Old Mill Road East

“By taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy; but in passing over it, he is superior.” Anonymous


It was important to find the right rock. You want something easy to carry and concealable in case the police just happen by, or an old lady with too much time on her hands is watching out of a window at just the wrong moment. Too big and you're busted, too small and you only manage a crack at best. A tiny insignificant little 'plink' sound wasn't going to do. I was in the mood for a glorious smash.

There I was, my sleeve already torn, my left palm bleeding from my encounter with the wall. Some sadistic old bastard had planted shards of broken bottles into the cement along the top of it, a good seven feet up; most likely to stop kids like me from climbing over it.

It might have stopped me if I had seen the fucking glass before taking a running leap to get a grip on the top of it. From the base of it I couldn't have guessed that searing pain and bloody lacerations were in my left hands future.

When the glass tore into my palm I very nearly let go as a knee jerk reaction, but luckily some part of me said to just hold on, swallow that pain, and pull myself up. As I strained to do just that, a bit more right handed than usual, I got a good look at the six inch shards that sparkled in the street lights glow. I was eye level with the blue, brown, green, and clear glass that made up a miniature, glittering, and very pointy city, sprawling along the plateau of the thirty feet long by half a foot wide wall.

I only struggled a little to get over it once I knew about the obstacle. A small tear to my hoodie and a good rip in the flesh of my palm were the only victims so far.

Now that I knew what to expect I didn't plan to make the same mistake on the way back. The chain link fence on the other side was recently topped with razor wire but the fence itself had been there since time began, and getting under it was possible, albeit a massive pain in the ass.

I was in the old Parkview estate. It wasn't really an estate, just a few rows of condemned terraced houses that had been falling in on themselves since my grandparents were my age. The place used to be free housing for mill workers before they realised that it had been built on some sort of underground river that wrecked the foundations and the sewage lines. They moved everyone out in a hurry when two foot wide cracks showed up overnight in the walls of some of them.

The place just stayed abandoned. No one wanted to buy a bunch of land just to have to clear off the old houses when they couldn’t build on it afterwards. The mills closed down as the industry moved abroad for cheaper labour. Most of them went bankrupt and with the jobs went most of the people.

A few years back a kid had died falling through the rotted floorboards on the second story of one of the houses. He had just gone in to play hide and seek with some friends. That was back when my parents were my age.

The estate had been sealed off ever since, despite it not really being necessary; everyone thought the place was haunted anyway. The underground river made this sound, an eerie sort of whispering hum and because it was so close to the surface the place also had really thick ground mist a lot of the time.

The sewage problems left the place smelling of sulphur, like the gate to hell might be hidden somewhere within. That, combined with the history of the place, had ensured that the rumours and ghost stories spread like wildfire through this sleepy and ever dwindling little town that had once been a city.

That's why I had come here. I needed a rock; a very special one too. I needed a rock that had death on it, and what better place to find one than a dead old housing estate, in a dead old town, where a very much alive little kid had lost their life?

It was going to be perfect. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end and my skin felt tingly. I was sweating despite the early autumn night being a bit chilly. It was anticipation that sped up my pulse and wet my brow.

The idea had come to me in a dream. Well maybe 'dream' isn't even the right way to put it. Have you ever had a thought while you were sleeping or maybe even while you were that place between sleep and awake; where your mind makes a suggestion? Maybe it plays you a short cinematic clip of you doing something, and you realise that there are no ifs ands or buts, you are going to go and do whatever it was. You don't really have a choice in the matter. It's the best idea you've ever had, or maybe the best dream, or suggestion from some higher power. You can't believe you haven't thought of it before. It is your calling. It is what you must do. It is the answer to everything. It was an epiphany of sorts.

I had one of these for the first time in my life and though I hadn't ever heard anyone else mention them before, I just instinctively knew it was okay. Everything was going to be okay now that I had this plan. The fog I'd been existing in had lifted and I had a purpose.

Afterwards I sat in my room, listening to the traffic speeding around the bend in front of the house, waiting all day for the sun to go down so that I could begin. I thought about nothing else from the moment it had been revealed to me. And here I was, making it happen. Making my dream come true.

