Luke laid his head on the pillow gently with his phone against his head. Ashton, of course, was on the other line.
"I'd love to hang with you this weekend, mate. But, I'm too sick. I think I have pneumonia." Ashton weeped while wiping his nose.
"You do not have pneumonia, you're being dramatic!" Luke said, laughing.
"I'm not, I think I might just stay in bed." Ashton replied.
"You need a doctor." Luke giggled.
"I've gotta go, my dads calling."
"Okay, take it easy, man." Luke said, he clicked the button on the phone as it beeped. He laid his head back on the pillow. Looking across the room, he glared at his mirror. On it, in the cracks of the awning was the photo of Michael. He smiled at it, slowly drifting off to sleep. He didn't even know he was asleep, it just hit him. Like he was under the influence of the Sand Man. He started wondering around a dark street, where, he didn't know! He was lost but for some reason he was okay, he didn't feel panicked or in any sort of danger. But up ahead was a street light, but he couldn't see what was under it, it was too foggy to see. But, he walked through and approached closer. It looked like a boy, no -- a man? He couldn't see! He just kept walking and walking as though the path to the light was endless. But he finally reached the pole.
"Michael?" He asked. He thought it was him. The boy turned and smiled at him. Nodding he smiled wider. The boy morphed into a cat, a black cat. He chased it down the street into an alley that looked unfamiliar to him, but he trailed down it, no matter how seemingly he thought it could be. The cat meowed, approaching a steam drain, the water systems from the building near by were turned on and the steam was hotter than a warm summer day.
"Here kitty." He whispered, the cat disappeared into the black night, it's echoes were shallow and quiet. Oh, this was a predicament. He couldn't see his familiar friend who led him on a wild goose chase -- no, a cat chase! He was now cold, he could feel the frost biting at the skin in his arms.
"MICHAEL." He shouted, "MICHAEL, COME BACK!"
"Luke?" Said a voice, it was his mothers. He opened his eyes, and there she was. Wide eyed and alarmed, she put a finger through his hair. "Luke, honey, what's wrong?"
He breathed deeply, shaken up.
"Nothing, mum. Just a bad dream." He said.
"Who's Michael?" She asked.
"Nobody! Just -- forget it, okay?" He said. She put her hand up, with a face of shock.
"Okay, okay. Calm down. I just got home and heard you screaming. I was worried." She said. Luke sighed.
"Well, I'm fine now..."
"Maybe you should stop reading those ridiculous stories on the net. What are they called?" She said, looking at the computer on his bureau.
"Creepy-pastas. Mum, look, I'm fine.. It was just a bad dream. I'm okay now, really." He interrupted. She sighed and touched his cheek. She clicked her tongue.
"Okay. Just... Never mind," she kissed his head, "Good night." She said. He smiled and shut his eyes once more.
"Night, mum."
***
A month had passed, still Michael felt he didn't belong. Rachael had visited most afternoons for study sessions, but he felt he'd made a subtle friendship with her. She was always talking about leaving the country and heading to exotic places.
"I could go to France, England, Greece." She said, "I could go anywhere and not be noticed. Just me, my note pad and a pen."
"Why a note pad and pen?" Michael asked. She bit the tip of her pencil, scratching at the yellow paint of the shaft. She looked away, and then back at Michael.
"Cause that's where I keep my poetry." She said, she smiled gently. Michael nodded and looked over at her back pack.
"Can I read some?" He asked, she nodded and got off the bed, over to the landing. Her backpack was already open, her math book poked out and brushed past her hand as she scooped up the notebook from the bottom. It was blue and had ribbon hanging down the spine. It was almost a journal. She flipped through it and found the poem of her choice. She opened her mouth slowly, looking down and then back up at Michael.
"It's okay, you don't have to read it." He said. She shook her head, biting her lip. She sighed heavily.
"It's called When Will They Come Home?" She started,
"They're here and then gone, in the flick of a light. Quick and fast like a thief in the night. Always away and never to stay, severance and separation are a tear drop away. Are they real, do they exist? To what I own and now permit. A humble home, a wooden chair, a crumpled up teddy bear. A broken arm a scabby knee, falling from the highest tree. Where were they when this is to be? It happens all too quickly. We grow too quick and die alone, without patience to ever own. Where were they, when were they there. I ask of life and live too bare. To now I sit and write anew, some how I wish I had known you. To find a place to call your own, when will they be coming home?"
Michael did not speak, he just stared at her. His eyes glassy by a sense of sorrow he felt for the girl. He knew what this was for.
"Your parents?" He asked. She nodded.
"Yeah... My-- my parents." She trembled at the lip. He felt as though he shouldn't of said that.
"You're aunt isn't so bad, is she?" He asked.
"No... But I don't take her for granted." She said. Michael looked away.
"Is that supposed to mean something?" He asked. She wiped away a tear that had trickled down her lip, and sniffled.
"I gotta go. Forget it." She said grabbing her books off the bed. Michael held onto her history book as she tried to pull it away.
"Rach...tell me."
She's shook her head and piled her books in her backpack, running for the stairs. He got off the bed and ran to the banister.
"Why do you keep running away from it?" he asked.
"It's so easy for you, isn't it Michael? Always pissing and moaning about home, and how you miss your friends and that oak tree with your name on it." She started to cry. "Home is family, family are the ones who raise you. My parents don't even know me. They ignore me and take off every six months."
"I'm not complaining, I'm just-"
"Just? Just what, Michael? You may be feeling abandoned, but you don't know what it's like to not know who you are." Rachael got closer up the stairs. Her tears just rolling and streaming.
"Well, at least I don't take my home life for granted."
"That's bullshit and you know it." She replied. Her tears still trickling down her cheeks.
"You're problem is that you feel too sorry for yourself." Michael said. Rachael, lifting her strength and anger into her hand, slapped it against his face. He gasped and fell close to his bedroom door. She didn't say anything, she just started down stairs. The last thing Michael heard was her shoes clunking on the boards, and a door slamming. He ran to his window, he could see her walking down the street. She kept walking, out of sight. Michael out his hand on his cheek. It was hot and pink.
**
Dear Luke,
I guess I just had most worst week. I lost the only friend I had, made fun of her dreams and walked all over her private life. But I didn't do it on purpose. I'm not trying to sound dramatic, but I need to get out of here. Every time I turn around, I see you and I just want to run back to Sydney. I feel like your spirit or whatever is reaching to me. I just want out. My mum has now gone batshit and found my letters to Calum about me running away. She made dad nail my windows shut, so now the hottest days are making me sweat like crazy. Currently I'm thinking that maybe leaving is my only option. That, or just locking myself in my room with no food or water. Simple protest. I don't think I can take this anymore. Please help me!
Michael xx
YOU ARE READING
Letters To Luke
Fanfiction"What would you do if you received a letter from someone you didn't know. Would you reply." Young Michael has just moved from Sydney to Brisbane, and is finding it hard to keep up with life, until he sends a letter to an old friend. Luke, shy and sw...
