunt I know, but I would go to Aine Flowerday. Because I¡¯m to one hundred percent sure that she knows where to find anything or anywhere. She is breathing Windy Town, she is Windy Town.


    So fascinating.


    It was a regular morning like any other. I was awoken by the shrieking sound of my alarm clock and when I finally decided to open my eyes, I hated everything and everyone. If anyone had thought about crossing my paths in the next thirty minutes he wouldn¡¯t have survived the injuries I would¡¯ve brought upon him.


    But I don¡¯t really think that¡¯s special, isn¡¯t it? A lot of people despise mornings and I think there are worse people than me. At least I don¡¯t meet any family members in the morning, my little sister Suza has to get up later than me and my mother always comes back early from night shifts, sleeping when I go downstairs.


    You see, Windy Town isn¡¯t really that big of a city as you may have guessed, but the villages a few miles away are even smaller. So our high school is the next ¡®big thing¡¯ in a circle of thirty miles or so, means it¡¯s relatively packed. But even with the kids from the other towns it¡¯s still a small high school, everyone knows everyone and it¡¯s hard to keep anything a secret.


    I personally try to keep the lama-drama to a minimum, I¡¯ve had enough of that when I was like fourteen to seventeen, eighteen years old through the entire middle school ¡®till the end of my high school sophomore year. You see, everyone has this rebellious phase, the time of his life when they¡¯re just plain aggressive, right? Well, to say it a bit flattery, I was know as the angry kid. I was always one of the oldest in my year and I had a bit of stuff to chew on emotionally when Dad left without saying a single word, the money was tight, Mom was severely depressed, we had to move to the shitty, small home we now live in, so I slided down a spiral of hate I openly showed. I know it¡¯s basically not an excuse.


    It reached it¡¯s peak when I broke a kid named Connor Brown the jaw at recess in November of my sophomore year. My reputation had slowly built up until that point, no one except my two best friends, Hunter Brooks and Jason Dennett, even dared to talk to me and the two regularly had to play delivery boys between me and people who wanted something from me. I was an urban legend. I had buzzed my hair to a military cut, wore combat boots and my Dad¡¯s old bomber jacket he left by accident, smoked cigarettes because I thought I was cool and earned extra pocket money by blackmailing poor kids on assignment by simple threats that showed result. Looked like a fuckin¡¯ nazi, a few thought I actually was one, but that rumor never pushed through which I¡¯m very thankful for.


    I got into a lot of fights. Mostly with guys that didn¡¯t care if I got the black eye or them. Mostly with guys that were too deep in shit themselves to even think about taking legal actions against me. It was always a battle to proof myself and the more time passed, the bigger and harder the opponent got. But I turned out to be a natural and my pain tolerance got higher, my punches harder. The King of petty crime.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.I¡¯m still grateful that Hunter and Jason didn¡¯t leave me behind, even if I was a shitty person they still followed me around, kind of protecting me and played bodyguard. I was pretty hardcore back then, viewed in a negative way. The thing is, Connor¡¯s and my fight had a little build up before it actually happened. He was slowly getting known as Sean Collisters competitor, a serious problem in my business at that time. I guess he saw that I made dirty, but good money and wanted to hop on the cash train. I certainly don¡¯t blame him for that, teenagers often lack pocket money. Especially in this filthy area. Little rumors started to grow out of nowhere. The little rumors grew into rumors, grew into bigger rumors, grew into common knowledge.


    Connor seemed to have talked back on me about very, very bad things even I had way too high morals for back then and I, the angry kid that I was, got even angrier. ¡°High morals?¡±, you ask, ¡°As a dirty street rat?¡±. Yeah, high morals; at least in my book. So I saw Connor as an enemy and glared at him with Hunter and Jason at my side whenever I could. In breaks, between classes, in classes, outside school. The atmosphere got thicker and hotter and the more time ran out the closer the time of the explosion got.


    On that day, it was a Tuesday with shitty weather as always, Connor didn¡¯t even do something really bad or openly provocative. He was just standing there, in my opinion in my way, and when he wouldn¡¯t move, when he decided that maybe, maybe his muscles were bigger and stronger than mine, a fight broke out. I gave him a bleeding brow, he broke my nose, I got very, very angry, punched - and with a scrunching noise I broke his jaw.


    And when I was standing there, Connor wincing and crying on the ground and the crowd howling and hollering in amusement around us, when I finally felt the fucking pain in my nose and the warm blood streaming out of it. When I felt that I broke a finger with that punch and felt how sharp tears were hurting my eyes I realized...this wasn¡¯t it. This wasn¡¯t how I could go on. I had to change.


