a ripple of chuckles through the group. The laughter may be strained but it feels much better than the somber mood we created moments ago.
“All I’m saying,” I say as I grab my MRE trash and stand, needing to get away and decompress from the sudden onslaught of togetherness, “is to keep your eyes open. Things aren’t what they seem and I, for one, am not going down without a fight.”
4
I can’t unsee that!
As midnight approaches, I toss back my covers and ease my feet over the edge of the bed and straight into a pair of unlaced combat boots. I sacrifice precious seconds of light from my iPod in order to see to get dressed. All hopes of going to bed dressed to maximize my time went out the window when Sammy decided to plop down onto his bunk and tell me all about his day.
Good Lord that boy can ramble on.
I almost feel sorry for the kid. If he weren’t so thoroughly annoying he’d be like a little brother to me, but this only child is quite content to stay that way.
The bed creaks when I bend over to tie my shoes, but Sammy just snores on, rolling over to clutch his pillow between his arms like a teddy bear. That thought makes me pause as I wonder about Short Stack. I looked over at the lower grade school several times during the day and wished that I could at least say goodbye to the kid.
I knew he was scared and alone. I couldn’t take him with him, but a part of me kinda wished that I could.
Rising slowly to shrug into my camo jacket and matching hat, I pull it down low over my eyes before heading for the windows. If anyone were to spot me walking the streets tonight I will hopefully blend in with the other soldiers, apart from being weaponless. I have yet to procure one of those but it is high on my to-do list for the night.
Thanks to a bit of pre-planning, I left the window unlocked and slightly cracked before curfew kicked in, a fact that my group mother should have noticed but when she came to lock me down for the night I charmed her with praises on her cooking as a distraction. To be fair, she did manage to whip up something resembling food and it tasted far better than our MRE lunches at school. Besides, it would probably be my last home cooked meal in a very long time.
To say that I like my group home parents, Emily and Rod Philbeck, is a stretch of the truth. It is more like I manage to tolerate them. They treat me like an adult most days and I stayed out of their hair. It has been a decent arrangement.
Sliding the window up just high enough for me to slip through, I quickly lower it before the chill wakes Sammy. I’ve done this enough times to know which shingles are loose and which sections of the sloping roof are soft from years of rain damage as I hurry along. Once I reach the edge, I peer out from under the bill of my hat and see figures moving in the dark beyond the fences.
In the light of day I have a pretty decent view from up here since the perimeter fences are only a couple of blocks away, which also pretty much lands me in the “shit out of luck” quadrant if those bastards ever do decide to get snacky.
Gripping the metal guttering that runs down the side of the house, which I nearly killed myself on the first time I tried to plunge to my death and was forced to commandeer spare bolts and screws to fortify it before attempting the feat again, I monkey climb to the ground. My boots sink into the moist ground when I land and I know that I’m leaving tracks, but I don’t have time to linger. I have been worried all evening that the torrential rains that came through during late afternoon would ruin my plans to locate my mom but they passed through while I was stuck on dish duty after dinner. The sky still looks ominous in the distance and another downpour could unleash at any moment so I will have to move fast.
Sticking to the shadows, I hurry along the side of the house, weaving around the shrubbery and pause to poke my head out. From down the street, I can see the
“All I’m saying,” I say as I grab my MRE trash and stand, needing to get away and decompress from the sudden onslaught of togetherness, “is to keep your eyes open. Things aren’t what they seem and I, for one, am not going down without a fight.”
4
I can’t unsee that!
As midnight approaches, I toss back my covers and ease my feet over the edge of the bed and straight into a pair of unlaced combat boots. I sacrifice precious seconds of light from my iPod in order to see to get dressed. All hopes of going to bed dressed to maximize my time went out the window when Sammy decided to plop down onto his bunk and tell me all about his day.
Good Lord that boy can ramble on.
I almost feel sorry for the kid. If he weren’t so thoroughly annoying he’d be like a little brother to me, but this only child is quite content to stay that way.
The bed creaks when I bend over to tie my shoes, but Sammy just snores on, rolling over to clutch his pillow between his arms like a teddy bear. That thought makes me pause as I wonder about Short Stack. I looked over at the lower grade school several times during the day and wished that I could at least say goodbye to the kid.
I knew he was scared and alone. I couldn’t take him with him, but a part of me kinda wished that I could.
Rising slowly to shrug into my camo jacket and matching hat, I pull it down low over my eyes before heading for the windows. If anyone were to spot me walking the streets tonight I will hopefully blend in with the other soldiers, apart from being weaponless. I have yet to procure one of those but it is high on my to-do list for the night.
Thanks to a bit of pre-planning, I left the window unlocked and slightly cracked before curfew kicked in, a fact that my group mother should have noticed but when she came to lock me down for the night I charmed her with praises on her cooking as a distraction. To be fair, she did manage to whip up something resembling food and it tasted far better than our MRE lunches at school. Besides, it would probably be my last home cooked meal in a very long time.
To say that I like my group home parents, Emily and Rod Philbeck, is a stretch of the truth. It is more like I manage to tolerate them. They treat me like an adult most days and I stayed out of their hair. It has been a decent arrangement.
Sliding the window up just high enough for me to slip through, I quickly lower it before the chill wakes Sammy. I’ve done this enough times to know which shingles are loose and which sections of the sloping roof are soft from years of rain damage as I hurry along. Once I reach the edge, I peer out from under the bill of my hat and see figures moving in the dark beyond the fences.
In the light of day I have a pretty decent view from up here since the perimeter fences are only a couple of blocks away, which also pretty much lands me in the “shit out of luck” quadrant if those bastards ever do decide to get snacky.
Gripping the metal guttering that runs down the side of the house, which I nearly killed myself on the first time I tried to plunge to my death and was forced to commandeer spare bolts and screws to fortify it before attempting the feat again, I monkey climb to the ground. My boots sink into the moist ground when I land and I know that I’m leaving tracks, but I don’t have time to linger. I have been worried all evening that the torrential rains that came through during late afternoon would ruin my plans to locate my mom but they passed through while I was stuck on dish duty after dinner. The sky still looks ominous in the distance and another downpour could unleash at any moment so I will have to move fast.
Sticking to the shadows, I hurry along the side of the house, weaving around the shrubbery and pause to poke my head out. From down the street, I can see the
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