Now that the trial has been put to rest, Rueben believes that life is on an upward trend. It's not long before he understands he is sadly mistaken.
Around every corner lies a new demon lurking with the desire to rip the rug out from under him. He m...
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SEVEN YEARS AGO: "𝗠ason, hurry up!" Angel hurriedly whispered in his ear.
He rolled his eyes and bit down on his tongue, concentrating further as he placed the two ends of the broken paperclips into the lock of his front door. His father was away on business, and he was to be staying with his best friend, Angel Morales, two houses down the street, but his parents sucked. They didn't allow him to play video games because they said it 'taints young minds' – whatever the hell that means. So here he stood, focusing on picking the lock on his own house.
He had stupidly left his key inside when his father shoved him out the door earlier this Sunday morning for an early service at the Orthodox Christian Church they were members of.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Angel whined again.
"Of course it is," Mason shot back, "I live here. It's fine."
As the syllables left his tongue, the lock clicked and became undone. He stood up straight, letting out a huff of victory as he looked at his friend. His presently worried face was now shining in glee; Angel was just as much of a sucker for video games as he was. He pushed a handful of his long, curly, blonde hair out of his face and stepped before him, entering the living room.
Mason looked around for another second before he joined him and shut the door.
"Take your shoes off – my dad will murder me."
"Okay," Angel answered, kicking his sneakers off and leaving them on the mat.
He moved further into the room and walked over to the shrine built for his late mother. Mason placed the paper clips next to the key he'd forgotten in front of the picture of her and his father on their honeymoon. Oftentimes he wondered what she was like, but he didn't dwell too much on it. He was only two when she died; she was just another stranger to him.
"C'mon, let's play in my room."
Angel ran past him, causing him to laugh out loud. His best friend – his only friend, really – was the same age as him; thirteen and bright. He was one of the smartest kids in his grade, and he even sang in the choir at their church. It wasn't a shock as to why his parents hid him from things that seemed like nothing to him. His father was a strict man, but at least he let him live.
"Man, I hate your room," his friend scrunched his nose, falling backward onto his bed.
Mason looked around, agreeing. The walls were painted a light shade of black and almost every inch of one side was filled with military and video game posters. Black curtains hung from the rods above his windows and almost all of his furniture was the same color. The only thing that he got to choose were the colors of his bedsheets – red. His favorite color out of them all.