    I got suspended for a whole month and a charged of 600$ damages sentenced by a Juvenile court plus ten hours youth therapy. And I got away with light bruises.


    Why I wasn¡¯t expulsed? The school¡¯s standards aren¡¯t very high, y''know, very public, very hopeless; there were too many fuckers like me in all those years the school existed.


    The therapist was a bastard and obviously didn¡¯t know what he was doing. From the beginning on he thought I was a dumb shit and I, well, decided to give him the person he wanted. He concluded I was just stupid and didn¡¯t write anything on the diagnosis sheet.


    Lucky me. I had all the luck on earth that I wasn¡¯t put in a Boot Camp or youth prison or something, for all the bad things I did except beating up Connor. My mother in all honours is a kind woman, but a strict one if she wanted to. She paid attention that I owned the 600$ by the hardest jobs a teenager of eighteen years was able to get and the time was very painful, more painful than the broken nose and finger. Finally I felt shame for what I did the past years. Mom hadn¡¯t intervened the years before because she knew I would get the ice cold bill served one day and she was god damn right.


    I¡¯ve changed and became what I am today and that¡¯s pretty good I guess. But there is still the rumor going on that, if you offer me enough money I¡¯d still beat up someone for you. And I guess that will not change, not until I left high school. I threw the boots away, let my hair grow out and somehow stopped smoking. Not entirely because it¡¯s really fucking hard to stop, in stress situations I still need one, but most of the times I¡¯m fine.


    I threw everything of that past away, except for the bomber jacket. I still wear it. It¡¯s the only thing I have left from Dad.


    That morning I was wearing the jacket too, like every morning and I entered the bus. It was still a bit dark outside, it was mid-September and the nights got longer and the blue, cold lights of the bus certainly didn¡¯t help much against the cold that was already creeping up on these days. Aine was already there. Like always. Routine gives you kind of a safe feeling, doesn¡¯t it? The bus picked up the regular people on the line except for Brittany Anderson who was overall known for being sick 300 days out of 365 and dropped the students off at the Albingham Highschool about twenty minutes after I got in. The hallways were packed, but I still managed to get to my locker like everyday and then to Hunter and Jason who waited like every day in front of the cafeteria for me to come by.


    ¡°What¡¯s up, dude¡±, Hunter mumbled, clearly not really awake, but I grabbed his hand anyway for the handshake. Jason just nodded my way.


    ¡°What¡¯s your first lesson, guys¡±, I asked because even if they had the same schedule every day and every week I still couldn¡¯t remember it. I couldn¡¯t even remember mine properly.


    ¡°Wait, today¡¯s Tuesday, right?¡±, Jason asked eyes closed, his head leaning against the white painted bricks of the wall.


    ¡°Yeah¡±


    ¡°Then Hunter and I have Math¡±, he said, not opening his eyes and Hunter just mouthed a disgusted ¡®Fuck¡¯. The bell closed our short conversation pretty fast and I turned away from them.


    ¡°Good luck with Math, I have Biology¡±, I shouted back.


    ¡°Can¡¯t we like switch or something?¡±, Hunter yelled over the growing noise in the hallway, grinning and I just shook my head. I really was grateful to have friends like them.


    Biology was one of the natural sciences I didn¡¯t quite understand. Not because the things they taught were difficult no, they were quite easy to be honest, but because it seemed that it didn¡¯t fit into this box of natural sciences. I had one guy tell me once that he was convinced that Biology was a ¡®fake natural science¡¯, to quote him here. I, of course, asked him why he thought that way because it caught me by surprise. ¡®You don¡¯t calculate, you don¡¯t have these completely logical connections like in Physics or Chemistry. You only talk about plants and animals and how they just do what they do. To learn that I can just take a walk in the forest¡¯.He wasn¡¯t necessarily incorrect.


    When I walked in the classroom I felt myself getting incredibly tired. I should¡¯ve known, it was a Tuesday. Many people concentrate their hate on the Mondays like it was the spawn of Satan, but I don¡¯t even have a thing against Mondays. My personal week downer was, is and will always be the Tuesday. Every other day is fine, but the Tuesdays are my personal Nemesis. It began in 9th grade when I always had Physics in the first period and as much as I don¡¯t want to admit it, Physics is something I just can¡¯t wrap my mind around it. I¡¯m decent at Math, but Physics takes it too far. So I¡¯d always get tired during that class, later even to the point I fell asleep. And even if I don¡¯t have Physics on Tuesdays or in general anymore I still get extremely tired. It¡¯s like a curse who holds on to me forever now. The Physics Curse.