My shoes crunched loudly on the loose gravel and broken glass that littered the street. Most of the windows had been broken from time and kids throwing stones. The glass was never picked up, just as nothing else ever was here.

The ground mist was there, thick and soupy, just as it always was. The smell of sulphur was overpowering. I breathed through my mouth as I continued along, passing house after vacant house. There was a mild worry that the fumes I was inhaling were toxic, but I knew I had to come here and because I had been shown the way that I would be safe. I knew I was going to survive this part of the journey because I knew what was going to happen next.

It was dark and the street lights on the other side of the fence didn't cast much light. I had to watch my step and move slowly, navigating around an ancient push mower that had been silently rusting in the street.

I went down once when my feet got tangled in a mess of knotted cables that had been carelessly left out in the road. The sudden pain to my wounded left hand as it automatically darted out in front of me to stop my fall woke me from the trance like state that I was wandering in. It dawned on me that my teeth were starting to hurt from the cold air that they had been exposed to due to the enormous grin that I had been sporting.

I freed my feet and threw the tripping hazard over a picket fence to my right. It landed in the overgrown grass of the front lawn with a thud as I watched it leave a temporary hole through the thick, knee deep fog. That's when I saw the police tape dangling in the gentle breeze from the next houses shutter.

This was it, the place I needed to be. I just needed to get the rock. Once I had it I was finally going to be ready and things were going to be okay again.

Making my way to the cement path that led to the front door I watched that police tape as it writhed like a snake in the misty darkness. It was all that remained to commemorate what happened here all those years ago. There were no flowers or tattered cards or any stuffed bears left at the scene of the accident like you would normally see.

That sort of thing was only left at his grave. The people in this town knew how wrong it felt here even back then. His own parents wouldn't come to the place that their son spent his last minutes alive. I couldn't really understand that.

Then again I was a bit different from the people in this town. I wasn't afraid of this place. I visited the scene of the accident my parents died in every single day.

I couldn't imagine why anyone would be so afraid to be around death. It's something that's been happening since life began. It's something that will happen to every single living thing. It's not like it's new. It's not like any of us have a choice in the matter. Why was I the only one that could see it for what it was? Inevitable. Wasn't it about time we got comfortable with the idea?

I blew the hair out of my eyes in frustration and composed myself. I was never going to understand people and that was just fine with me. I didn't need to. Everything was going to be fine now that I knew what I needed to do.

There used to be glass along either side of the front door of the condemned building. I imagined it was probably decorated with floral trim when it was new. None of it remained anymore so it wasn't likely that I'd ever really know.

I reached my right hand through and unlocked the bolt before turning the door knob from the inside. The door creaked open and I stepped through and into the house without a second thought.

It was dark. Not just the kind of dark where your eyes need to adjust, but so dark that no amount of adjusting was going to help you see your own hand in front of your face. I reached into my left pocket, winced at the sudden flash of pain. Shaking it out and clamping my jaw shut with a pained smile, I used my right hand to fish out my zippo instead.

I flipped it open and lit it along the leg of my jeans. I held it up, spreading my arm in a wide arc to see as much as possible of the room before taking a step forward. The floor beams bounced dangerously and I could feel them sag severely under my weight.

I stepped back into the door frame. This was going to be a challenge. I knew I needed to get further into this house but sometimes straight ahead isn't the answer.

I didn't want to end up like that kid that went through the rotted floor boards; especially since no one knew I was here. No one really knew I was anywhere to be honest. No alarm would be raised for a very long time if anything did happen to me.

The spinning sensation started to hit again. The chimes that only I could hear started clanging loudly in my ears. I hadn't had an episode of this since I had decided to set out and find the rock. If it got me now I knew that all would be lost. Now was not a good time.

Closing the lighter I shoved it back into my pocket. I could feel the heat of the metal against my leg. I balled my hands into tight fists. I let my fingernails dig into my palms; the left being particularly painful. With my eyes closed, making no difference to what I could see now that I was back in total darkness, I fought to take slow deep breaths.

I struggled for control for an unknown amount of time. If I had to guess I'd say at least ten minutes had passed where I just stood there, rocking ever so slightly in the door frame.

