Generation: Young Warriors

Jaxon

Alone again. Jaxon thought, On my birthday. He looked in the cabinets. “Nothing.” he said and slammed them shut. He opened the fridge and there, sitting on the top shelf, was a depressed, moldy apple. He closed it. “How could she forget?” He said, “My own mom!” He was turning thirteen. Today was supposed to be a big day. Cake, ice cream, presents, balloons. That’s only for normal families, he thought. Of course she would forget. It wouldn’t be the first time. He sighed and walked back to his room. He laid down on his bed and laid down to listened to the late night sounds of New York City. He hated it there. Sure, there was plenty to do, but why do it alone? He had no friends, and his mom was a drunk. She was either passed out or gone. She’s been gone for two days. No surprise there. The longest she’s been gone is three weeks. He closed his eyes. Right before he was about to fall asleep, he heard the front door open. He got out of bed and walked towards the living room. His mom was here alright. With two guys. She turned and looked at him. Her eyes were bloodshot. “Hey Jaxon,” she said in aa slurred voice, “meet my friends John and Sam! They’re gonna spend the night.” she said. They smiled and walked into the kitchen, probably looking for something to eat. Good luck, he thought. “Mom, why are they here?” She looked at him like he was stupid. “I already told you. To spend the night. Duh!” She started giggling. “Mom…” He stared at her in disbelief. “It’s… It’s my birthday!” He could feel the anger rising. “Is it?” she asked. “Yes. It’s been on the same day for the past thirteen years! How can you forget? Oh, I know. You’re so drunk you can’t even remember your own name!” All the anger and sadness was pouring out of him now. The two guys came in. “I can too!” She said. “Amber? No. Fall? No. Winter? Is it winter?” she asked. She looked at the two guys for information. They shrugged. “No! It’s Autumn! Autumn! They didn’t even know your name!” “So what? If you don’t like them here, then leave.” He stared at her. “Fine. I’ll go.” He went to his room. He packed a bag with two outfits, a jacket, and a flashlight. He put on his shoes and walked towards the door. He took one last look at his mother, who was in the kitchen ordering pizza. Then he walked out. He walked down the streets of New York for about two hours. Nobody bothered him. If they did, they wouldn’t get anything out of him except a flashlight and some clothes. He walked into an alleyway out of curiosity, he almost stepped on a person. It was a girl. A pretty girl. She was dirty, sure, but she was seriously pretty. She was about his age, maybe a little younger. She was in a cardboard box wrapped in a fuzzy brown blanket. And she was hugging a box of chocolate donuts. They looked delicious. “Well,” he said quietly, “it is my birthday.” He snatched the box and ran down the alley into the street.