Low in the sky hung a blazing sun. The boys walked in that westerly direction, but the harsh light pushed them back –go back where you came from, it said. Their hopes and answers were in that light.

Two shapeless, ragged bags were draped over their backs. The taller boy, Keenan, had his thumbs hooked behind the strings of the bag so that it was glued to him and the excess fabric flowed down from his shoulders to his waist. The smaller let the bag bounce off his behind with every step he took. Step, thud, step, thud. It shuffled intermittently, leaving a trail, a sign that the boys passed through, an alarm that screamed of familiarity and home because Jason always wore his book bag low and anyone who heard it would immediately know it was him venturing out on the dirt road toward the sinking yellow star.

“Where are we going to get water?”

“I think we have enough for now. It’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure we’ll be able to stay there? How are we gonna go to school?”

“Yes. We’ll figure it out, just shut up.”

Something rustled in the overhanging branches behind Keenan. He stopped and turned around. Two black dots, the eyes of a squirrel, watched him.

The boys’ blue white sneakers crunched the occasional leaves that littered the path. The air was soft yet still contained a remnant of warmth, before nightfall arose and pressed its blue lips to the sky. Jason shivered and quickened his step. The other boy paused, turned his head and took a deep breath. He watched as Jason hopped along the path, making his way through a minefield of red leaves. They walked.


“Let’s camp here for the night. We have a long way to go tomorrow, but if we rest now we should get there by evening.” He looked around the minor clearing. “Get me some of those little branches from over there,” he said and pointed to a spot where a bough of an oak lay broken against its severed owner. Jason dropped his bag and did as he was told. Keenan looked after him and his hand absentmindedly reached into his bag and took out a thin, shiny device. He grimaced and shoved it back in. He had to save the battery for emergencies. He took out a matchbox and folded up sleeping bags. The navy blankets expanded duly, unfolding all at once. Darkness settled in and the world lost its colors.

Keenan somehow managed a fire with the thin sticks Jason found. The weak flames ate the air around them, starving for more. The boys poked the improvised mound and fed it additional wood. They ate a banana each in silence, chewing heartily, appreciative of this fruit they never ate much of back at home. Jason lapped like a dog when chewing.

“Close your mouth,” his brother said. And he did.

The snack was washed down with a few gulps of water. After drinking, Keenan shook the thermos and tried to weigh it in his hand. About half left. It should last, he thought. They would be able to get more in Verdan Park, and maybe even a couple of sodas with the money he scavenged from the house. He hoped they would still have enough for the train, but for now the boat was all that mattered, making it across the lake.

“Keenan?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we gonna be OK?”

“Uncle will take care of us.”

“I don’t even know him that much,” said Jason. His eyes scanned the earthy ground worriedly.

Keenan did not respond, but sighed and shook his head irritably. He lightly passed his fingers over the bulging black-blue bruise over his right eye, wincing as he touched it. The punishment for talking back to his father. A small price for finally standing up to the impulsive and easily enraged man. It would be another couple of days before the swelling started to recede.

The boys tucked themselves in, close to the fire and closer to their bags. Their bodies ached from the day’s journey and old bruises jolted them from their drowsy state as they came in contact with the hard ground. Jason put on his hat and hood and fell asleep almost instantly. Keenan closed his eyes too but his mind was racing and thousands of twinkling dots watched him from above. He eventually drifted off.


There was no sun when the morning breeze shook Keenan awake. Ghostly dew floated some inches above the ground, swallowing the trunks of the nearby trees so that browns and greens took on a grey, translucent hue. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and his throat was a dry and raw abyss. Water. One, two, five deep gulps.

His wristwatch read 7:23. It was time to go. He shook his mumbling and confused little brother awake. The apple Keenan ate felt hard and tasteless, but just the seeds remained when he was done.

“I’m so tired,” Jason said.

“I know, but we gotta go, now. They’re gonna be looking for us so it’s best we hurry up.”

Jason got up, sulking, and the two repacked their bags with the few belongings they had.

2:44 PM. Keenan wiped cool sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. They had been walking nonstop since the morning except for a quick lunch break that consisted of meager peanut butter sandwiches and water. About a fifth of the thermos remained. Keenan’s throat burned. The bleakness of the afternoon coupled with the thick foliage painted the world a dull shade of grey. He guessed they were relatively close to their destination. Jason’s slight wheezing worried him a bit so he allowed himself to slow down the pace.

