“No one asked you, Ken,” Patricia shot back at him.
“Well, they should. I think people are afraid because I tell it how it is.”
“You tell it how you see it,” Patricia said. She rolled her eyes at Reuben. “There’s a big difference.”
“To you maybe!”
“Anyway, there’s enough misery in this world without you adding to it.” Patricia winked. “I swear, if they made murder legal in this city, I’d seriously consider it.”
“Not if I got you first,” Ken said.
Patricia moved across in front of him, blocking him from Reuben’s line of sight. “Don’t listen to him. You get home now. I bet you it’s already arrived.”
Just past noon by the time Reuben got home. A warm spring day, his clothes clung to his sweating skin. He paused before going in. No sign of the delivery. His shoulders slumped. His heart heavy. It wouldn’t do any good to wait outside all day. Better to face it.
Reuben unlocked his door, the hinges creaking as he entered. “Don’t suppose the delivery person has been yet, Mum?” Although why he wasted his time asking … If there had been a delivery, it would have been waiting for him. “Do you think they’ve forgotten about me? Or have they rejected me? I didn’t even consider that.” He’d considered it. He’d considered it every damn day for the past few years, but his mum didn’t need to hear his self-doubt.
His mum’s favourite vase, a clay pot Reuben had made for her at school years ago. He filled it with water and arranged the white tulips. The lump in his throat tightened his words. “Maybe it’s a good thing. It will be nice to thank the person for delivering it when they turn up.”
Reuben had spent the afternoon watching the door like a dog waiting for their owner to come home. By the time he sat down for dinner, it had gotten dark outside. No one went out after dark in Fury. Scrambled eggs and toast, he pushed it around his plate, the knot in his stomach banishing his hunger. He tried a mouthful of the rubbery egg, the salty butter, the crunchy toast. His favourite meal, but it tasted like shit today.
He shoved the plate away and blinked at the window by the door. His eyes were sore from trying to see through the darkness. “They’re not coming, are they, Mum?”
The tulips remained in the vase on the kitchen worktop. He moved them so his mum could see them better. While arranging the flowers, he said, “I’ve done everything required of me. I’m fit. I’m healthy. I’m keen …”
His mother’s eyes sparkled. He’d drawn a thousand sketches of her over the years. His current favourite sat in the frame he’d made. Never a perfect drawing, but what would be? Perfect would be her still here now. He’d arranged trinkets and ornaments in front of the picture. A small stone heart. He’d spent the night of her funeral whittling it despite being blinded by his tears. It sat next to a wooden stick wrapped in red, blue, and yellow fabric. Acorns and fir cones, the acorns wrinkled. They’d been there since autumn. She’d died seven years previously. It still stung like it had happened yesterday. Neighbours and friends had plied him with all the usual clichés like time’s a great healer, and it’ll get easier. If that was the case, seven years was nowhere near long enough.
The eyes he’d drawn had taken on a life of their own. Right now they said what he didn’t want to hear. But he had to accept it. “You’re right.” Reuben bit his quivering bottom lip. His view blurred. His voice wavered. “I’m not getting a delivery today. And it’s not like they’ll ever tell me why. Nothing. Ghosted. Application rejected. Now get on with your sad and lonely life. Dig holes somewhere. Work in manufacturing or agriculture.” He sighed. “I wanted to make you and Dad proud of me.”
Reuben drew a deep and stuttered breath. He nodded at the picture. “Tomorrow’s another day. I know. Maybe tomorrow, eh?” The flame of hope in his chest flickered only to be smothered again when the shadows closed in. They’d not chosen him. To deny the reality would only prolong his suffering. No matter what tomorrow brought, his next step had to be acceptance.
Falling onto his creaking bed, Reuben rolled over onto his side, pulled his knees up to his chest, and curled into the foetal position. Tomorrow might be another day, but it wouldn’t be like any other. Tomorrow, like when his mum had passed, would mark a fundamental change. The day he had to accept the life he’d spent the past several years planning, didn’t belong to him. A dream that would never become reality.
Thank you for reading chapter one of Fury: Tales from Beyond These Walls book one. You can check out the entire book HERE
About the Author
Like most children born in the seventies, Michael grew up with Star Wars in his life, along with other great stories like Labyrinth, The Neverending Story, and as he grew older, the Alien franchise. An obsessive watcher of movies and consumer of stories, he found his mind wandering to stories of his own.
Those stories had to come out.
He hopes you enjoy reading his work as much as he does creating it.
Contact
www.michaelrobertson.co.uk
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Also by Michael Robertson
THE SHADOW ORDER:
The Shadow Order
The First Mission - Book Two of The Shadow Order
The Crimson War - Book Three of The Shadow Order
Eradication - Book Four of The Shadow Order
Fugitive
