Decimate

Chapter Two--Mark--I Run Away From Home

Mark lifted his head from his pillow, and stared at his mom sleeping next to him. He hadn't slept the entire night, after the fight.

It had been two years since his dad died, and Mark and his mom had been fighting.

Last night had been the worst. They had screamed at each other for almost an hour, until finally she had slapped him across his face. Mark had fled to his room in tears, and after a while, his mother had joined him, telling him how sorry she was. They shared a tender moment, and she fell asleep while hugging him. Mark hadn't slept afterwards. He had come to a decision. He stood from the bed carefully, and scribbled something down on a post it note. Then he opened his closet quietly and grabbed his emergency backpack—something his father once told him to always have on hand. A bag filled with all the essentials that he could grab in case of emergency.

Mark took one last look at his mother. He loved her, but he needed a break from all the fighting. He knew that even though they had made up, they would fight again. Mark took a deep breath and closed the door behind him. He looked sadly at his brother's unused door before creeping down the stairs. He kissed his mom's dog Lucy on the head once more. As much as he wanted to take Lucy with him, his mom would need something to hold onto after he left. His brother left for college last year, so he and his mom were the only ones in the house. Mark reluctantly stepped away from Lucy and left.

He walked down the cold street, thankful that it wasn't so cold that he'd have to put on a jacket. His lucky flannel shirt was plenty warm.

Mark walked for what seemed like hours. And when the first tendrils of daylight began to creep out from behind the buildings, he realized he had. He had left at what—one in the morning? That explained why Mark's legs were so tired. He was reaching the end of town, finally. Los Angeles wasn't a small place, but now he had started to reach countryside. There were still houses here and there, but that was good. As long as he was near some sort of house, he could find his way to a town.

Eventually, Mark got tired. Really tired. So he sat down on a patch of scraggly grass.

After glancing around to make sure nobody was near, he lay down, his face to the sky.

He amused himself by naming birds.

"That one's Tim," he murmured to himself. "That one's Wilfred."

He continued to stare for a while more, before seeing something strange.

A huge bird far above his head, that glinted in the sun like metal.

Mark squinted. "What the heck?"

Then the entire hill exploded in pink light.