I went over the plan in my head over and over again. I followed the path laid out for me from the dream, almost in an out of body experience sort of way. I was lucidly daydreaming. Only when I heard the ghostly anticipation of the smashing sound that I craved so badly did I trust myself to come back to the here and now.

I was still standing; that was a good sign. I hadn't blacked out this time. My jaw hurt from clenching my teeth so tightly together. My left fingers were sticky with drying blood from where I had dug them into the now reopened wounds.

The chimes faded away, and when there was only an echo remaining of them I finally trusted myself enough to open my eyes. The migraine that followed these episodes like thunder follows lightning was just starting to build up to full power. I was extremely grateful for the intense darkness of the house.

Thinking was going to be impossible if the throbbing in my head hit a crescendo. I needed to make my move now or wait until it had subsided enough to carry out my mission. Though I knew I could wait it out, breathing in the noxious fumes all night didn't sound like a whole lot of fun.

I dug the zippo out of my pocket and lit it again, wincing against the small amount of light that its naked flame cast in front of me.

My internal monologue changed to short bursts of fact. I needed to get to the next room of the house. Walking across the floor would see the floor giving out. If I exited the house in search of a back entrance I would have to go completely around the entire street since all of the houses were connected. If I took the time to do that I may find myself in the recovery position on the street, in a puddle of headache induced vomit when the sun came up. It would be at least another night before I could finish my mission.

I simply could not wait that long. I gave myself a mental kick in the ass and looked for a faster paced plan B.

Holding the zippo up I scanned the room again, this time trying to see it properly for how it could help me.

There was a love seat against one wall. An ancient television with a large wooden frame and a broken screen stood against the opposite wall. The middle of the room had nothing but broken glass, a broken ceiling tile, and a threadbare old rug.

I stood in the doorway and thought about it while I fished a pack of cigarettes out of my right pocket and lit one before putting the zippo out. The cherry of my cigarette brought the faint outline of the furniture from the darkness of the room as I inhaled.

The answer came to me as I took the final drag, tracing the edges of the television with my eyes. I threw the butt out the door behind me and took a very cautious step sideways.

The floor boards moved a little but this close to the wall they were more reinforced than out in the middle of the room. I kept the edge of my boots flush against the wall as I took another side step, my hands searching the wall behind me for anything I could hold onto if this plan did fail for any reason.

The only reason the sparse furniture in this room hadn't gone through the floor itself was because the rotten boards still had the tiniest bit of life left in them at the edges of the room. If the TV could stay on this floor, I could. I probably weighed about half as much as it with the massive wooden cabinet that it had been built into anyway.

Edging my way around the room was fine as long as I had a window frame or other wall feature to hold on to. As I was carefully inching around the television and holding onto it for dear life the floor let out a mighty moan of displeasure.

I realised as I clung to it that if the boards didn't stop sagging, that I was going to end up in the coal cellar with the television following to ensure I was squashed to death even if I did survive the initial fall.

I took a gamble. Spreading my arms wide in hope that I would not only reach the door that I couldn't see any longer, and only remembered being here from the dim light my zippo had bathed the room in; but that I might be able to hold onto the frame to take some of the weight of my impact.

It was about three feet to my right if memory served me and I really hoped it did. If the floor was bad there the force I'd hit it with meant I would be going through; but what I didn't know carried a lot less risk than the impending doom of staying where I was as the boards continued to arch further under the combined weight of the television and myself.

I wasn't even sure if my eyes were open or closed any longer as I screamed silently in my own head and hoped with all I was worth that my feet would find purchase.

Seconds after I was airborne several things happened at once. There was a flash of pain as I bit my tongue, hard. The copper taste of my own blood filled my mouth. Then there was the surprise that I had landed at all and appeared to be on solid(ish) ground.

I didn't even have a chance to appreciate my good fortune before the screeching boards behind me gave way with several loud cracks in quick succession like firecrackers. It was followed by the cacophonous thundering splash of the ancient television slamming into the obviously flooded coal cellar below. The house shook violently from the force of it.

I was panting now. The sulphur was far stronger. It’s acrid stench burned my eyes and nose. At least I knew my eyes must be open if they were streaming with stinging tears.

