TW implied murder maybe
“I know you, don’t I! So that was never going to work, idiot!” The boy shouts at his friend as he walks away. The dismal grey mist hangs low, and soon he disappears into it.
His friend just stands there.
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My breath fogs up on the window. I know I shouldn’t be watching, but I watch anyway.
Pulling the sleeve of my faded green jumper over my hand, I wipe the window so I can see him clearer; the friend who has been left behind, who has not yet moved, soaked by the mist.
I wonder what they were talking about, the conversation that had been too quiet for me to hear. I bet that the friend who was left behind tried to prank the gone-friend. Ha! I remember using whoopee-cushions when I was just a kid, trying to entice my friends to sit without looking at the seat. Maybe that’s what this kid did too, but I don’t expect it was. He had been showing the gone-boy something on his mobile at the time.
I’ve never understood mobiles. That may be my age talking, but I simply don’t get how young people can spend so long using them! They should be outside, playing while they still can, soaking up the sun and enjoying their youth while they still can.
That’s what I’d be doing. Not on a day like this though, no way I'd leave the house. I wonder what had made these two do so.
Left-behind-boy is moving. He turns, and for a moment I think he’s seen me. He hasn’t, though. Else, he’d stare, wouldn’t he? I can’t quite make out his face, the lack of light obscures it. Shadow follows him, literal and in just the sense of it.
There he goes again! On his mobile phone! Admittedly, he’s using it properly now, though, it looks as if he’s making a call.
I hear my kettle whistle from downstairs, but I don’t tear myself away form the window; a sense of foreboding keeps me there. Or, maybe I’m just nosy.
Left-behind-boy scuffs the toe of his trainer on the ground, pacing slowly. A murmur of a conversation floats towards me, I hear him say: ‘Please’, ‘Real’, ‘Come’, and ‘Luce’. At least, I think I do – last weekend I thought my granddaughter told me something quite rude! Yet she was only describing to me an outing she’d had with school. Wow, she’s in school already – makes me feel old, like I might crumble away if a strong breeze hits me.
Will my granddaughter grow up to be like this boy?
Maybe I should bring him a cup of tea. The kettle’s boiled, anyway. Yeah, maybe I should, because he’s got a granddad out there somewhere. If he hasn’t crumbled away already, that is.
I feel a rush of compassion for this kid, alone in the cold and the mist; his jacket looks quite thin.
Left-behind-boy hangs up the phone and puts it in the left pocket of his dark jacket. He reaches his hand into the right pocket and lets it rest there.
Footsteps echo. Gone-boy is here again.
I can’t help myself; I reach slowly and I open the window, just a crack. I haven’t turned the light on, so surely they can’t see me, but now I’ll be able to hear them.
“What the heck you still doing here, mate?”
“So, now we’re mates?” Left-behind-boy speaks more gently that gone-boy-not-gone.
“Huh? Oh, dude, you’re still mad that your ‘funny’ joke didn’t work! Hah! Just leave that stuff to me, mate. You can take care of… whatever it is you do. Homework.”
Do these boys even know one another?
“It wasn’t a joke. I don’t joke.”
“Course it was. I mean, she’s not. You said,” Gone-not-gone-boy struggles, “Nah. Luce is fine, you’re no killer!” He playfully punches left-behind-boy’s arm.
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“You’re no killer!” He repeats as grins uncertainly. Left-behind-boy is facing away from me, so I can’t see his face.
I can see his silhouette, though. I watch everything he does, as the hairs on my arm stand on end. Something is off.
I watch as he pulls a knife from his right-hand pocket.
“Nah, nah, you’re no killer, mate.”
Knife-boy does not speak.
Scared-boy backs away.
“You’re not gonna hurt me. I know you, don’t I?”
ns 15.158.61.48da2