    I sat in my seat which was located in maybe the third row and blinked a few times consciously in order to prepare myself for the following class. I knew exactly it wouldn¡¯t help, but at least I was trying, give me credit. The last couple of students flowed into the class among them Connor Brown, who ignored me consistently since the jaw-break and the court. I really don¡¯t blame him, nor am I angry or something. It was perfectly logical to sue me after something like that happened and to be honest I didn¡¯t really care about him after I changed. Just a dude in my grade I had a past with. So what?


    My biology teacher Mr Black walked in, happy as always, and placed his bag on the table. Mr Black was an old athletic dude in his fifties maybe, who didn¡¯t teach in the past years because he had cancer or something, but he seemed to have recovered and came back to teach just recently. Maybe that was the reason he was always so happy, surviving a lethal illness and all. He often told us we were too lazy and packed insults in sarcastic downplayed versions of them, he wasn¡¯t too bad.


    He grinned towards the class and I hated him in that moment, how could a person possibly be in a good mood on a Tuesday morning?


    ¡°Good Morning, students!¡±, he cheered and didn¡¯t even wait for the students to respond, but grabbed a piece of chalk and went right into ecology. When he began talking about the perfect circumstances for a plant to grow and how much water and shadow and sun it needed I stopped listening and my mind drove away into sweet nothingness.


    I don¡¯t remember if I fell asleep or not, but at some point in the lesson I had a clear moment. I shook myself a bit and stared at the board completely full of writing and information, looked down and saw that I did take notes even if I had no clear memory of writing them. I sat myself up a bit, supported my head with my right hand and watched as Mr Black turned around.


    ¡°As promised and said I wanted to give you guys a project to work on. Now that we have ecology on the curriculum it¡¯s the best chance to do so¡±, he declared.


    I wasn¡¯t the biggest fan of that idea, but I wasn¡¯t against it either. Maybe the lessons would be more chill if we did projects.


    ¡°I have a few plants and trees for you to explore and research about, I¡¯ll give you three weeks and then I expect a presentation with powerpoint and everything. You will be working in a group of two, no exceptions¡±.


    It grew loud in the classroom, everybody was talking about the project or asking a person to be their partner in the project. I thought about asking Ian Lamberton, a tall redhead who sat at the table to my right: he was a chill dude and okay to hang out with. But before I could ask him, Mr Black rose his voice again.


    ¡°Silence, silence class! I know you are excited right now, but let me finish talking¡±, he waited until the last students stopped their conversation, ¡°I know from experience with you guys, that when you are allowed to choose your partners yourself it doesn¡¯t end well. So I decided to form the groups myself¡±.


    Oh great. The class broke out in angry, semi-loud justifications, nobody was happy at what they just heard. Me included.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to read out the groups and I expect them to do their project reasonable and properly¡±.


    The angry muttering didn¡¯t stop when he started reading out the names. I wasn¡¯t excited about it either, but I could see his logic behind it. He put smart and lesser smart together, diligent and lazy - he was a teacher, moves like that were typical for them. I sighed and closed my eyes, waiting for my name to be read out.


    ¡°Allison Martinez and Jessica Gallagher: the dandelion, Alex Brandt and Laureen Harper: the buttercup¡­¡±


    The two girls screeched, I knew they were friends or ¡®Besties¡¯ and maybe Mr Black didn¡¯t dare to separate them.


    ¡°Connor Brown and Sean Collister: the beech¡­¡±


    I opened my eyes again. So he went that way. I should have known, it was really obvious for him to put the two of us together. Mr Black knew exactly what had happened a year ago and I really didn¡¯t know what he wanted to achieve with this. I was pretty sure that this was discussed and clarified with the rest of the teaching staff because I pretty much knew that I was always a topic at the teacher¡¯s conferences in this school. I guess not because I was such a big problem anymore, but just because I was so representative and probably stereotypical of the group of ¡®bad kid¡¯ students and all the problematic things that happened in this school.


    Flattering, isn¡¯t it? It felt like the major part of them still thought I haven¡¯t changed. I felt stuck in a stereotypical bad high school drama movie.


    I had no problem with Connor. Not anymore at least. I could work with him and as I said I didn¡¯t really care about him, felt neutral about him. But I couldn¡¯t know about Connors view on the things, maybe he was still pissed, maybe he still hold a wrath against me and was an unforgiving person.


    If he still was, I didn¡¯t really expect him to beat me up or something like that, but it would make the three weeks extremely uncomfortable and awkward. Awesome.


    I turned around in my chair to check on Connor, who sat diagonally behind me and apparently caught him staring at the back of my head by doing so because he quickly looked away out of the window, stretched a bit and acted like he wasn¡¯t even looking my way.