I held on to the door frame letting the adrenalin have a moment to course through my veins unhindered. I desperately wanted to light my zippo and see if the next room held what I was nearly sure it did, however I was worried that the fumes that had my eyes and nose running may prove to be flammable if I did.

Aware that the migraine was still charging up to full power I forced myself to stand up properly and take charge of myself once more.

I was surprised to see that there was in fact a small amount of light coming through the window at the opposite side of the room. The moon was just bright enough to make out the fireplace on the right side.

The excitement at this find combined with the adrenalin made me almost giddy. I nearly walked straight toward it despite how narrowly I had just avoided a one way trip through the floor only minutes before.

My wet eyes were begging me to look down at the hearth but I resisted just as I resisted walking straight to it; by the skin of my teeth. I dragged my eyes up the chimney breast instead. My view of it was cut short by the skeletal fragments of floor boards jutting downwards in disarray.

This was the place where it happened. The life of a child had been extinguished in this very room. I had made it this far, it was time to collect my prize.

Edging my way cautiously to the right with my hands gripping only tattered, peeling wall paper behind me; I began the final stretch at an agonisingly slow pace. Step by step and inch by inch I came closer to the intersecting wall. Every step of the way I was aware of how badly I wanted that rock.

The boards groaned in agony under my weight; the fresh hole in the last room most likely decreasing the level of structural support drastically. I don’t know where the patience came from when every fibre of my being screamed to run for it, grab the rock, and dive out of the nearest window. Leave the sulphurous death trap to fall in on itself and to hell with what remained of it as long as I got what I needed and then got out in one piece.

I couldn’t though and I knew it. This part of the mission was the delicate part. Taking time now would have its rewards; my life continuing being a big one.

As I made the turn in the corner of the room that saw me now only a few feet away from the side of the fireplace I finally allowed myself to look at the base of the fireplace.

The moonlight shone in through the window frame in a beam that was not unlike a spotlight. The stage was the hearth and the star of the show was what I was here risking life and limb to retrieve. I was at the mercy of its beauty.

Leaving caution to the wind I took the final steps and was standing on the thick marble before I could realise what I was doing.

I squatted down and had my zippo out and lit all in one fluid movement. I could only look at it at first, such was my awe. My jaw literally fell.

I was directly below the gaping hole with rafters dangling precariously from the large section of missing ceiling above me. This is where it happened.

Fifteen years ago, a boy that was a few years younger than I was now had come here with two friends. They were doing what young boys do, playing and doing so in a place that they weren’t meant to be. The ghost stories that were alive and well even before the accident that day had drawn them in just as they always do.

His name was Jack Sykes. He was twelve, not yet a man and holding onto those last vestiges of childhood; running, hiding, seeking, and just having fun outdoors with friends. It was the turning point in life where you know those things won’t be acceptable for much longer. Soon after you have to be serious. You have to be an adult. You have to be a man.

The boy and his friends had made it into the Parkview estate via the old chain link fence. They had been playing hide and seek. Jack was it.

There were so many excellent hiding places here. You could spend days looking for someone. That’s how he came to be on the second floor of this house. It’s how he managed to fall through a floor so weak that it couldn’t hold a child’s weight even then, fifteen years ago.

Here before me is where he met his maker. As the boards gave out below him and he frantically clawed at them, trying with all his might and leaving only the bloody scrapes of his fingernails as evidence of his struggle; he fell. He landed hard, but not hard enough to go through the first floor and into the coal cellar below. The hearth which broke his fall and was structurally sound enough for it to end there. It also broke his skull in the process and ended his life instantly.

And in return his skull broke the hearth; well at least a part of it. There was one perfect equilateral triangle of the white marble with its deep red veins separated from the rest of the rectangular stone. There wasn’t anything to back up why I knew it would be here. The dream had told me it would be and I knew it would be there.

I picked it up with reverence; the way a holy man would handle a holy relic. This was it. The white of the marble sparkled in the moonlight.

It was cold to my touch and smooth as I ran my finger along its polished edge. The three deep red veins in the marble looked almost like a face when I turned it on its side. One made up a large oval eye and the other looked to be a closed slit as though it were winking. The third line made its mouth; a neutral straight line with the faintest hint of a smile in one corner.

