Stars

The Boy

Rion

I walked down the small strip of sidewalk. The houses to my right were broken, abandoned, the paint slowly peeling off in long rolls. Their shingles fell and the walls sagged with the weight of the air around it. I took a deep breath, watching as the cold air surrounded it and made it into a small white cloud. I closed my eyes listening to the sound of my converse hitting the pavement; it echoed quietly through the undergrowth encasing the houses. I opened my eyes the sun slightly dipping below the skyline. I hunched my shoulders and continued walking, keeping my head down. I got to the end of the street and turned right, heading to the only place I knew.

***

I stepped through the small red door. The house was just as abandoned as all the others on the block. It had been tagged once on the outside by a small gang, but the paint was mostly peeled off anyway. It was a random collection of colors. The roof was a dark grey, the door was red, the peeling paint on the outside of the house was pale blue, the wooden steps that were rotting away from time were of a deep purple. I asked Mak why he even considered buying this place. He said its looks reminded him of life. How random it could be and how pretty it could look but soon it would just rot away and leave you in the dust like everything else.

On the inside the house was a complete mess. It looked like people came here specifically to dump their trash to skip the small dump fees. Trash littered the floor...the floor. The floor was practically nonexistent. It was missing boards showing the cracking concrete beneath. Stains from God-knows-what were everywhere. The cabinets were thrown open, some doors hanging off of their hinges. An ovular dining table stood awkwardly in between four mix match chairs, many of which were missing pieces. Evening light forced its way through a grimy window, illuminating a small living room area. A green, moldy couch sagged against one wall. The smell of marijuana was overpoweringly strong. I walked closer, the coffee table was filled with Playboy magazines, burnt out joints, and old heroine needles. Mak was sprawled out across the couch, an empty whiskey bottle clutched in his hand. I sighed. As I stepped closer I could see more than that one whiskey bottle. Vodka, wine, beer, you name it the empty bottle was somewhere on the floor.

"Hey," I spoke to the man on the couch. He didn't budge, a small snore escaped into the air. "Hey," I kicked the couch, neither man nor couch moved. I rolled my eyes, "Mak, get up." I tapped his shoulder, his hand lazily swatted at mine. "Fine then I'll leave." I turned and pretended to walk away. Turning back, I could see that my old friend still had yet to move. I returned to standing beside him. A small idea popped into my head. Grabbing his ankles I began to pull. Mak moved slightly realizing he was being pulled off the couch.
"Come on buddy, get up," Mak was nearly halfway off the couch when he realized completely what was happening. He grabbed the couch cushion but it did little to save him from smacking onto the ground. He groaned as he stood up, coughing. He looked at me.

Mak was a tall man. His broad shoulders gave way to muscular arms, his short sleeve t-shirt clung to him as if he were its drug. His pants hung low on his waist, random stains dotting them just like the inside of the house. His dirty blonde hair was just below his ears and looked like he hadn't brushed it in years. His bright blue eyes pierced through me. "What the hell? I was enjoying my nap."

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," I replied looking back at him. His eyes narrowed. 

"Bullshit. Even when I'm drunk I can tell when you're lying," He tossed the empty whiskey bottle onto the couch. 

"Fine, I wanted to know if you wanted anything from the store. I'm going tomorrow," I watched as he turned and threw himself down on the couch. Looking at him I noticed, if he were to clean himself up a bit he would be rather handsome. I imagined him, cleaned, well dressed, his breath smelling minty and not like stale beer...I knew it would never happen. 

"That stupid record store pay you enough finally to feed yourself?" he laughed, a deep rumbling sound that echoed through the dim halls of the home. "Can you pick up some alcohol please? I'm out," His eyes faced the large box television on the other wall. The screen was lit up with static. 

"No, get your own fermented crap," I mumbled under my breath. Mak looked at me, I stared back. A small smile tugged at my lips, and we began laughing. I held my stomach, Mak clapped his hands together, tears slowly streaming down his cheeks. Our laughter echoed through the home seeming to brighten it up even though the light was disappearing from the windows. 

"Gosh kid, I don't know what I'd do without you," Mak wiped the remaining tears from his face. 

"Of course I'd get you alcohol. I know you can't survive without it," I chuckled. Mak nodded. I could faintly see the long scar that traced from the bottom of his ear to his chin in the fading light. Mak had a hard life. One that he refused to remember, the scar being the only remainder of the incident. Some people think that's why Mak is the way he is. I knew differently. He was the way he was because he wanted to be this way. It was his crutch. He could deflect people's views by stating the incident, but I knew the truth. He liked being drunk all the time. He liked to get high. He liked the feeling of heroine. And in this small abandoned shelter that he called home, nobody could reach him. Not even the memories that he had so long forgotten.