    I sighed again and turned back, this situation promised more work than the project alone and I wasn¡¯t really keen on bothering with something silly like that. Great. But at least I still had a bit time to procrastinate everything a bit, I concluded that in a few hours when I gave everything a bit of a thought I¡¯d come up with a solution. So I decided to push the topic ¡®Connor Brown¡¯ to the side at first. At first.


    Conveniently the bell rang in that exact moment and I was very fast to pack my things and leave the room. In the hallway I was about to go directly to my English class, when someone tapped at my arm very, very softly and careful. I turned around to see Connor; he hadn¡¯t changed that much in the past years. He got taller and stood now as tall as me at about six feet, he¡¯d overthought his questionable haircut he once had and wore his light brown hair as normal as you possibly could, with the trend, but not too much. Right now his eyes darted from one thing to another, looking at everything but me. When he wasn¡¯t saying anything I decided to take the matters to my own hand.


    ¡°Yes? What is it?¡±.


    ¡°Uhhh¡­¡±, was the response and I got annoyed. I had to get to my English class and that guy acted as if I¡¯d bite his hand off any second.


    ¡°Just say it, I don¡¯t have that much time¡±


    ¡°Look, Collister, maybe we could y¡¯know meet up later to talk something ¡®cause...yeah¡±, he said.


    I ignored how he called me by my last name for the time being and used the opportunity to avoid to awkwardly address him myself later.


    ¡°Sure. When, where?¡±, I was getting tired again and I really had to hurry up to catch my class.


    ¡°At the gate, after school maybe?¡±


    ¡°¡®Kay, see you there¡±, I said quickly and turned, not waiting for Connor to respond.

 Chapter Two [First Half]

    2.


    When Dad went away, he left nothing. Not a letter, not a word, nor personal belongings. One night he had packed everything and just...left. The only thing from him that remained was his bomber jacket. He had loved it. And he just left it on the hook. Why I will never know, but I always told myself that that was the way he told me that he loved me even if he left us.


    My mother didn¡¯t take it well. At all. She grew depressed to a point where she wasn¡¯t able to work for a while. Like a zombie she used to walk through the house and would barely talk to me, I grew isolated and lonely in my own family. We didn¡¯t have much money and we had to move into a shaggy old house in the 5th circle. It was difficult, very difficult, but somehow we got through it. Mom works again and I am a different person.


    In my angry years, I had ignored the message that was behind my father¡¯s jacket. I wore it as a symbol for myself. A symbol to remind myself that everyone would disappoint me, leave me. A symbol from my Dad to show me that I wasn¡¯t worth enough for him to stay. My mind was so fucked up back then. But I still loved him as the Dad he was, for teaching me how to shoot a gun, how to drive, for making stupid puns and Dad jokes. I still missed him. One of my deepest wishes was to see him again.


    But nobody really understands a hurt, confused twelve year old boy and his actions, not even he himself. So they let him roam freely, not knowing what to do or how to stop him when they realized it has gone too far and in the end he learned the hard way. Working with grown men on construction sites in your freetime, carrying bricks and cement while being eyed judgingly from the workers and classmates who came by randomly; I won¡¯t deny that it was humiliating, embarrassing and one of the worst things to experience, but I also want to say that I damn did deserve it. I realized it was my own fault, realized that it was wrong to blackmail, to beat up, to play dictator and I finally, after years, broke free from my angry self.


    I did it mostly out of my own strength. And I believe that for one to truly experience what it means to fix yourself up, to build yourself again you have to overcome one of your own weaknesses. You realize that you can do so much more when you just believe in yourself a little. I know it sounds cheesy and made up, but that¡¯s exactly how it is. All the willpower that I had wasted on anger, I have now free to use for whatever I want it to use for. And that¡¯s great. That¡¯s how I keep my 3.2 GPA up, somehow.


    Hunter, Jason and I met up again at lunch, in the Cafeteria. We sat at the same table as always, alone. I had gained the table in the past years and even now, after these years are over for a considerable time now no one dared to sit at this table. But it¡¯s cool, we had the table entirely for ourselves. Hunter looked more than tired; with eyes nearly shut he poked in the mashed potatoes with peas and cooked carrots, barley eating any of it. Which was perfectly natural, the food in the Cafeteria is really as bad as everyone says. Actually I think it¡¯s bad everywhere. Or did you ever hear someone say: ¡°Hm, this Cafeteria food is delicious!¡±.


