-All but of a distant memory-

Even in the darkest of times, there is a light shining on the other side. Just search for it, it will be there.

-7 years later-
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

 The irritating buzzing always seems the loudest early in the morning; it startles the once sound-asleep teen. He buries his head deeper into his Sticker Man's pillow, desperately trying to drown out the aggressive beeping.

  Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! The alarm screams louder and louder with every bounce of vibration, until it fell off the nightstand, landing inches away from his ear. Luckily, it was unable to go any further, as the cord was too short. James allows it one final beep before pulling the cord from the electrical socket with all his might. Heavy, sleep-deprived eyes shot wide open as his ears rang vigorously against his skull. He turns his half-asleep head, wasting much-needed energy. Glaring at the clock, James groans with a tinge of annoyance as he stares at the blank clock. Scrambling around, he looks for his cell, but gives up minutes later.

He sighs as the memories of the past invades his once restful night of sleep. He groans softly under his breath before slowly fluttering his eyes shut, hopefully for a different dream. A shiver runs across his once warm body with a slight breeze trying to invade through the small hole of the once fuzzy material. James groans louder as he brings the blanket closer, covering his messy orange hair. He tries his best to shut out the sun before it could blind him during its daily routine of rising. He squeezes his eyes tighter, hoping for a chance to get another minute or two of sleep. Tossing back and forth, he shuffles under the weight of the thick blanket and yanks it off weakly.

"Please don't eat me," he softly cries in his sleep, feeling the thick fabric, tangling around his scrawny knees and legs, trapping him, making him bed-bound as the sun rises higher in the sky. Radiant light shines through the chipped window. Specks of light illuminate from a wooden mirror resting in the back of the room onto the lonely magnify glass leaning on the window edge, forming a faint red blotch in the middle of the dozing kid's brow. A soft whimper escapes from the small child's lips as the red blotch grew bigger and deeper in size and color.

"Food," mumbles the young man as the sun continues to fry his flesh. "Wait! Why does my head feel like it is on fire?" Inhaling the stench of his burning skin, he exclaims, "I am on fire... hmmm... Wait! I am on fire!" Quickly leaping out of bed, but unable to move his legs, James slams his head hard on the floor. Managing to scramble to his feet, James senses his anxiety levels rising with the intense feeling of his flesh burning. He pushes up with all his might and tries to untangle the rather thick knot binding his legs together. After yanking the fabric apart, he rushes to the door like a madman, exclaiming, "Need to go to the bathroom! Need water!"

He barely grazes the tip of the knob with the edges of his finger before realizing his feet were slipping from underneath while his head and the rest of his upper body were leaning forward. It happened way too fast for him to react as his head collides with the rusty old doorknob. He continues his descent until he meets the floor. While holding his throbbing head, he moans, "Ow."

He slowly rises to his feet and wobbles back to bed. After wrapping the thick purple blanket around his trembling shoulders, he mumbles, "Bed... need sleep..." Before he could finish his sentence, he crashes to the floor again after slipping on some of his comic books that line the bedroom floor. His dad always nagged, he was "going to fall one of these days if he didn't pick them up." He frowns at the sad reality of his dad being right while he rests his spinning head on the cold solid oak floor.

"Stupid logic," he grumbles before blacking out.

***

Ten minutes before James fell, Aaron was sitting downstairs in the kitchen, sipping his steaming hot cup of joe. He savors the hint of hazelnut running across his tongue, tickling every taste bud. As it slides down his narrow throat, he enjoys the warm liquid flooding throughout his body. Aaron stares patiently, waiting for the little fireball of warmth to show its blinding face. He admires a small flock of tiny birds, gliding in and out of the bare apple trees, dodging branches with each turn. Out of all the birds that flew by, one catching his attention. A little bright yellow bird with a dash of orange on the edge of his feathers. It bangs its small beak on the stain glass window, waiting impatiently to be let in. Aaron nods his head as if he understood what the bird is saying as he unlatches the lock and lifts up the glass window above his head. Allowing the cold air to wrap its arms around his shivering shoulders, he barely notices a flash of yellow feathers zipping past his face and landing gently on top of the spigot. The small bird turns his head, locking his beady black eyes with Aaron’s, who watches with amazement as he listens carefully to the birds chirping softly. Closing his eyes, he relishes the harmonious melody of the small bird's chirping as it faintly bangs off his eardrums. A small thump on the ceiling disrupts his peaceful mind. His eyes shoot wide open in surprise. Seconds later, another thump bangs on the ceiling above. This frightens the once-content bird. He snaps his beak shut, cutting off the melody, and flying away in terror. Aaron sits there, watching the innocent creature fly away to the nearby apple tree, following his friends.

