Young Writers Society

Streams of children swept through the hall, a tangled mess of giggles and whispers and loud voices. I slipped along, an anonymous drop in a river of faces.

In the classroom it was harder to disappear, but not impossible. The girl who sat next to him leaned away as always, as if I was contagious, or about to snap and kill her at any moment. Who knows? Maybe I was.

The morning passed at its normal slothful place.

On my way back from the bathroom, a boy a grade older than me stepped in my way, blocking my path back to class, staring me down.

“Did you help him kill her?” A sneer slashed his face. He didn’t know how much that hurt. I stared up at him for a moment, then pushed him into a locker. Holding his collar, I stared into his eyes, kindling as much flame in my own as I could.

“Yes,” I hissed, “it was my idea. And I could kill you too, right now, if I wanted to. I could squeeze your neck until your face turned purple, then cold. But you’re too pathetic. Too easy.” I spat in his face. “Wouldn’t be any fun. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind.” I shook him for good measure, slamming him against the locker. His eyes were so very full of fear. For once at school, I felt relaxed. Of course all I’d said was lies, but the result it had yielded, that was real.

He ran away.

Then the guilt came, like being hit by a boulder. I sank to the floor, tears kindling.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” I whispered to the air, “I- I’m sorry!” My hands were trembling badly. I needed to light something on fire- something big.

I ran from the building.

Tears fell on the garbage fire, but didn’t quench it. This fire wasn’t big enough though. Not this time. I wanted to tear out my hair; I could barely breathe.

I walked down the street, hands in my the pocket of my hoodie, fingering the matches. What could be enough? The school! No. Too many people. I had to find something empty. But what would be safe? My reason was slipping away as desperateness took over. One match box wasn’t going to be enough for the inferno I planned. I’d have to go home. Ruing every second of extra time, feeling the stress filling me, ready to blow like a volcano, I turned around. Maybe I’d just start it in the background; plenty of dead grass to feed the flame there.

Rummage bowled me over when I walked through the door, pulling me into a hug. I wiped my tears before he could see them, but it did no good.

“I know it looks bad,” he said. “But we’ll get through this. How’d you know to come home?”

“I didn’t.”

“The bill’s up. It’s being filibustered now, but I don’t know how much longer she can last.” The storm was striking. I didn’t know if I could stay standing. Now more than ever, I needed the flame. It’d be nice to have control over something for once, especially something as uncontrollable as fire. But now more than ever, I had no choice. We had to pack; had to be ready to leave if the worst became reality.

I unearthed a suitcase and stuffed it wildly, a jumble of sleeves, pants, heirlooms, and plain junk.

“They’re already outside,” Rummage said. “Just waiting for the law.”

“Should we sneak out the back?” He raced to the other window.

“No. They’re in the alley too.

“Don’t they have anything else to do? Should we try to lose them.”

“No,” Rummage said, straightening. “We won’t flee. We’ll sit in our house and face them calmly.”

Neither of us were doing anything calmly.

It was the strangest swirl of emotions I’d ever felt as I sat, waiting, Rummage pacing behind me, the lady pacing on the tv, speaking as slowly as possible. On one hand, our future was being debated. On the other hand, it was the most boring thing I’d ever seen.

When the phone rang, we both jumped. It was probably the school, calling to tattle on my behavior. Neither of us had the heart to answer, or to hand up. So we let it ring until it died away.

The hours stretched on. Around eight, I threw together some pbjs for us. Rummage stared at me blankly for a moment as he remembered that there was more to the world than worry. There was also food.

“Thanks” was all he could say.

Around eleven, I made some hot cocoa for us. Besides that, we were with the congresswoman every moment of her ten-hour filibuster. But, at 12:27, she had to yield to the floor.

“All who would have the children of murderers, rapists, and terrorists quarantined from the rest of the population for six months, say aye.” The word thundered from the set. “All opposed.” A handful voiced their dissent. The decision was clear.

Rummage sat down.

“Well. That’s that, I guess.” I turned off the tv. We stared at each other in silence, knowing everything had changed. The silence was too much for me.

“I threatened a kid today,” I said, “and I’ve been-“

“Hospital, you need to listen to me. Because I don’t know if we’ll be together. But you are not a bad person, Spit. There’s goodness in you, I know it, Spit. I know about the fires. But you’re still my little bro and I still love you. You’re aren’t like him. You’ve got mom in you too. Don’t forget that.” The door bell rang. I grabbed my brother’s hand.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

“I believe you.” It rang again. I let Rummage go.