Spirit

Return To Darkness

Since that fateful day, 15 years have past and now I'm 24 years old. I work at Pixar as one of the script editors and I have to say, it's one of the coolest jobs anyone could ever have. I mean, for someone who skipped out on college, this is pretty hardcore. And I'm proud.

I'm happy now, I perceived things and actually did something about my  problems and misery instead of feeling sorry for myself all the time. I live in a new, clean, part of town, have some great friends who love me as much as I love them, and I have a beautiful girlfriend who is just completely amazing.   And it's all thanks to him who ruined me.

"Naruto! Can you come give us a hand with this?" I turn to wear the masculine voice came from to see my next-door-neighbour leaning out into the corridor air. He's wearing a yellow Canteen bandana and an old, light blue shirt splattered with dried white paint, as well as dirty, denim overalls that come up and tie firmly around his thick, toned, abdomen.

"Sure, no problem, I got time!" I cheer. I trot around to the door next to mine and step in. A small family lives next to me and they're remodelling one of their spare rooms for the new baby they're expecting.

"'Just need another pair of strong hands to help me get this painting up on the wall." He shows me over to the room and I see the painting.

"Hey! This is the painting I got you guys for Christmas isn't it!" I point out happily. Last Christmas I asked one of my colleges if they could do an illustration of this guys family. When he got it to me, I didn't expect it to be so huge. He printed it on a canvas and everything. I'm really grateful to him and their family was  so happy about the painting.

He told me the illustration was inspired by The Croods movie in 2014. It contains bright vivid colours and has a very homely and comfortable feel to it. It's drawn with the father holding his pregnant wife in his right arm and his young handsome son in his left. I was really proud to give this great painting to them, they were really happy when they got it.

However...I'm not really for it but, this family can be heavily opinionated.

Men are stronger, she's too fat, he's too skinny, homosexuals are sinners, black people can't be trusted, Barak Obama is a phoney who deserves death... There's more, way more that I don't feel I'd like to share. Yeah, they're homophobic, and racist, and don't really take into consideration what other people think, but nonetheless, these are the people who took care of me when I needed it, these are the people I spend my holidays with, that's the kid I throw the ball with, that's the man who treats me like his son, that's the  woman who checks on me everyday after work with a fresh hot bowel of ramen to make sure I'm ok. These people are my family and I care about them no matter what.

"Alright son, so on my three we'll lift it onto the hook. 'Kay?"

"'Kay"

I bend my knees and grip my left hand onto the  bottom corner of the painting, and with my right hand, support the middle end of the framing.

"Alright, one...two...an' three!" We heave upwards, our hands still gripping at the sturdy wooden frame.

"Okay son, little to the right."

"Okay!" We grunt.

I wobble backwards just slowly enough for him to tell me when to stop.

"Yep, right 'er."

Our feet come to a halt and we  readjusted our grip, getting ready to push up the painting onto the hook.

"And... Heave!"

We thrust up a little higher and slide the painting onto the hook.

"Haha, not bad ma' boy!" He bellows  and gives me a big, proud slap on the back.

"Naruto! Good morning darling, how are you going?" Vickie, the mother greeted.

"Morning Vic, I'm great, you?" I ask politely, while massaging my palms.

"Great darl, you wanna' stay and have something to eat?" She offers.

"That's tempting thank you, but I'll have to pass, I really gotta get to work." I wave and thank them again on the way out.

I duck back to my apartment and jog over to the cream, grey counter to grab my bag. Checking the closest side with no luck, then the next, then I check the front of the counter to be met by stacks and stacks of past script and plotting ideas.
"Where is it?"

I look under the dining table and on the chairs for my bag. It's bright orange so you would assume that it'd be easy to find...

I check over around my brown, leather couch. Nothing. I check the bathroom, my room, the spare rooms. Nothing. I sigh and groan in frustration because I'm going to miss the train.

I drag myself over to the couch to try and calm down.

"Maybe I should just skip out today?" I mutter to myself.

I sigh again and rest my hand over my forehead, breathing harshly at the stress. I can't afford to miss the train today. If I miss the train then I'll be late, if I'm late, I'll miss important meetings or fail to deliver documents and scripts which could jeopardise the outcome of future films, and if that happens I'll piss off my boss and if I piss him off, I'll lose my job!

Another, but agonising sigh escapes my mouth. I need food...

Struggling lazily, I make it off the couch and stalk over to the pantry. "Please god let there be ramen." I pray and whip the door open.

I scan through the cupboard frantically for about a minute to find myself deeply disappointed. "Damn. No ramen..."

I close the door slowly and hopelessly, waiting to here the 'click' sound to indicate the security of the closed door.

I take a few steps to the left and end up in front of the fridge. I grab the handle and pull it open. Looking around the top half of the fridge, idiotically  not noticing my bag on the bottom shelf!

"AH HAH!"

I snatch my bag off the shelf almost tipping over the can of whipped cream in the process. Checking the clock on the wall above my window I realise that I have to leave NOW.

"I can still make it!!!" I yell out running through the corridors of my apartment building.

It only takes a five minute walk to get from my place to the train station, not bad but considering the train will get here in five minutes is bad luck. There's still a busy crossing I have to wait at in order to get to the subway, and grey looking days like today are usually the busiest. I might make it if I sprint and dodge cars, it's risky but I rather get hit by a car than loose my job beside I'm pretty sturdy y'know.

Running through the streets and slipping around people I somehow make it to the front of the small crowd at the traffic lights. Damn, I just missed my window and now the vehicles are flooding in. Okay, okay, after the white Subaru.

My heart pounds in my chest and I prepare myself to sprint across the car littered street. My opportunity's about to arrive, cold droplets of water sprinkle my face, but I'm too focused on the cars to notice the rain.

The white Subaru zooms past and I leap forward, running, running, running, watching and watching until I slip on a wet drain. I lose my footing and the alarming horn of a colossal Mack truck slaps me in the face. My heart beats so strong that it moves my chest, my eyes so wide that it burns.

What felt like inches away from being pulped by the truck I find myself being pulled by a strong arm, dragged across the street, to the other side of the road. My breathing is ragged and I look up to my saviour.

"Are you a dobe?" He asks rhetorically.

His skin is pale and his eyes are as black as coal. His breathing is more intense than it should be.

"W-why'd you save me? I didn't ask for your help y'know!" I yell.

"I don't know... my body just moved."