    Jason was just hanging around. I can¡¯t really describe what that means, he just does what he always does in a manner or an aura only Jason has. Jason always looks incredibly bored and that¡¯s what he probably is. I knew him and Hunter since Kindergarden and even back then our personalities didn¡¯t seem to match up, but somehow we still became friends. And it stayed that way. Jason is possibly the smartest in our group, but he¡¯s not making a great deal out of it. Since I knew him, he is just bored with his bored look, with bored yawning and bored listening. He has a permanent facial expression that lets people think he disapproves of everything they say, but I think it¡¯s just the unfortunate shape of his face. Some might say that a behaviour like that is horrible, but I don¡¯t really give a shit, Jason was always a good and loyal friend to me so that¡¯s why I don¡¯t give a single damn about the way he acts.


    Right now his watery, pale green eyes studied french vocabularies for a test he would write in the next period and he didn¡¯t pay much attention to what was going on around him.


    I was chewing on my self-made sandwich, when Hunter suddenly looked up, past me, somewhere into the Cafeteria.


    ¡°Hey, Sean?¡±, he asked without looking away from the spot.


    ¡°Hm?¡±, I managed before swallowing the big piece of bread I had in my mouth. I was hungry, I hadn¡¯t eaten all day.


    ¡°Why is that Connor-Boy staring at your back from his table¡±, Hunter¡¯s face warped a bit in suspiciousness.


    ¡°Huh? He does?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m sitting in a way I can directly see what he is looking at¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s probably staring at me because I have a meet up with him after school at the gate¡±, I answered casually, again biting in my sandwich.


    ¡°What?!¡±, Hunter exclaimed a bit too loud, now even Jason was shifting his focus from his french book to me with a curious and questioning, but at the same time incomprehensible look on his face.


    ¡°Why would you meet up with that Connor-scum¡±, he asked in his deep, calm voice, but the hatred for Connor was still audible. Jason had never liked Connor, even before the talk-back and jaw-break thing. If it was a personal thing or not I couldn¡¯t tell, Jason wasn¡¯t a person who liked to talk about stuff that was going on in his mind.


    ¡°Do you remember that I told you Mr Black wanted to do a Biology project with us?¡±


    Hunter grunted and Jason rolled his eyes.


    ¡°He teamed you up with him, am I right or am I right?¡±, Hunter now pushed the mashed potatoes to the side, ¡°Well, we better go with you. You can never trust people like him. And we never should leave the side of our boss¡±.


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me like that¡±, I put the sandwich down in my lunchbox.


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Boss¡±


    ¡°Why, boss?¡±, Hunter grinned.


    ¡°It¡¯s ridiculous, stop it¡±


    ¡°But boss¡­¡±


    ¡°Hunter, stop, I¡¯m serious what are you doing¡±, I felt my eyebrows knitting in irritation.


    ¡°But you kinda are our boss¡±, Jason suddenly said out of the nowhere and that was something I never expected for him to say. Hunter was the jokester in our group, not Jason.


    I let out a huge sigh. ¡°Why, Jason, explain it to me. I don¡¯t see your logic there¡±. This was just plain ridiculous. We weren¡¯t in some kind of mobster movie or a cheesy high school drama, so why did they put up with this?This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Oh, come on Sean, now you¡¯re acting dumb¡±, Jason closed his book, ¡°In the last years you were always the person who told both of us what to do, we were your fucking bodyguards, dude. I know you don¡¯t like this role, but you have to admit that this group kind of formed itself into this system in the last years¡±


    That was a point I didn¡¯t and couldn¡¯t miss.


    ¡°Yeah, sure, but¡­¡±


    ¡°And we¡¯re not mad about it, boss¡±, Hunter said, looking at me too serious for him.


    ¡°Yeah, we were your bodyguards gladly¡±, Jason ended.


    I didn¡¯t know what to say. Did they plan this? Did they talk about this before? They seemed so sure and calm in what they were saying and I was just creeped out. Were they joking with me, what was this? I was kinda freaked out, but I was too tired and too lazy to fight with them.


    ¡°What the fuck, okay you weirdos, but please just continue calling me Sean, like everybody else does¡±, I mumbled over the jarring sound of the bell that ended lunch time.


    ¡°Never!¡±, Hunter grinned, in his usual jokester-grinning.


    I somehow survived a double hour Math without napping away and left the classroom as soon the bell was ringing. I waited a few minutes for Hunter and Jason to reach the entrance door and we walked out together, like we always did.


    ¡°Yo, let¡¯s get Thai Food, I¡¯m starving¡±, Hunter said and we all agreed, when I saw Connor standing at the gate. I nearly forgot him over all the Algebra and numbers I had to deal with in the last two hours.


    ¡°Ah, I nearly forgot him¡±, I whispered my thought to Jason and Hunter, ¡°I hope he doesn¡¯t take to long, I could use some food too¡±.


    We arrived at the gate, giving them no chance to respond. Connor¡¯s eyes darted between Hunter, Jason and me suspiciously and he shifted a bit on his spot, seemingly uncomfortable.