It was perfect. It knew what I intended. It realised its purpose and seemed to wink knowingly, accepting its fate to do what it did best. Hell who was I kidding, it looked as though that was what it wanted.

The rock fit comfortably into the pocket of my hoodie; snug enough that it wouldn’t fall out, but loose enough to not rip it any further than I already had on the wall.

I put the zippo into the pocket of my jeans and then tried to figure out the safest, quickest, and easiest way out of this death trap that I no longer needed to be inside of. The moonlight was bright enough to see the way to the window and I decided to take the careful and cautious route to it instead of perhaps two leaping bounds that would have seen me reach the window far quicker; provided I didn’t end up going through the heavily rotted floor boards leaving my own fingernail signature on the boards as I went.

Half an hour later I was walking along the path behind the row of houses. My prize bounced gently against my hip bone as I waded through the waist deep mist in the moonlight.

I walked in the opposite direction I had come from and had to keep moving slowly due to tripping hazards hidden in the fog that I hadn’t already encountered.

When I finally reached the chain link fence I had to continue along it for a good twenty yards before I found a good enough trench to crawl under. I made it to the other side with another small rip in my hoodie but none in my flesh this time.

Once I was back on my feet I worked on pulling the rock out of my pocket. I knew that feeling it in there was enough to ensure it was safe but I needed to check on it. This maddening urge to just make sure it was okay was overwhelming.

My head was beginning to pound like a base drum playing a slow and steady beat so I gave in and allowed the illogical urge to be satiated. I even made excuses for myself by admitting I hadn’t been in the best light to have a proper look at it.

Something made me close my eyes as I pulled it from my pocket and brought it in front of my face. I took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then opened them as I let it out.

For a moment I was so startled I nearly dropped it. The sinister little grin that I had imagined in the blood red veins of the marble was totally different. There weren’t three lines making up a face on that rock; there were thousands of detailed tiny lines providing intricate shading depicting a very realistic very human face looking back at me.

It was as though a photograph tinted in only red and white had been laminated onto its smooth surface. Thinking it might in fact be that I used my thumb nail to try to peel the edge off but found that there was no edge.

A young boy stared back at me from the flat triangle of rock. His eyes were wide with horror, or was it anger? His mouth was set in a straight line.

There was something truly terrifying about what I saw there. I lowered the rock to my side and ran toward the closest street light a short distance away; refusing to look at it again until I was in the brightest possible light on this dark October night.

I didn’t close my eyes this time and instead brought the rock up into the light watching with a sick combination of anticipation laced with intense dread and fear.

It simply didn’t make sense. The thumping in my head pounded harder, louder, faster; my confusion seeming to anger the war drum of my migraine into action.

I didn’t know what I had thought I’d seen only a moment ago but the three veins were definitely there now. The sinister face winked at me from the sparkling marble just as it had inside of the derelict house. Only… Did it move?

There was the oval shaped eye and the slitted winking eye just as I remembered. The mouth was somehow different though. The menacing little half smile was no longer drawn up only on one side. It was more of a full grin now with both sides drawn up like a bow.

“What the hell is going on?” I muttered it, barely audible; partially at the rock but more to myself. The pounding in my head was unbearable, it had accelerated into a nearly solid sound. A tidal wave of dizziness washed over me.

I shivered. Raising my head slowly I realised I was lying on the ground. It took me a moment to figure out that I was still there under the streetlight. It was still dark and the ground mist had rolled out through the fence blanketing me as I lay there for who knows how long.

My head hurt but in a different way than it had. My right temple throbbed but the deep rooted pounding appeared to have finally abandoned me. Upon gently touching it the blood on my fingertips informed me that it throbbed for a reason.

My hand went to my pocket but only felt my zippo there. In a flash I was back on my hands and knees feeling around in the thick mist. I couldn’t lose it now! Not after all of that!

I hadn’t lost it though, I felt it with my right hand on only my second attempt of patting the wet grass where I had been lying. Raising it up into the light I was in for another surprise; the face of the rock had changed again.