“Can I,” he breathed heavily,” get some water?” Keenan nodded and handed him the light thermos. Jason unscrewed the cap thankfully and chugged.

“Hey, hey, stop. Don’t drink it all. Damn it Jason. What the hell are you thinking?” He snatched the bottle from the boy and pushed him roughly onto the barren forest floor. Jason whimpered, holding back tears. He gazed down in shame. The boy didn’t say anything. They kept walking, Keenan muttering under his breath occasionally and again reverting back to his long, purposeful strides, leaving his pitiful brother in the rear.

Four hours later the invisible sun met with the horizon and it was nearly dark. Around that time the tree line abruptly disappeared and opened up to a green, ominous body of water. A low, downward sloping hill of crusty mud led to a port with four docks. Two lonely yachts covered in blue polyester fabric stood on opposite sides of the port. The platform furthest to the south docked a tiny rowboat with an old, rusty motor attached in the back.

“Alright it’s time. Let’s do this,” Keenan said. He examined the horizon momentarily where a neat row of lights spoke of a quiet, civilized town. There, families were presently gathering around the TV, sharing a nice, homemade meal, or returning from an evening walk in the park.

They untied the boat from the cleat. It undulated on the gentle waters, moved solely by the dusk breeze. Keenan hopped on to clear away some of the leaves and dust that had gathered on board. A noise from behind, where the path led to the woods, startled the duo. Two figures approached at a frantic pace.

“Oh no, no no no no no,” whispered Jason.

“I see them, by the damn boat!” A man with a rough, angry voice yelled from the darkness. “What do you think you’re doing, huh? Running away from your father like that? Leaving your mother in tears? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”

Their mother was there too, but her soft, frivolous yelps went unheard. Her lips moved and there was some apparent emotion on the slender forlorn face, but it was all drowned out by the thundering voice of father. Even so, Keenan noted, the darkness did not conceal everything: red face and eyes bulging, a demented caricature.

“Get ready for a big ass whoopin’ you little brats,” the man spat, fists clenched at his side as he rushed toward the boat.

“S***, s***, s***,” Keenan said. His hands shook as he tried to untangle the rope completely from the cleat. Jason stood aghast, looking at the approaching silhouettes, two unrestrained black clouds. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Get on Jason, get on NOW,” Keenan screamed at the boy, but he remained still. The deck shook threateningly under the stomps of the man’s boots. It was too late. Keenan dropped the rope and sat on the wooden rowboat bench, covering his face in utter submission. His panicked sobs pierced the air.

The man was ten, fifteen feet away from Jason and the boat when the boy turned west, toward the sea and the lights and the no longer present sun and jumped headfirst into the water - because he did take swimming lessons every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday after all.

“No Jason, stop, come back,” his brother yelled. The boy completed a few strokes, twenty, thirty feet from the dock, but the clothes and the bag and the sleeping bag and the empty thermos soaked up the sea, or rather the sea soaked the objects, and Jason was all those objects. He thrashed about and made funny motions with his hands. The murky water around him splashed erratically until even his head and hands were gone and everything was silent besides the soft plopping sound that is made when something or someone helplessly sinks to the bottom of a sea. By the time Keenan swam to the spot where his brother last was, the water was again still. He dove under but it was pitch black and he cried underwater and couldn’t reach his brother because it was so, so deep. He floated there in the darkness for a second, two, thirty, he didn’t know, letting the water enter him, consume him until he could breathe no longer and had to resurface. His mother’s hysterical screams reached him in a wave of ear splitting horror. His father stared at the spot where Jason was, petrified, but wholly expressionless. The air stank of fish.

When Keenan climbed back on the dock his mother fell into his arms, no longer able to cry, gasping and choking. He hardly held her and she eventually slid off him like a wet rag.

More lights joined the neat row across the lake. Keenan threw himself at his father, his mouth curled at a disgusted angle, right fist held back, snot running down from his nose.

“YOU DID THIS,” he wailed. His father let the strikes reach him. The spraying water from Keenan’s drenched clothes and skin ailed him more than the punches did. After a few useless hits, the boy slumped down on his knees in front of his father and wept. The man hadn’t shifted.

“The th-thermos, I made him c-carry the thermos… didn’t g-g-give him enough w-water…he must h-have been s-so t-t-thirsty…why why why why,” the words spilled out in a quiet mania.

His father breathed out heavily and struck the boy with the back of his hand. He turned around and walked off away from the dock, leaving his wife and son. A soft curtain of rain descended.