    ¡°So¡±, I began, lazily crossing my arms, ¡°What is it that you wanted to talk about¡±.


    Connor cleared his throat before he began to talk.


    ¡°Can we talk alone?¡±, he looked at Hunter and Jason, ¡°Without your...friends?¡±.


    It was obvious that instead of ¡®friends¡¯ he first wanted to say something different, but it seemed that he hold back in time before the word could slip out.


    I heard Jason flicking his tongue, but I knew Connor wouldn¡¯t talk if the two of them were still present.


    ¡°Hunter, Jason. You two can go ahead, I¡¯m coming after soon¡±, I didn¡¯t shift my gaze from Connor while I talked, I wanted to make sure he didn¡¯t had something malicious on his mind. But the only thing I could detect was that he was just skittish.


    ¡°You sure ¡®bout dat, Sean?¡±, Jason asked.


    ¡°Just go¡±


    ¡°Alright, your choice, boss¡±, Hunter said casually and walked away with Jason, but not without shooting a intimidating look to Connor. My inner self wanted to strangle Hunter for using that word. He absolutely did that on purpose.


    ¡°Hunter, stop that, I swear to God¡±, I hissed back at him, but he just turned a little, shrugged and continued to walk away.


    Connor watched the two leaving, before turning back to me.


    ¡°They sure do listen good, am I right, haha¡±, his laugh was nervous.


    ¡°Yeah, they do, now tell me what you want¡±.


    Connor kicked a stone.


    ¡°Ah, you know we have this project we have to do now, right¡±, he said slowly.


    ¡°Yes, obviously¡±, I responded.


    ¡°I just wanted to know¡­¡±, he stopped, thought about his sentences and then continued, ¡°We had some issues in the past and, um...we- we¡¯re cool right?¡±


    That was something I totally did not see coming.


    It caught me completely off guard.


    ¡°Huh?¡±, I said dumbfounded.


    ¡°Ah, you know. There¡¯s no way you forgot. I mean, I squished your nose and there was blood everywhere. I, we fucking sued you and I saw you working your ass off on that construction site¡±, Connor now looked straight into my face, ¡°I avoided you the best I could in the past years, but now¡­¡±


    I was still perplex, I was more prepared for him to lash out at me than that.


    ¡°Uh, yah, I see your point¡±, I responded again, finally shifting back to normal a bit.


    ¡°I mean, you¡¯re probably still angry about this whole stuff. The whole day I was thinking about how to approach this topic  respectively and when I saw you coming there, with your two buddies at your side I had a major flashback. So I wanted to know: Are we cool? Or are we going to have a bad time?¡±


    I started to realize what he wanted to tell me between the lines and the puzzle finally solved itself.


    ¡°Wait, are you saying you were scared because of me?¡±, I asked carefully to test my theory.


    His eyes staring at the ground proved me right.


    ¡°Ooooh¡±, I let out, it was logical to be scared. He didn¡¯t really know I¡¯ve changed much and thought I would give him some serious problems. He couldn''t know. Since he avoided me he also didn''t hear the newest news of a changed bully.


    ¡°God, Connor. I broke your fuckin¡¯ jaw, I really don¡¯t blame you for sueing me. Of course we¡¯re cool, dude¡±


    Now he seemed surprised.


    ¡°What? Are we really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡±


    ¡°No joke, prank, nothing?¡±, he asked to be completely sure. I just nodded.


    He stood there for a short while, looking more than confused, staring into nothing.


    ¡°Okay, great¡±, he suddenly said with a bit of relief in his voice, ¡°great, hrm. So when do you have time to meet up, for the project I mean¡±.


    I thought about it a short while, in between workdays it would suck, I wouldn¡¯t have the nerve to hang around with someone. On the weekend I would want to spend time with Jason and Hunter, or just myself because I quite enjoy alone-time. So there was only one day left where I could tolerate working on a school project.


    ¡°How ¡®bout Fridays. At my house, if that¡¯s okay. 4P.M.¡±, I suggested and Connor nodded hastily. He still seemed a bit uncomfortable in his skin, but I didn¡¯t mind.


    ¡°Yeah, Fridays sounds good, 4P.M.¡±, he repeated, ¡°Uh, where do you live exactly?¡±


    ¡°42 Poe Street, 5th circle if you didn¡¯t know¡±, I answered, ¡°Okay, I gotta go. Hunter and Jason are waiting for me and I don¡¯t like to keep people waiting¡±, I told him and began walking past him.


