Frightened Boy

Chapter Eight - Rippled Surface

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Hello readers! This is a brief interruption from your regularly scheduled story. I'm Scott Kelly, the author of Frightened Boy. If you've come this far, I hope you're enjoying what you've read and will keep going - it only gets better, trust me. But before that, why don't you take a break and vote on all the chapters? It's that orange rectangle on the left hand of your screen that says "Vote!" Every time I get a vote, it raises the rank of Frightened Boy and more people get an opportunity to read it. It tells the people of Wattpad that you want more stories like this one. It also pushes me closer to my life-long dream of quitting my day job and becoming a professional novelist. Last, it really means a lot to me.

Thank you, seriously. Now please, enjoy the show.

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8. Rippled Surface

The Strangers seemed to have a lot to do, so Erika and I were left on the sidelines to watch and worry. I didn’t mind so much; these were both things I excelled at.

The second night fell swiftly over the deserted shopping district, and the absolute darkness of the city streets was broken up only by the occasional fire. The entire campground was hastily thrown together, an amalgamate of past and present technology. Sharp sticks were wielded as weapons when ammunition couldn’t be had or spared. A fixer was just as likely to be repairing a worn firing mechanism as building a 7,000-year-old pitfall trap over a fissure in the street.

Escher didn’t seem to be in any hurry to force the footage from me; it was obvious he had me on a short leash. Now that I’d seen the way he operated, I tended to believe he could reach me anywhere. Even the gleaming orderliness of Downtown Banlo Bay—seemingly his antithesis—did nothing to slow him.

I’d wanted to talk to Erika on our little mattress in Grundel’s extra room where we slept, but she insisted on taking a walk. I had no choice but to agree. Besides, she’d found a change of clothes and was in this tight white shirt, the kind with the little straps that go over her shoulders. She had a white bow in her hair to match, and looked radiant. I could have read by her light.

“I had to raise myself,” I told her. I’d never talked about my past with her; I’d never had the courage. Now it seemed like death was certain, so I didn’t need to look around every corner. There was no reason to be anxious; I knew exactly where the danger was.

“What do you mean? Where were your parents?”

“Dead,” I said. “It was up to me to make sure I didn’t get in any trouble—that I got to school on time, finished my homework, stayed safe, and so on.”

“That’s terrible,” she said. “What happened?”

“They were never exactly there for me anyway. When I was twelve, they had themselves cryogenically frozen so they could carry on their love in some utopian future. I was too young to join them, but they did it anyway. Obviously, their love was more important than the son it created.”

“So they’re still frozen somewhere?”

“No. They died six months later during a power outage. I got a postcard in the mail to let me know. You know… one of those 'We regret to inform you' kind of postcards.”

Erika was silent.

“I guess realizing how fragile and weak you are, how ultimately powerless, what else can you do? I’m a fucking field mouse. I am Frightened Boy,” I said.

“That’s not true, and you aren’t powerless. Look where we are! In the middle of the base of a secret revolution. I don’t think most people could have gotten this far.”