“Johnny!” His mother cried as he walked in the door. “Where have you been? I was worried sick!”
“Oh,” Johnny said guiltily, turning away from his mother to set down his backpack. He pulled out his homework and sat at the kitchen table as if nothing strange had happened that day. “I, uh, was looking in some of the shop windows. Just thinking about what I’d like for my birthday.”
Again, he did it. He lied! But the psychological blow was weak; it was as if it didn’t matter to him anymore. And secretly, it didn’t. Secretly, the only thing on his mind was the boy in the window. Dim lit were the mob’s torches at the end of the tunnel, and Johnny smiled, knowing that they would never get much closer.
“Ohh, you should have told us that you were going window shopping before you left for school,” his mother said, moving in for an embrace. Johnny, though defiant in his mind, returned her hug, and began on his homework
“What is an allusion?” he read out-loud to himself, tapping his yellow number-two pencil on the table, its full pink eraser bouncing off the whitewashed wood. The eraser had never been used. Johnny never made mistakes. He was perfect, like all his classmates. Everything perfect.
<An allusion?> he asked himself. <Something that window is. Something that boy has got to be. An illusion.>
“What is a simile?”
<That boy. He was almost identical to me.. He WAS identical to me.>
“What is a-- Aahh, why bother!?” Johnny said under his breath, and rose from the table, leaving homework and pen lying still. He raised his voice and called from the stairs to his mother who was washing the dishes. “Mother, I’m going to go lay dow--”
Brrr-ring! Brr-ing!
Johnny stopped in his tracks and stared at the ringing phone. His smiling father appeared from the living room and picked it up with a cheery hello.
“Professor Smith! Hello, how are you? ...good, good thanks. ....yes, Jonathan is here. He just got home and was doing his-” his father peered over at the table ‘-English homework. That’s right. ...oh no, is there a problem?”
Johnny stared at his father who stared back, his mother stood at the sink with a wet plate in her hand, looking back and forth from her husband to her son. Johnny thought he saw father’s face growing red with every passing second. He thought he could hear Professor Smith’s concered voice over the reciever, but that was only his imagination. Professor Smith would never speak that loud. Just his imagination. His father’s face was the same tone as always, and conversation was kept quiet on the professor’s side. Johnny was afraid to proceed upstairs, anticipating was going to happen. He was never taught to anticipate, but he did as he watched his father converse irritably with his teacher. He did as he thought about what Professor Smith was going to do in class tomorrow. He did as he thought about the terrors he’d endure when his father hung up.
And terrors they would be.
His father hung up. They stood in silence. Like robots his parents stared at him, and he imagined he could see fire in their eyes. He was never taught to imagine, but he did as he thought about what they were thinking. He did as saw horns and spiked tails appear on their bodies. He did as he turned and ran out the door, and imagined further what life would be like on his own.
(To be continued)
Thanks so much!! AerisVampire
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