John walked back into his room, as if visiting a place he hadn't seen in years. He stared at the bed in the corner, the shelves packed full of books propped against the walls, the telescope by the window. He'd missed it all, and he'd only just realized it.
He slowly unpacked, pulling his shirts and pants from the suitcase and finding the appropriate spots for his books on the shelf. He took the small figure, his Conduit, from his backpack and placed it on a shelf, so that he'd always see it.
His notebook was the last piece, the final scrap to be tucked away. He turned to the last page he'd written and read it, again and again. He thought about ripping the pages from the spine, shredding them in an effort to erase his past, but there was no erasing the things he'd seen, the things he'd done. They were a part of him, for better or worse. Instead, he drew his pen and wrote on the blank opposite page, a continuation of the story of his life.
I've come out the other side. I've stared into the light, and it stared back into me. Then I saw it. I saw it move, and I feel vindicated, justified. I looked into the light, and I saw something move.
He laid the notebook on his desk and sat on the edge of his bed, contemplating his next move. There was still so much to be done, so much to live for. He stood up once again and moved toward the window, the sound of pills rattling in his pocket. He peered through the telescope, breaking an empty promise to never touch it again. There was a pale blue disc on the other side, a small fragment of the clear sky above. The boy smiled. He was ready to see the night again, for that first electric star to flicker in the dark.
He slowly unpacked, pulling his shirts and pants from the suitcase and finding the appropriate spots for his books on the shelf. He took the small figure, his Conduit, from his backpack and placed it on a shelf, so that he'd always see it.
His notebook was the last piece, the final scrap to be tucked away. He turned to the last page he'd written and read it, again and again. He thought about ripping the pages from the spine, shredding them in an effort to erase his past, but there was no erasing the things he'd seen, the things he'd done. They were a part of him, for better or worse. Instead, he drew his pen and wrote on the blank opposite page, a continuation of the story of his life.
I've come out the other side. I've stared into the light, and it stared back into me. Then I saw it. I saw it move, and I feel vindicated, justified. I looked into the light, and I saw something move.
He laid the notebook on his desk and sat on the edge of his bed, contemplating his next move. There was still so much to be done, so much to live for. He stood up once again and moved toward the window, the sound of pills rattling in his pocket. He peered through the telescope, breaking an empty promise to never touch it again. There was a pale blue disc on the other side, a small fragment of the clear sky above. The boy smiled. He was ready to see the night again, for that first electric star to flicker in the dark.
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