"Bang!"

Looking up at the large dark green pendant light hanging overhead, Aaron watches as it swings violently back and forth, tossing tiny clumps of plaster into his cup of muddy brown liquid. Hmm... base on all the ruckus happening up above my head, I guess James is waking up. Smiling to himself, he thought, He's finally showing some responsibility by wake up for school on time. But maybe I should check up on him, just to make sure. He stands up from the old oak, carved kitchen chair with a groan. His muscles didn't want to move just yet.

 Fortunately, his mind was in charge of his actions as he stretches his angry worn-out muscles.

"James honey, time for school!" Aaron yells, hoping James is up and, at least, dress in his uniform for once. Rushing up the stairs, almost losing his balance with a simple misstep, Aaron quickly snatches on to the railing for dear life.  Breathing heavily, he looks down at the three steps. He could have broken his neck if he hadn't grabbed the handle in time. Shaking the horrific image from his troubled mind, he continues to walk slowly up the rest of the steep stairs with a tight grip on the railing just in case. He takes another deep breath in, as he was almost there. Stepping on the final wooden step, he unwraps his fingers from the railing and breath out with a sigh of accomplishment with finally making it up the four slippery steps.

"Man, why did I buy a house with stairs if I am so afraid of them?" he sighs.

He turns the corner, heading for James's bedroom door which have a rather long message attach to the wooden frame. He takes a long breath before attempting to read what his son have to say: Hello, visitor, you are about to enter James's bedroom. However, there are several rules to follow before you turn that knob. Just safety rules, we don't want anyone one to get hurt or mangle on such a beautiful day.

1. First rule: 11:00 pm to 7:00 am is when the danger zone is active. Do Not, I repeat, Do Not Enter. For anyone feeling brave or wanting a quick death, come in.

2. Second: Clean up after yourselves, people who act like pigs, will be terminated.

3. The third and final rule: A shut door means no one is allowed. I will not hesitate to bite off your head.

Thank you for listening to my simple demands. Have a lovely day.

Aaron shrugs his shoulders and let out a slight chuckle. Carefully twisting the knob to the side, he pushes the heavy bedroom door open an inch. "Honey," he gasps, while standing in the doorway, unable to move his body. His eyes, glue on the young teen lying on the ground, unconscious. His face flat on the floor with a rather thick, dull purple blanket spread across his small frame. Several comics scatter around his feet. "Well, I guess I was right," he groans, frowning at logic for hurting his son as he tiptoe carefully around his body. He exhales before kneeling down to the ground. He spots tiny droplets of copper-red liquid splatter across the wooden floor, surrounding his son’s head. He holds his breath as a stench of burnt flesh engulfs his senses. Trembling with fear, he feels moisture stinging in the back of his eyes, threatening to break free. It escapes down his cheek, splashing onto the small dots of blood, creating small bloody pools, seeping through his white sock, staining the fabric.

"Please don't be dead," Aaron prays, bawling his eyes out.

"Daddy?" A soft, raspy voice tickles the tips of his ears.

Aaron stares in amazement at the young boy, making the most beautiful sound on earth. Faint whimpering escapes from his swollen, bleeding lips. Crawling to his little boy's side, Aaron embraces his body in his arms. Holding his child's face, he leans in closer for a better look and notices several small, bright pink scrapes on the edge of his chin and his cheeks. His eyes widen in fear, as he spots tiny specks of blood intertwine in his orange bangs. Aaron brushes the sticky clump of bangs aside, revealing a rather deep and inflame burn along his son's pale forehead.

