by Brown, TW
I opened the book and read the first words scrawled on the page:
I ain’t no hero. I never thought of being one. When I was young, I didn’t dream about being a police or fireman. I never considered joining the military, even after 9-11 when so many others my age flocked to the recruiter’s office.
Hell, I was the guy who picked a desk in the middle of the classroom on the first day of school when all the Brains rushed for front row seats and the Jocks and Stoners roamed to the back. I didn’t play sports, at least not in any organized way. When sides were chosen (even if it was just a pick-up game with my buddies), I was pointed out someplace in the middle. Sometimes I would pull off a play in football, basketball, kickball…whatever, which was only amazing because it was me doing it.
I had my share of girlfriends. I lost my virginity my senior year. On prom night. To a girl who played flute in the high school marching band. Her name was Kerri or Kathy…or Kari or Cathy.
So you’re starting to get the point. Right?
I closed the book and looked up to see Dr. Zahn regarding me. This time she did not bother to dab at the tears leaking from her eyes.
The End
Epilogue
“Hurry up, Stevie!” I called from out front.
The door to the apartment opened and he walked out, casting me a dirty look in the process. He had one large bag over his shoulder and another in each hand.
“You coulda helped carry these,” he quipped as he walked up to the cart and tossed them into the back.
“I put mine in last night like I suggested you do.”
I walked over to the team of horses hitched to the cart and gave the one on the right a stroke down its muscular neck. It nuzzled my hand, obviously searching for a carrot or an apple. I reached into my pocket and produced a red, round apple that I had picked off the tree in the front yard just moments before and held it out. The other horse tossed its head and I stepped over to it.
“I haven’t forgotten you,” I whispered as I gave up another apple.
“Thalia!” a voice called and I turned to see a young man just shy of his eighteenth birthday striding across the road that was currently empty of any activity at this early morning.
“Xander,” I returned the greeting.
“I was afraid I might’ve missed seeing you guys off.” He stopped in front of the team of horses and peered over at Stevie who was muscling his bags into the back of the cart.
“Somebody is a little bit woozy from last night,” I stage-whispered loud enough so that I was certain Stevie could hear.
“I think Billy was trying to see how much it would take to get him to pass out,” Xander chuckled. “He is pretty proud of his latest batch of ale. Keeps saying that the alcohol content would have made it illegal back in the Old World.”
“I think it did him some good,” I whispered. “The funeral took so much out of him that I almost thought he was going to back out.”
“Not a chance,” Stevie said from directly behind me, making me jump. I swatted him playfully as he stepped around and greeted Xander with a handshake that morphed into a hug.
I watched him and still had a tough time seeing the young man he’d become before my eyes. It had become just a bit harder the past few days with Melissa’s death and then the subsequent memorial service. According to Sunshine, it had been a peaceful event. Melissa had gone to sleep and simply not woken up the next day. I would never admit it to Stevie, but I was relieved. The past year she had not been lucid, and she refused to believe that Stevie was not his father. It had gotten to the point where he could not go see his mother and could only visit if he stayed out of sight.
“So how long you think the trip is gonna take?” Xander asked as he walked around the cart while Stevie and I climbed up.
“Some folks say you can reach New Seattle in under a month,” I replied. “I’m in no hurry. I have a few places that I want to see along the way.”
“I still don’t understand why you would want to make the trip in the first place.” Xander came to a stop and looked up at me.
“I want to see where it all started,” I said simply. “And now that they are actually letting people travel into Old Seattle, I will be able to see it for myself.”
“I just think it would be cool to see where my dad used to live. We know the name of the old apartments and the general location,” Stevie added.
“Yeah, but it could have all burned to the ground,” Xander countered.
“Won’t know until we get there,” Stevie shrugged his shoulders. “What’s the matter, Xander, you gonna miss me?” He batted his eyes and clutched his hands under his chin for added effect.
“Yeah,” the young man said simply. “You’re my best friend. So, yes, I am going to miss you.”
“Aww, dude,” Stevie hopped back down from the cart and went around to his friend. “I’ll miss you as well, but we’ll be back.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I plan on making it here for the Blackberry Brandy festival,” a voice grumbled.
“About time, Jim,” I said with just a hint of annoyance. “I was afraid I’d have to stop at your place and wake you. That would have put us behind schedule.”
“Schedule?” Jim snorted. “Why do I have to be involved with one of the few people in this world who still holds on to such antiquated ideas as schedules?”
He tossed two bags into the back of the cart and then came around to the bench seat and climbed up beside me. Stevie gave Xander’s hand a squeeze and then joined us.
“Don’t worry, buddy,” he called over his shoulder as we started for the gate. “We’ll be back!”
The growing voice in horror
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TW Brown is the author of the Zomblog series, his horror comedy romp, That Ghoul Ava, and, of course, the DEAD series. Safely tucked away in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, he moves away from his desk only at the urging of his Border Collie, Aoife. (Pronounced Eye-fa)
He plays a little guitar on the side...just for fun...and makes up any excuse to either go trail hiking or strolling along his favorite place...Cannon Beach. He answers all his emails sent to twbrown.maydecpub @gmail.com and tries to thank everybody personally when they take the time to leave a review of one of his works.
He can be found at www.authortwbrown.com
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