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Authors: Andrew Kjelland

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BOOK: Black Box 86ed
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CHAPTER…

 


 

CHAPTER…

 

We come to jolting stop. “Will?” Roger asks as he gently shakes me awake. “We’re here.”

I shake myself awake getting my bearings. It’s…. Jesus it’s the intersection where my parents met their maker. “I’m going to be right here Will,
I’ll be back right here to pick you up.” He smacks m
y shoulder, “look at me William.” I turn to him. “You are going to be standing here waiting for me when I come back, you canno
t stay in this town you got it?
It’s only a matter
of time the war comes this way.
Don’t make me come looking for you, you hear.” I nod opening the door to the truck I slink out. “One
day will!”

“Ok Roger, Thank you.”

“Roy, my name... my real name is Roy, call me Roy and t
hank me when I pick you back up.”

“Ok Roy
,” I reply as I shut the door he slowly pulls away like when your mother drops you off at a friend’s house and waits to see if you get inside. I turn towards my house, lighting up another slim. The whole town completely dark, completely abandoned. The streetlights have all gone out just the moon. Walking to the ditch I see my parents cross the deflated balloon still attached to it lying shriveled on the ground. Sinking to my knees I pick the balloon up running it around in my
fingers
.

“Hey… Hey dad… mom.
I… I’m gona stop by here in a bit. I’m just gona come visit you. I gotta run home real quick first but I’ll be back.” I snap the balloon off the string stuffing it in my back pocket. God, I just need a few minutes with them ok? I think I’ve deserved that at least. I have no problem going the hell but I need to see my parents just for a second. So I can say goodbye, that I love them. I take the long way home, Route 66 the last time I’ll ever walk home. The memories of every walk home down this road
flood into view. Biking from M
ike’s when I was little, every drunken stumble going home from a party at Grace’s. Huh it’s funny, funny how sentimental you get when everything is about to end. So much so that a shit road on the edge of the country can almost bring me to tears. The air has gotten down right cold; it must be about three in the morning, early completely silent beside the wind blowing through
the trees.

Walking up to my house the h
ead hole showing an empty living room. A yellow note stuck to the door swings back and forth in the wind.
By the authority of the President of the United States, the mandatory mass relocation of American citizens in close proximity to any major metro area has been ordered. Report to a stars program facility immediately or face the penalty of treason.

I try my key in the door but it lists easily inward,
the handle hanging. A soft silent squeak as it floats open. The moonlight bouncing off the kitchen floor casting the living room in a faint glow. I turn as I start to walk up the stair. The first step giving off a loud creak. Instantly I’m brought back to every time I’ve t
ried sneaking out to hang with Mike. Three steps, if you take three steps skip the fourth and jump from the seventh
I was home free or free of home I guess.
It probably never mattered because dad would be shaking the house struggling to breathe
between snores.
Walking up the stairs and into my room I instinctively try to flip on the
light but nothing happens. B
lindly I search for the bottle of vodka
from mine and Graces “date”. Looking back the obvious flaws in my best made plans showing thro
ugh. The beginning to her end, I think. Looking to the window I see it. The moons light caught swirling, bouncing, reflecting through the clear plastic bottle. Stubbing my big toe as I move towards it, unfazed I grab it quickly breaking the seal I pull from it. I drink and drink the liquid escaping my mouth as it mixes with my tears going down my throat. Three days, three
days I think to myself pulling the bottle from my chin. I appreciate the irony God. Believe me it’s not lost. But… Where’s my life, Where’s my resurrection? How can I possibly take these shattered pieces and build a life. When everything in my life has amounted to a half pack of cigarettes and a
fifteen
dollar bottle of vodka and an expectation to make things better. Screwing the cap back on I light my cigarette. I just wanted her. I didn’t want to be rich. I didn’t want to be famous. I just wanted to have her, to slowly decompose with her over the next
sixty
years. That… That feels more romantic than it sounds but it’s the truth. Pulling my jacking from my closet I leave the room. Three steps, three last steps I think as I skip the fourth and jump from the seventh. A distant helicopter sounds off in the distance. I turn back to the living room. This is it Will. An end of an era I guess. I walk
out the front door and head to R
oute 66.

The winds died down a bit but the air still strangely cold for late August. Every few steps I take a swig from the bottle. I look up; it’s quite amazing that just turning off the lights make the stars looks incredible.

 

CHAPTER…

 

My heart pounding as the lights slowly edge across the sign.
This is it Will
. The lights hitting the sign fully, one Mis … A flash of light across the sky, catching me off guard. Huh, a shooting star, never knew God had such a flair for the dramatics. I think, watching the light fly through the sky, the truck passing from underneath
me. Hm it’s weird. Something’s different, it’s either the slowest shooting star
I’ve ever seen or it’s… Seconds before it reaches the horizon directly in front of me, it disappears. Than immediately after an almost unbelievable bright light. Not blinding from where I am, but for as second, and this seems crazy but I swear for an instant I s
aw the Chicago skyline. Sitting back down on the railing,
the horizon slowly turns to a fiery read. As if the sun is just starting to rise from the north
. The Light slowly growing… A
snap and crackle breaks the silence. It’s not loud, like thunder from a lighting bolt a
mile or two away. The fire still slowly spreading.

“Huh…”

 

 

 

 

 

I would just like to thank you for taking the time to read my very first novel. Having spent the better part of a year and a half writing, erasing, and searching the internet for where in the hell I’m suppose to and not suppose to put commas, I must say that I am glad to have something finally out there and on the interwebs. I hope you enjoyed this and if so inclined feel free to email and tell me what you think about it at
[email protected]
. If you would like to help out a new author, the best thing you can do is simply give this
book a review. Or just send any assortment of unmarked bills to the po box I will discuss in our emails. Have a great day and keep on reading!

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

BOOK: Black Box 86ed
13.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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