"Oh, James," he cries, covering his nose with the tip of his hoodie as the stench was unbearable. Taking a long-need breath in, Aaron savors the faint lavender scent of his body wash. It fills his nostrils with a pleasant aroma and clears his mind. As he quickly dries his moist eyes on his sleeve, Aaron gently rocks the small teen's body back and forth, tightening his grip with every minute his son didn't stir. Aaron runs his fingers through his matted reddish-orange hair, refraining his touch from coming in contact with his small, faintly battered face. While making sure to avoid his forehead entirely, Aaron whimpers, "Honey... Honey..."

He unconsciously jabs his fingernails into the small teen's shoulder as he tightens his grip. Feeling his anger bubbling up in his throat, he squeezed his eyes shut and grinds his teeth.

"Why did you do this to him?" Aaron vents to the air. "Why did you do it to all of us?"

"Dad... Dad, you hurting me," James cries out in pain, struggling to move. It feels like his lungs are going to pop under his dad's tight bear hug. "I can't... I can't breathe," he chokes. Looking down, Aaron's eyes widen in terror at what he is staring at�" his son gasping for some much-needed air. James tries his best to grab a hold of his dad's arm, to remove it off of his waist. Aaron immediately pulls his arm away from son’s body, allowing his him to breathe. He swallows the rest of his anger as far down as he could. Sensing his tense muscles relaxing, he yanks his fingernail out his son's shoulder.

"O-M-G! I am so sorry, James. I didn't mean to," Aaron yelps, covering his mouth with his hands in shock. "What have I done?" he cries as he stares at the four large fingernail indentions embed in his son's shoulder.

James gasps, choking on the crisp fall air, trying his hardest to stuff as much air as possible into his lungs. He savors the experience of breathing out each breath and enjoying the air brushing against his nostrils. It tickles his nose hairs, as it flew through the exit. Aaron feels fresh moisture, stinging the back of his eyes, threatening to fall with more determination. Blinking violently, he continues to suck in a giant ball of cold air, puffing out his cheeks. Then, he slowly exhales, trying to fight back his stubborn tears, swallowing hard on the large lump, quivering up his throat. Simultaneously, Aaron hiccup and sobs.

"Huh," James gasps. Looking up, he blinks in astonishment, trying to comprehend what he is seeing. His dad, a man who never cries, is sitting on the ground silently sobbing to himself. James watches the sorrowful little water droplets sliding down his dad's cheeks, dripping down his chin. James squeezes his eyes shut with each tear drop splashing salty wet liquid in his open wounds. He bites down on his bottom lip as each one of his cuts starting to sizzle violently, fuming with rage. Clutching his cheeks, he hisses loudly under his breath. Breathing in slowly, James denies his screams of pain from being unleashed into the air.

"Dad... why are you crying?" James asks in disbelief.

"I am not crying... I just have dust in my eye. That's all," Aaron denies. "Well, shouldn't you be getting ready for school now?" he asks, avoiding the question and the concern in his son's eyes.

He lifts James up off his lap and stumble to his feet. Wobbling slightly, trying to keep his balance, Aaron laughs with a big grin on his face. "Well, I guess my legs still want to be in bed."

James tries to push up from his knees despite his body begging him not to. He could feel his legs wobble tremendously with not being about to find any source of balance to stand still. He feels his muscles screaming in agony as he continues to stand. Gripping his dad's hoodie for support, he clutches his stomach, not wanting to puke with the room spinning around his head. While holding his throbbing head still for a minute, James struggle to keep his dinner down. But the feeling of his stomach acid crawling up his throat, burning everything it touches makes him queasy. Swallowing harder, he finally chokes down the putrid liquid.

"Remember to wear your uniform the school assigned you," Aaron order.

"Yes," James gulps, swallowing the rest of the putrid substance down. He removes his sweaty fingers from the edge of his dad's hoodie. Then, he turns to the side with a slight stumble. He grumbles in a low voice of how much he hates the idea of getting up this early for school. However, there was one thing that ticks him off more�"the new dumb school rules. They state: "All students and staff are only supposed to dress according to what the school says. No freedom of expression can fit in this incredibly strict dress code rule book."

He blinks away the salty tears, trying to clear his vision to see. As he looks around the pig sty he calls his room, he hopes there is at least a decent, clean shirt around.