    ¡°Yeah, uh ¡®kay!¡±, I heard him say, a bit unsure, ¡°Was great talking to you, too!¡±


    In the same moment a strange feeling overcame me, which I first couldn¡¯t assign to anything. But a few feet further I knew: Connor Brown was one of the most normal kids I would encounter, but I also knew that he would probably make a good friend.


    I snorted a bit in amusement and decided to add him to my crew. He would join eventually, I was sure about it.

 Chapter Two [Second Half]

    Somdet-Ong-Yai Wok was the one and only asian food place in whole Windy Town. And probably a few miles around it. The owner, who was commonly known as ¡®The Old Asian Guy¡¯, moved to Windy Town about thirty years ago and had specialized himself on Thai Food. Until he realized that he could make much more money by making an all round asian cuisine. He had moved his restaurant pretty smart because it was just a short walk from the school to his place and everyone knew that students were the most hungriest customers, especially after a six periods school day and horrible cafeteria food.


    A familiar breeze caught my relatively short hair and blew it into my face. With a bit of effort I put them back in place before I pressed myself on the stereotypical designed door of the restaurant in order to push it open. Inside it was warm and comfy, only in the kind of way cheap asian restaurants could be. A sweet smell of fried food stuck in the air and made me even hungrier, light and cliche traditional asian music played silently in the background and from the kitchen I could hear the sound of oil frying and kitchen utensils clattering. The place was empty except for Hunter and Jason, who hung around in a corner of the room. I joined them.


    ¡°- and also...ah, there he is!¡±, Hunter exclaimed and broke the small chat he had with Jason before I walked in.


    ¡°How did it go?¡±, asked Jason when I threw myself in the old bench, trying to pull my jacket off while doing it. I let out a heavy and a little annoyed sigh and broke down the whole story that found place just about twenty minutes ago.


    When I finished both Jason and Hunter looked at me quite puzzled like the way I probably did when Connor basically told me that he just wanted peace between us.


    ¡°Well, didn¡¯t see that comin¡¯¡±, said Hunter and leaned back in his chair.


    ¡°Me neither¡±, murmured Jason and scratched kind of awkwardly behind his ear, ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a trap?¡±


    ¡°Oh stop, now you¡¯re ridiculous, Jason. We maybe had a clash, but that doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯re in a Mafia movie, expecting revenge from every side. I mean, we¡¯re in Windy Town here, but come on¡±, I said shortly before a yawn hit me. Tuesdays.


    ¡°Did you guys order already?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡±, Hunter grinned, ¡°I ordered for you too so you don¡¯t have to wait that long¡±


    ¡°Oh God, thanks. I¡¯m starving¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome¡±, Hunter said and was about to start a conversation, when Old Asian Guy came to the table with three plates balancing on his arm. He practically threw the plates on the table and left back to the kitchen. He was the perfect example of what people imagine under the phrase ¡®Money can¡¯t buy happiness¡¯ because he was far away from happy. Or so it seemed, maybe he was just a bit grumpy, but who knew.


    It was already getting dark, when we left the place. Even if we knew each other for years now, somehow we always got things to talk about until, like now, late in the evening. Which is kind of difficult, you have to find people who you can talk to first. Either people are way too enthusiastic or just extremely exhausting to talk to because they can¡¯t get a whole sentence out.


    I said goodbye toHunter and Jason and walked to the next bus stop, which was conveniently the main line of Windy Town and would safely drop me of a few streets away from my house. It got cold. The bomber jacket wasn¡¯t really that warm and the winter-Everfall was just around the corner, I thought, breathing little white clouds in the chilly fall night. Now completely standing in the dark I had to rely on the cloudy neon light in the graffiti studded, old bus stop. It was intensely quiet, not even a dog barked somewhere in the distance and I stared in crawling, thick dark of the street. Some would may say that Windy Town got scary at night, that they would get the feeling that they¡¯re not safe there, that there is even some spiritual, ghostly bullshit going on, but I didn¡¯t feel that way.


    I quite enjoy being alone with me and my thoughts, it gives me a breather in all the hustle and bustle one has everyday. And I knew my hometown pretty well, I grew up here, explored corners no one knows of and I¡¯m acquainted with nearly every person in this small town. I felt as safe as if I were in my own room.


    The bus arrived strangely on time for the bus never arrives on time and the middle aged bus driver looked pretty tired. I paid the cheap ticket, sat myself in a random seat and stared outside, waiting for my bus stop.