There was a small trickle of blood on the corner of the marble from where I had hit my right temple when the migraine had caused me to pass out and fall. However, the three red veins had definitely changed. Both of the eyes were slitted lines now. The third previously smiling mouth line was now agape at the edge of the small trail of blood. It was as though it was being sick; or was the flow meant to be moving the opposite way? Was the rock bloodthirsty? Perhaps it made sense after all.

It was surprising just how comfortable I was with my interpretation of the ever changing rock face. I wasn’t afraid of it any longer. It was all going to be okay again. After all, who wasn’t a little bloodthirsty on this mission?

Slipping the rock back into my front pocket I lit a cigarette and continued on the journey I had been meaning to make before the dreaded migraine took charge and floored me. The gentle rhythm that the weight in my pocket beat against my hip as I walked was comforting.

I knew it would be good to get moving because a lot of the time the migraines were like earthquakes; one would come along unexpectedly and knock me to the ground only for a smaller aftershock to be on its heals. Though I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out cooled, I did know I was running out of night and didn’t want to waste another minute if I could help it.

It didn’t take long to make it across town. The place was normally quiet but you could easily imagine being the only living person left on the planet while walking through at this time of the night. Not so much as a stray cat stirred. The only sound was total silence broken only occasionally when I stepped on gravel that would skid under my boot. Even that tiny sound made me jump each time it happened.

I turned left on Old Mill Road East and started jogging. It wasn’t far now. The weight in my pocket beat against my hip with slightly more force now and each time it connected I could feel it wanting me to push a little harder. Before I knew it I was sprinting the final two miles out of town towards our destination.

Sudden bright light in my eyes and the deep rumbling sound brought me back from reliving the planned events of the night for the millionth time. I threw myself into the ditch at the side of the road just in time. The truck didn’t stop, hell it didn’t even brake; but that was nothing new.

I picked myself up again and dusted the dried leaves and dirt off before continuing at a fast walk. The urge to run was gone as the road curved sharply to the right; directly in front of what remained of my house.

Just two weeks ago is when it happened. My parents had been complaining for a few years at that point. Letters had been written to the council and the roads services but every one of them fell on deaf ears.

There was money to be made and every attempt to rekindle the ashes that remained of our once proud and prosperous city was being exhausted. One family, unhappy with the amount of traffic suddenly diverted onto the completely inappropriate road in front of their house was never going to change their minds.

Night and day big trucks loaded with all manner of cargo would hurtle around the bend in front of our house without ever slowing down. We had witnessed a jackknife last winter that had killed the driver when the icy conditions didn’t even discourage driving at top speed around that bend.

Once while walking to school early in the morning, a speeding truck lost part of its load and nearly hit me in the process on that curve. I received a grunt which I assume was meant to serve as an apology, before the driver went back on foot to collect it; leaving his rig in the middle of the road. Despite the flashing lights he nearly caused a really bad accident when another truck sped up to go around the hairpin curve and only missed us by sheer luck.

Our perfectly safe neighbourhood had become an accident waiting to happen; and all to make some money to keep the city alive. My parents were a blood sacrifice to keep the city alive. It was that tiny rerouting of trucks that cost them both their lives.

School had only started again for about a month or so and I was there when it happened. I was sitting in Ms. Keelens Algebra class, trying to figure out what N was equal to today. It was just a normal day. Nothing indicated it was going to be any different from any other.

There was a knock on the classroom door and the school nurse asked me to gather my things and come with her. I kept wondering what I had done that I could have been in trouble for. They didn’t tend to pull you out of class unless it was something really serious. Every possibility from the last month flashed before my eyes and for some reason I was sure skipping Geography last Friday afternoon and sneaking out an hour early had caught up with me.

I was in the nurses office sweating bullets; trying to figure out how I could get out of whatever trouble I was in. Nurse Jacksen offered me a glass of water which I accepted more to play with and look at than to drink.

And then she broke the news that a truck had been speeding around that bend when the brakes failed or maybe the driver fell asleep, and “Oh honey I’m so sorry” but my parents were in the house when the truck plowed into it. They died instantly.