Quietly, under his breath, James grumbles, "School stinks." He smiles when he finally found a white button-down shirt carelessly lying over the lamp beside his bed. James sniffs the light material for any hint of a bad odor. He grins even wider with the satisfaction of having one clean shirt left. He tosses it aside on the bare mattress below. As he rubs his forehead, he accidentally brushes his fingers against the small oozing, burnt flesh. He swiftly turns around to the blaring sun and spat with disgust, "You did this, you evil little pest."

"Oh, don't get your feathers all ruffled up because the sun made one mistake. This little bundle of fire has helped in many ways, one it helps you from looking like a ghost. It also helps your body from freezing to death. Lastly, let's not forget that the sun is helping you from getting sick for the whole fifteen years you've been alive," Aaron lectured with a grin, pointing a finger at his son's face. "And you, mister, better hurry up. No more diddle dawdling."

Grumbling under his breath, James looks away from the evil sun and his dad's face. He asks his dad to leave, so he can get ready in peace for another day of school.

"Sure, son," Aaron grins, turning his head to leave his son be. But something stops him in his tracks. A sensation of guilt pounding in his gut, screaming at him for failing to do more to help. Glancing back one last time, he wonders, what could I have done differently to help this situation? Unfortunately, nothing came to his mind that will make a difference in James's condition.

"Ugh," James groans, clutching his head in pain, feeling a wave of dizziness smacking him across his face each time he tries to move. "Maybe food will help this horrible headache. Yeah, definitely. Food will help any ailment." James smiles while his stomach starting to growl faintly. "You like the idea too, don't you, little guy?" He rubs his rumbling stomach. "Let's get food, but first..." He grabs his mother's old baseball cap and pulls it over his rather spiky hair. He desperately wants to hide the unpleasant burn with his long bangs under his cap. He hisses quietly with each strain of his hair pressing against his open wounds. "There. Looking good, handsome." James proudly grins with each pose in the full-length mirror as he admires his rather good looks.

"Um, James, if you want some privacy, make sure everyone leaves first," Aaron chuckles.

"Dad... I... I... I...I... was sure you left," James stumbles over his words, feeling a big, red blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Breakfast is ready for you and your little belly friend," Aaron tease. "Meet you two downstairs! Oh, I almost forgot about the other one. What did you call him? … Oh, James Junior? Yeah, he's not allowed to go with you. He needs to and will remain here in the house until you get home. I repeat, No, you cannot take him to school, like last time. He is not an excuse for not doing your homework because he has no hands."

James beams a brighter shade of red as his dad continues to talk. "Stupid Sam convincing me to play truth or dare," James mumbles angrily under his breath. "Can we forget about it already? We were nine," he shouts before grabbing his beat-up gray rucksack and swiftly, swinging it roughly over his shoulder.

Aaron watches in amazement as an unfamiliar hand-carved wooden feather soaring through the air as if it is floating in the wind. It bounces harshly against his son's rucksack for a rough landing.

"Sorry, Sammy," James sighs, wishing he hadn't called Sam stupid behind his back. He knows, for a fact, Sam would never do that to him. He is one of those guys who didn't have a mean bone in his body. He had never cursed or even insulted anyone in his whole life consciously. Chuckling to himself, James mumbles, "If I ever told him how many times he had offended me in his sleep or when his emotions took over his body, I think it would break him or destroy his very soul. However, when he does catch an insult on the tip of his tongue, he will usually beg for the person's forgiveness, even if it takes days or months." He chuckles at the distant memories.

"James?" a familiar voice interrupts his thoughts.

"Huh?" James gasps, realizing he is still standing in the same spot he had been standing on earlier. He hasn't even moved an inch. "Dad?" James asks, shooting his head up without thinking, clutching it as the room began to spin, regretting his action for not taking it slow. He moans in agony as his brain pounds angrily against his batter skull. Reaching up, trying to keep his head still with his other hand, James feels something rather strange on the left side of his head, a little below his burn. Cautiously touching the bulging lump, he feels moisture rubbing against his fingertips.  Looking at the red marks on his skin, James feels his stomach starting to flip, every second he stares at the copper-red blood. He heaves forward to allow the burning liquid is crawling up his throat to be free. Pitching forward more, he falls to his knees as he feels too weak to stand. Scrambling to his feet, Aaron watches in horror as his son collapses in his hands.

"James? James?" Aaron calls out in terror.

