Truth in Fiction

FFM 2024, Flash Fiction Month, Day 10, word count - 530

When they sent him to military school, he decided to tell his parents the truth. He waited while Dad put the last suitcase down in the little room he'd eventually share with another kid.

When his mother went out to make a private call and smoke a cigarette, he spoke.

"I intend to be writer, you know," he told the floor by his father's feet. "I've always meant to be a writer and I won't change my mind. Tell Mom, okay? I'm tired now. Can I be alone?"

His dad had gone still, like a rabbit that somehow knows a rifle scope has found it.

"A writer?" Dad said. "Well, then. Is that why you read so many books? What do you write?"

"Dad," he said, almost whining. "I won't get to be alone much after today. Please tell Mom, okay? And tell her I love her. Love you, too, Dad. Bye, now? Please?"

His father stepped backward to the dormitory hall while he himself walked forward with his arms stretched out, like a football player, or maybe like someone ready for a hug.

"Well, then," his dad said, still backing up. "We love you, too. We'll be back around the holiday. Well, then. Good luck, son."

He shut the door on his father's turning face. He felt like he was closing the door on an entire lifetime. He was fifteen, too old to start a new school like this, and too young to choose a place himself. He was scared.

So he did what he always did, secretly, when he was scared. He sat at the desk by a blank wall, got out paper and pen, and began to write. At home, he'd been in the middle of working on the twenty-second chapter of his science fiction novel, but it was still hidden in a suitcase.

He wrote, "Dear Mary..." and stopped. What could he tell her? Mary didn't even know he was abandoned two states away from home, that much farther away from her. She might have been his girlfriend, given time.

He turned to look out the window on his left. A tree-top, green and greener, was all he saw there. Then that blurred, just like someone was trying to erase it. He thought about his old school, a regular high school in his home town. He thought about Mary.

He'd lost it all. What had he done to deserve this? He could only think of one thing. His parents fought a lot lately, and he'd heard them tell each other they wanted a divorce. They actually yelled it at each other, almost every night now.

It must be his fault. He was the only other person at home. He must have read too many silly books and written too many pages of stupid fiction. He'd missed the facts until it was too late. 

He'd have to start over again here. Or maybe stay completely still. He had no idea what the next step was. All he could hear was his own breathing, and the sound of his own heart.

He no longer pretended to see anything outside the window. He closed his eyes.

Well, then.

Author's Note

FFM, 2024, Day 10, word count - 530