One Hour To get Home.

Sleep-tight

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He had an hour to get home. His thoughts were a cacophony of nonsense blaring at him like a siren. It was just one time. He just wanted to let loose and have fun. Be a kid. But no, he couldn't do that. He knew the consequences. But when the offer dangled in front of him like a lollipop, he was a salivating sugar fiend. Of course, he said yes. How could he not? He had been crushing on her since seventh grade. But he knew his mom had problems.

The guilt of his actions was a blanket wrapped around his head, snuffing out the air in his lungs, his breathing coming out in gasps until it stopped altogether. But his oxygen didn't cut off. He was left with this culpability, and he knew he deserved it. It was his fault. When he arrived on the steps of his house, piercing red and blue were interfering with his vision. Wetness trailed down his cheeks, a roadmap of sadness, of failure. "I'm sorry." His voice echoed into the vast opaque darkness. But no one was listening. Not a person could hear his fragile plea for redemption. All that was discernible for a mile long was the jarring sound of a siren. He sprang into action, calling out to his mother, "Mom! I'm here. I'm sorry!" His voice was wobbly, sounding like a broken child, and that's what he was. Down to his core, he was broken. He only wished he wasn't."Can I help you, son?" Questioning, authoritative, the voice waded through the fog his brain had trapped him in, leaving him open, and vulnerable.

"Son?" Sterner now, heat drew closer to him, and a person moved closer to him. "M-My, mom," He stuttered out, like a middle schooler giving their first presentation. "Well, go on then. What about your mother?" Parental, the voice urged him, his tone a mask of his true Identity. It was too much, beat-beat-beat, his heart's song, speeding up in tempo. Aqueous apprehension poured through his veins. It was like he could feel the energy moving around. Finding a home in his arteries, he could feel their slithering 'welcome' "Kid?" Tone, rising like a mountain climber. It was like he had been shrouded in darkness, deafness, and a band of color, and sound came barging into his peace, causing him to jolt. Taking in a searing breath he met the person's gaze. The energy he had been ready to let Inhabitant him, was gone. Despondency and dismay flooded his body like a waving ocean, both were never long for departure, "hey, I asked you a question. Didn't your mama ever teach you to respect your superiors?"

It was like gravel had met his skin in a harsh greeting with the sting brought upon him. His throat worked at swallowing the apple-sized lump in his nautical. While his brain attempted to put together words. "Actually, sir, my mother was taken away in that ambulance," his voice was a piece of chalk that had been whittled to a tiny piece. The man grabbed for a black object on his chest, and a blinding glint shined into his eyes screaming at him to take notice. It read, Deputy Hutton. The Deputy pulled, what now could be described as a receiver, bringing it to the front of his mouth. "Yeah, Jimmy, I've got a young kid over here. Claims the woman's his mother," The Deputy's eyes stayed trained on him as if at any second he would start hyper-running. The Deputy nodded his head at him in an exaggerated lean, showing the bulging veins in his kneck.

"What's your name, kid?" He looks down at his shoes for a beat, staring at the minuscule squiggly letters etched into the raggedy shoes. M.L."Merek Lysander, sir" When a static muffled voice comes out of the equipment, Merek doesn't even try to strain his ears to decipher what was said. The Deputy nods his head at whatever the inaudible voice tells him, then sets it down on his uniform. "Alright, come with me, I'm 'gonna take you to your mom, kid," Merek pushed past the grating irritation that even though the Deputy knew his name he still referred to him as 'kid', like flicking an annoying bug off his shoulder, he followed the deputy to a once flashing car, sitting in the backseat like a criminal. The vehicle smelled of dispair and forgotten dreams, and stains marred the seat he was on 'causing his brain to go hay-wire with the possible things it could be. "How old are you, kid?" The Deputy asked, his eyes never wavering off the road. "I am fifteen, sir," Merek replies, his voice soft, hesitant. After that,