    The street was as empty as a street in Windy Town could be. The lights gave a poor view on the street, dark shadows dominating the area making it seem more abandoned than it was. It was about half past ten on a weekday, only in a few houses there was still burning a light and they shut down one by one when I walked past them. The asphalt was glimmering from the rain that had been dominating the whole last week and it seemed like there were thousands of shining diamonds lying to my feet. Normally I would take my good time, marveling at the beauty of the night and the silence that came with it, maybe I would have listened to a bit of music during my walk. But I was already way past my curfew and I didn¡¯t want to make my mom more angry than she probably already was. I sighed and sped up, she would be at work by now, but I expected an unpleasant conversation when she came back tomorrow.


    I could already make out my house in the distance, even if it was difficult seeing something in the dark. The deep forest that surrounded and crept in a big part of Windy Town began about roughly 200 yards away from my home and swallowed nearly all light that could exist at such a time in the night. Soon the street lights would go out due to an economizing on electricity and I would be left in the complete dark due to the moon being concealed by many clouds.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.I was so focussed on that issue that I almost oversaw the slumped figure leaning against a street lamp. Almost.


    I maybe would have been startled if I hadn¡¯t recognized immediately who it was. I stopped in my tracks and stood still in front of him, not bothering to lean down because I knew he hated it.


    ¡°Gin¡±. May voice sounded weird echoing between the houses.


    The figure stirred and lifted his head. An old man with asian features stared confused at me, a thick white, unkempt beard and oily, long hair hid most of his dirty, wrinkled face. Torn, old and neglected clothes rustled when he identified my face.


    ¡°Sean¡±, he laughed silently revealing the one tooth he had left in his mouth, honest joy in his voice, ¡°What¡¯s up, buddy?¡±


    I had to smile back.


    ¡°Not much. I¡¯m on my way home. What are you doing in this part of them town? You never come here, why aren¡¯t you at your usual place? Next to the drug store¡±


    It really was weird for the infamous homeless person of Windy Town, Gin ¡®One Tooth Tiger¡¯ Lung, to be away from his normal places where he usually hung around.  There were many homeless people in this town, but he was well known. Everyone in town knew him. His real name wasn¡¯t even ¡®Gin¡¯, it was just what he liked to drink, Gin. His normal first name, so he told me once, was a name that sounded really similar to the alcohol and people mispronounced it so often, that they concluded that his name was in fact Gin. Which wasn¡¯t the truth. But he didn¡¯t care that much because he just loved Gin. Why everybody called him ¡®One Tooth Tiger¡¯ was still a mystery to me. Not the first part, the ¡®One Tooth¡¯ thing was kinda obvious, but I wondered where the ¡®Tiger¡¯ came from. He would give me a new story every time I asked him:


    ¡®I had a pet tiger¡¯


    ¡®I was a tiger dompteur at a chinese circus¡¯


    ¡®I survived a tiger attack¡¯


    ¡®I was raised by tigers¡¯


    ¡®I was an underground boxer and Tiger was my nickname¡¯.


    I gave up about finding out the truth.


    ¡°Ah¡±, Gin grumbled angrily his voice sounding old and strained as ever, ¡°The owner chased me away because he didn¡¯t want me to stick around and be ¡®a disturbing factor¡¯ for his customers. Now I have to wait at least a week for that bastard to calm down so I can go back¡±, he slurred and took a sip out of a brown, paper wrapped bottle.


    Just a few years ago, this hadn¡¯t been a problem. Because everyone in town was familiar with the sight of Gin, no one really cared what he did or where he went. But recently a lot of new families had moved into town and it seemed like the shopkeep was now making an effort.


    ¡°So the usual reason¡±, I stated, knowing that stuff like that had happened before.


    ¡°Yep¡±


    I stood around saying nothing for a while, when the street lamps went out, leaving Gin and me in the dark.


    ¡°I have to get going¡±, I said and turned away.


    ¡°Hm¡±, Gin sounded absent. I was a few feets away already he rose his voice again.


    ¡°Hey Sean?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±, I saw him staring into the sky.


    ¡°My stomach has been nervous for a while now. Somethin¡¯s changing here¡±


    I somehow made it home and upstairs, without waking my sister. It was point 11 and I was dead tired, throwing my backpack into a corner of my room. I would bother packing it for school tomorrow morning. I yawned, let my hand glide through my hair that had been messed up by the wind and tried to collect my mind what to do next.


    I decided that I wouldn¡¯t bother doing my homework either and would rush to get it done in the bus tomorrow. I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, changed into comfy sleeping clothes and silently went back into my room. Before I turned off the little lamp next to my bed in order to slide into the welcoming sleep, I allowed myself to glance through the blinds outside.


    The other houses laid in front of me, dark and peaceful, the street was empty again and wind made the dark trees of the forest move. Looking up to the sky, I stared into the bright moon surrounded by stars, not a single, tiny cloud in sight. And as I laid in bed, sleep taking me to the land of dreams, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder what Gin was talking about.