Status: In Progress
The Short Life of Calico Flynn
The Spark
“Come on Cal, don’t be such a loser.”
I was hesitant; I did a lot of hesitating in the beginning. You could hear the bumping sounds of the music all the way from the street and the house looked like your average run down party spot, complete with plastic lawn chairs. Max and Jack jostled me down the sidewalk towards the front porch, their eyes alive with anticipation. I wasn’t excited – a shaking fist kept squeezing my gut and I wanted to go home. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.
“You never mentioned anything about a party,” I said, richly annoyed and nudging Jack’s ribs roughly with my elbow. He rolled his eyes and pushed me forward until I found myself right at the screen door of the house. The summer evening was warm and the sky had turned a pleasant shade of pastel orange. A beautiful sight, but the heavy smell of alcohol crashed into my senses and we were rushed inside with hot hands.
A beer was shoved into my face, and in what seemed like seconds I was left to stand awkwardly by myself, Max and Jack having run off somewhere. Perfect – some friends they were. They had changed so much.
We had been the three musketeers since we could walk. Our mothers had all been great friends, so it was only natural that their sons would be too. There was hardly a moment when we weren’t together – a lot of people who didn’t know us thought we were brothers, and we practically were.
My mother was a photojournalist, so she loved taking pictures of us with gap-toothed smiles, our clothes smeared with dirt and ice cream matted into our hair. She kept every picture she took, storing them neatly in a straw box and labeling it the “Treasure Chest”.
I would constantly look through it, holding each picture in my hand like a jewel. Memories were more precious then gold to me, and as we got older it seemed we would be together forever.
I guess we were still together; Max and Jack just had different ideas of fun. Our childhoods had trickled from our hands like cold water and there was nothing we could do about it, least of all me. My two best friends were so eager to grow up, to be part of the in crowd and be accepted. Deep down inside I knew I wanted to be too, but I had never thought of actually putting my secret daydreams into action.
That night at that party in the old house was like a white-hot catalyst that started a chain reaction of events that would eventually lead me to the place I am now. I don’t blame Max and Jack – I’d be stupid if I did. Everything was entirely and completely my fault. It’s not like I ever said no.
I remember standing there, my muscles ridged and trying to inch my way into a corner where nobody would take notice of me. Everyone was so much older then me, and in my childish state of fear I viewed them as giants. I was only thirteen. Why didn’t anybody tell me to leave, or ask me where my parents were? My guess is that they just didn’t care.
Not many people care anymore.
I was hesitant; I did a lot of hesitating in the beginning. You could hear the bumping sounds of the music all the way from the street and the house looked like your average run down party spot, complete with plastic lawn chairs. Max and Jack jostled me down the sidewalk towards the front porch, their eyes alive with anticipation. I wasn’t excited – a shaking fist kept squeezing my gut and I wanted to go home. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.
“You never mentioned anything about a party,” I said, richly annoyed and nudging Jack’s ribs roughly with my elbow. He rolled his eyes and pushed me forward until I found myself right at the screen door of the house. The summer evening was warm and the sky had turned a pleasant shade of pastel orange. A beautiful sight, but the heavy smell of alcohol crashed into my senses and we were rushed inside with hot hands.
A beer was shoved into my face, and in what seemed like seconds I was left to stand awkwardly by myself, Max and Jack having run off somewhere. Perfect – some friends they were. They had changed so much.
We had been the three musketeers since we could walk. Our mothers had all been great friends, so it was only natural that their sons would be too. There was hardly a moment when we weren’t together – a lot of people who didn’t know us thought we were brothers, and we practically were.
My mother was a photojournalist, so she loved taking pictures of us with gap-toothed smiles, our clothes smeared with dirt and ice cream matted into our hair. She kept every picture she took, storing them neatly in a straw box and labeling it the “Treasure Chest”.
I would constantly look through it, holding each picture in my hand like a jewel. Memories were more precious then gold to me, and as we got older it seemed we would be together forever.
I guess we were still together; Max and Jack just had different ideas of fun. Our childhoods had trickled from our hands like cold water and there was nothing we could do about it, least of all me. My two best friends were so eager to grow up, to be part of the in crowd and be accepted. Deep down inside I knew I wanted to be too, but I had never thought of actually putting my secret daydreams into action.
That night at that party in the old house was like a white-hot catalyst that started a chain reaction of events that would eventually lead me to the place I am now. I don’t blame Max and Jack – I’d be stupid if I did. Everything was entirely and completely my fault. It’s not like I ever said no.
I remember standing there, my muscles ridged and trying to inch my way into a corner where nobody would take notice of me. Everyone was so much older then me, and in my childish state of fear I viewed them as giants. I was only thirteen. Why didn’t anybody tell me to leave, or ask me where my parents were? My guess is that they just didn’t care.
Not many people care anymore.
♠ ♠ ♠
a sort of short little starter for after the prolouge. the next chapter will be much much longer. hope you like it, and any suggestions, comments, etc. are more then loved.