headache of the year // cae&wren
Jan 12, 2022 21:27:25 GMT -5
Post by lucius branwen / 10 — fox on Jan 12, 2022 21:27:25 GMT -5
W R E N
Cae's sis died and we're celebrating I guess. I mean, I get it – I've always wanted to be an only child too. I took the imported bottles of gin my dad wrote off as a business expense from the cellar, stuffing them into my backpack along with my last clean bong because what are friends for.
Making a pit stop, I buy a packet of gummies shaped like worms at the corner store. Same place, but it's a new person working the counter, some freckled blonde with a hazy gaze. There's this thick glass barrier between us, still shiny and new, and I wonder if it's because Holland dragged the old cashier across by the collar, threw him on the ground, and then gave him a concussion.
Sucks for him.
I have a sticker of prez Snow's urn in my jacket pocket I got two weeks ago from some girl selling them under the bleachers at school, harping about the anti-establishment until someone ratted her out and she got her ass dragged by peacekeepers during fourth period. The picture's already faded from being scratched by my keys. So I peel it, slap it on the clean glass, and smile at the cashier.
Putting my change in the tip jar, the coins are still clattering when I say "Bye!"
Outside, a lady's selling toys on a tarp. There's a little mutt that crashes its cymbals together as it walks from side to side, a gun shooting out bubbles illuminated by changing lights, a stuffed dog that barks mechanically every few seconds. And there's this black ball with the number eight painted on it in the pile of stuff, looking all mysterious and shit when the bubble gun's pink light hits it like a beam from heaven. I pick it up, turning it over in my hands until a circular window faces me.
"What's it do?"
She looks kinda pissed off, reclining back in her fold-up chair before answering, "It's a magic eight ball. You ask it a question and it tells you the answer when you shake it. Are you gonna buy it or can you put it back?"
Sis, chill.
I give it a whirl.
"Should I buy you?"
Shaking the ball, gazing into the mystical, inky depths of plastic, the blue triangle materializes from the void with the words "All signs point to yes."
Oh, sick. God in a ball has spoken I guess.
Across the commercial district, Cae lives in like a mcMansion. He's got enough siblings and the house is big enough that I've never even seen all of them in the flesh. Shit, Sutton's dead so I guess the closest I'll get are the bones now.
They're super rich and my dad loves that. He's got a Victor sis so even better. My mom somehow thinks he's a good influence, and I let her believe what she wants. My brother hates him and that sparks joy in me.
That's friend material alright.
It takes forever for someone to get the door – just mcMansion things or something. I'm a third through eating the pack of gummy worms, thinking about cracking open a bottle, before it swings open, half a Caelum peeking out, looking like he just woke up at nine p.m. and I usually don't ask questions.
The green and red worm in my hand snaps in half. I chew. "Dude, took you long enough."
I unzip my backpack as I enter and show the insides to him, glass clinking against more glass against homework I still haven't done and I wonder if we're good enough friends that he'd kill my math teacher for me if I asked. "Got the goods and–"
I reach in, then toss him the magic messiah ball, "Got you a gift."
Making a pit stop, I buy a packet of gummies shaped like worms at the corner store. Same place, but it's a new person working the counter, some freckled blonde with a hazy gaze. There's this thick glass barrier between us, still shiny and new, and I wonder if it's because Holland dragged the old cashier across by the collar, threw him on the ground, and then gave him a concussion.
Sucks for him.
I have a sticker of prez Snow's urn in my jacket pocket I got two weeks ago from some girl selling them under the bleachers at school, harping about the anti-establishment until someone ratted her out and she got her ass dragged by peacekeepers during fourth period. The picture's already faded from being scratched by my keys. So I peel it, slap it on the clean glass, and smile at the cashier.
Putting my change in the tip jar, the coins are still clattering when I say "Bye!"
Outside, a lady's selling toys on a tarp. There's a little mutt that crashes its cymbals together as it walks from side to side, a gun shooting out bubbles illuminated by changing lights, a stuffed dog that barks mechanically every few seconds. And there's this black ball with the number eight painted on it in the pile of stuff, looking all mysterious and shit when the bubble gun's pink light hits it like a beam from heaven. I pick it up, turning it over in my hands until a circular window faces me.
"What's it do?"
She looks kinda pissed off, reclining back in her fold-up chair before answering, "It's a magic eight ball. You ask it a question and it tells you the answer when you shake it. Are you gonna buy it or can you put it back?"
Sis, chill.
I give it a whirl.
"Should I buy you?"
Shaking the ball, gazing into the mystical, inky depths of plastic, the blue triangle materializes from the void with the words "All signs point to yes."
Oh, sick. God in a ball has spoken I guess.
Across the commercial district, Cae lives in like a mcMansion. He's got enough siblings and the house is big enough that I've never even seen all of them in the flesh. Shit, Sutton's dead so I guess the closest I'll get are the bones now.
They're super rich and my dad loves that. He's got a Victor sis so even better. My mom somehow thinks he's a good influence, and I let her believe what she wants. My brother hates him and that sparks joy in me.
That's friend material alright.
It takes forever for someone to get the door – just mcMansion things or something. I'm a third through eating the pack of gummy worms, thinking about cracking open a bottle, before it swings open, half a Caelum peeking out, looking like he just woke up at nine p.m. and I usually don't ask questions.
The green and red worm in my hand snaps in half. I chew. "Dude, took you long enough."
I unzip my backpack as I enter and show the insides to him, glass clinking against more glass against homework I still haven't done and I wonder if we're good enough friends that he'd kill my math teacher for me if I asked. "Got the goods and–"
I reach in, then toss him the magic messiah ball, "Got you a gift."