I just sat there trying to understand this foreign language she had had just spoken. I wasn’t in trouble for skipping class last week? Nurse Jacksen looks like she’s going to cry instead of give me a stern telling off followed by a punishment?

She started telling me about child services and how they were on their way and would be looking after me. There was mention of a new place to live and time off from school and offers for assistance if I needed anything at all.

As it all started to sort of make sense but still felt dreamlike and unreal I somehow managed to make it to my feet. I told her I needed to use the restroom and have a few minutes to myself and I’m not sure where those words had come from. It happened all by itself.

I watched as my body walked out of her office and down the hall to the boys room. I felt like I was just sitting back comfortably numb in my own mind as autopilot took over and tried to navigate this horrible storm of dizziness where nothing was real or right anymore.

Before I knew it autopilot had directed me past all of the stalls and urinals and sinks and just kept on going right out of the second story window. Autopilot picked us up from where we landed on the cement and didn’t even register the scrapes along our elbow and knee. It carried on walking to the wooded area that eventually led to the back of my house.

I was vaguely aware that I might get in trouble for jumping out of the window at school and essentially running away, but I didn’t really care. What were they going to do? Tell my father? Oh wait he’s dead remember; what about my mother? Oh yeah, she is too. Maybe they’ll just have to send a letter to my house? Perhaps they can deliver it right into the exhaust pipe of the truck that happened to be sticking out of my living room.

From where I hid in the woods I saw everything that was going on at my house that day. I watched them struggle to move three bodies out from the side window. I saw them using enormous towing vehicles to winch the truck back and out of my house. When the front of the second floor caved in on the gaping hole that was now my living room, that is when the silent tears started. Oddly news of the accident or even witnessing the body bags hadn’t been able to start them but watching material possessions falling down onto other material possessions did.

I was disgusted with myself. I fell asleep where I was.

Over the next two weeks I lived rough and on the run. Sometimes I would sneak into the back of the house and raid the kitchen. Other times I would climb the tree and sneak into my bedroom in the back of the second floor.

I even slept in my own bed a few times after the accident; always listening out for the police who had been looking for me throughout the entire two weeks I had been missing. It was there in my own bed that I had the dream or whatever it was. The dream that now saw me passing by what remained of my home, rock in hand, and ready to finally make that dream come true.

As I passed by I took one last look at all that remained of my previously fairly normal life. As though in response, the left window pane of my parents bedroom chose that moment to fall with a satisfying crash of glass against the destruction below it. I smiled, squeezed the rock in my pocket, and started to jog once more.

When I reached the overpass the light was just starting to change on the eastern horizon. I stopped in the centre of it and looked down at the road below. There was a drop of at least twenty feet.

I pulled the rock out and aimed it at the ground below before bringing it back to myself so I could see what it thought about the location I had just shown it.

Just as before the red veins had changed. There was no sign of the blood I had spilled on the rock when I fell.

Now it’s eyes were both open wide and slanted slightly downwards at the centre. It’s mouth was no longer so much a line as a thick open grin, detailed so finely that I could even make out the sharp teeth around the edges of it.

The rock appeared to approve. That made two of us.

I finished my last cigarette just as the two lights appeared off on the horizon. Putting my foot inside of the railing at the edge of the overpass I started to climb. When I was crouched on top of it I brought the rock up close and whispered to it.

“Are you ready?”

There wasn’t any response but I felt that it was. I was as well. It was time for them to listen up and listen good.

When I could just see the tacky, white, ‘trucker babe’ decals at the corners of the glass, with the shadowy form of the driver behind them, I launched myself into a standing position and threw the rock as hard as I could at him.

I threw like I had never thrown anything. There was so much force in it that I doubled forward, my arm feeling like I had ripped a muscle; my feet slipping off of the railing.

A deeply satisfying smash greeted my ears. I heard every crack as the glass fragmented into thousands of individual pieces. The parts that hit the road tinkled in a beautiful high pitch as the separating of the individual fragments had its own chime-like splendour.

Tears of joy blew back across my temples as the strong wind whipped past my face.

Above all else I savoured the look on the drivers bloody face as I came through the glass a split second after the rock smashed it for me.

He would never speed on Old Mill Road East again.