James's eyes gently flutter open with the faint sound of a familiar voice screaming his name in the distance. He looks around, trying to focus on what happened. He remembers the sensation of stomach acid crawling up his throat, then nothing. He realizes he is lying on the floor with something supporting his back and head. When did I fall? He wonders. Lifting his head slowly, not feeling good as he spots two Aarons staring at him with fear in their glossy green eyes. James blinks with not being able to believe his eyes. Was he seeing double?

"Are you okay, honey?" both Aarons asks in unison.

"Dad, why are there two of you?" James croak.

"Are you sure you want to go to school today?" Aaron asks

Wiggling out of his dad's grip, holding his breath, bending forward, and reaching up to his knees, James gasps heavily, waiting a minute for the grogginess to pass. Pulling with all his might, he ignores his screaming muscles while he struggles to his feet.

"I am fine. See?" James breathes heavily, swaying slightly to the side until he regains his balance.

Aaron jumps up immediately, pulling James into a big hug. "If you need anything, go to the nurse. Promise me," he begs.

He reassures his dad with a simple thumb up because he did not want to move his head anymore. He grabs his old rucksack and walks through the open doorway, leaving the embarrassing incident behind him. As Aaron stands there, watching his son leave in disbelief.

"Well, I guess he got your stubbornness, Rebecca," Aaron mumbles under his breath.

"Well... he... is... my... son... too," a soft static voice whispers sweetly in Aaron's ear.

"Yeah, he is," Aaron grins proudly, sighing under his breath. "I hope he is going to be okay."

Looking away, Aaron spots a suspicious book, shove under the messy bed. Raising an eyebrow, Aaron grins an evil grin with a particular idea coming to his mind. Diary. James's secrets. The sweet words echoes in his head. His smile widens as he walks closer to the sacred book, forbidden from anyone seeing it's messages other than its owners. He reaches down and carefully snatches the hidden book, but to his disappointment, it was only an astronomy book. As he stumbles to his feet, he can hear the soft crackling and popping of his old joints as he flexes his legs and moves faster, rushing out of the room. He finds his son near the front door, digging through his bag frantically, searching for something.

"Oh, James! You forgot your astronomy book!" Aaron hollers, chuckling slightly, trying to get James's attention. "Even if you dislike the sun, it doesn't mean you can stop studying about it."

"Yeah, yeah," James replies, trying to sound cheerful. He smiles at his dad's joke, but avoids his grin as he has no time for his sarcastic comments.

Glancing at the clock hanging on the hallway wall, James notices it was already 7:00 a.m. "Man, I am going to be so late for school," James grumbles under his breath. He sighs with aggravation before quickly yanking his science book out of his dad's grip. He thanks his dad before departing to the most nerve-racking place for any teenager�"junior high. After saying his goodbyes, he jogs off. "Great, man, great," James grumbles under his breath, ignoring the pain pounding against his skull.

***

Ring!

"Okay! Is that the first or second bell? Ah, man! I am so doomed if I am late again," James groans. Quickening his pace, he races to the dilapidate building cover in vines at the end the street. Sprinting at full speed, he pushes his sore legs to their full potential, before bashing his forehead against the bluish-green stain glass door. He holds the front of his head, not realizing he was stumbling backward until he was on the edge of the steps. He desperately flings his arms weirdly in the air, but it was too late, his feet slip, sending him down the flight of cement stairs. He lands painfully on the pave sidewalk below. A scream runs past his bleeding lips.

"Ow! Everything hurts," James whimpers in agony, clutching his batter arm, trying his best to keep everything from falling apart. "At least lying on the cold concrete sidewalk numbs the pain a bit. I guess I am lucky that it's a cold day."

Ring!

"Just great," James painfully screams at the top of his lungs in the cold October air. Closing his sleep deprive eyes, he savors the soft breeze swirling around his limp body, flipping his collar back and forth. He shivers as a cold breeze grew colder and stronger, blowing with all its might. The strong breeze yanks his necktie over, trying its best to cover the unsightly bruises and cuts coating the surface of his skin.

I guess my hat fell off sometime during the fall, but where is it? He wonders, fluttering his eyes open, trying to stretch his neck muscles around to search for his hat. But it was no use; he was too sore. “Sorry dad,” he mumbles before passing out.