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Literature Text
A L E C
The rest of my afternoon felt like a lazy one. I depended on Jasper to cover which locations of the town Dakota was in most, so I had the free time to do whatever I wanted. When you have a heavy job like mine, moments of freedom during work hours are rare.
It was around four thirty in the afternoon when I managed to get a cup of coffee with Sonia(though she always preferred hot chocolate). We were talking in the cafeteria inside Emerald HQ. Somehow I always found myself going back into the workplace no matter what.
Her job is to physically train and guide the recruits who are aiming to become field agents. She’s basically their temporary mentor until that recruit is handed off to be paired with someone else experienced with the field missions. Sometimes those recruits end up going solo once they’ve had enough time learning. It’s similar to a bird leaving the nest to fly.
“Hello? Alec?”
“Huh?”
“How are your parents?” Sonia questioned. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”
“They’re okay, I suppose. Mom is a bit quieter, but she’s still herself.”
“Witty and loves poker?”
I nodded with a grin on my face. “That’s her. Dad could be better though. He was a bit grumpy after I last saw him. He insists it’s not too late to get a different career, rather than be a ‘journalist’.”
The one thing I hated about this job was that it had to be absolutely secret. I always had to lie to my parents about the subject, and I’ll always have to, even to new people I meet who ask me what I do for a living.
Sonia conveyed a sorrowful expression. One that wasn’t a depiction of pity, but rather empathy. She understood what I was going through from personal experience. By now, she would’ve reached over the table to place her hand on mine. Then I’d turned my hand on its side and rub my thumb over her fingers; a habit of mine I did so often it was normally unintentional.
But it wasn't appropriate to show everyone at your workplace you're in a romantic relationship with a co-worker. Especially here. We both knew that.
Once stepping inside this building, we go back to secretive-mode and only give each other smiles and second glances when we walk by each other. It's amazing how discreet we've been and not be detected by anyone else who saw us.
“You’re his son, Alec,” Sonia said. “He still loves you.”
I told her, “I know . . . But it certainly doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”
“What was something nice he did for you or said?”
“He bought me my first guitar and paid for my lessons.”
“Nein,” Sonia said. A thin lock of her strawberry blonde hair fell in front of her face. She ignored it. “Something that doesn’t involve money.”
I thought for a moment, while Sonia looked at me expectantly. She was hoping my answer would prove me wrong. But I slowly shook my head and replied, “I can’t say that I remember a time like that.”
It’s sad to admit that, and it made me realize how disconnected the relationship is with my father. In the back of my mind, I wasn’t sad. Because I was used to it.
K O D Y
I overslept.
But it’s not like I had an appointment to go to. The day following after the Mist Haven incident, I went back to my secret spot in Rosewater Park. A small, but comfortable area surrounded by mostly bushes and overbearing foliage so it was(to the most part)private for anyone inside it.
That's my haven.
Not even Ryan knew about it. Only me. I always went there to clear my mind and get some peace. After all, my head was still so very cluttered, just like a neglected attic. Only this “attic” received a whole load of junk under a few minutes—that’s all it took.
Anyways, I wanted to take a power nap on the hammock I set up myself. I set my watch to a thirty-minute timer, I relaxed, and it was easy. That’s what I planned at four thirty p.m., but it’s not exactly what happened later.
I slept for four hours. Four. Have you ever taken a nap and instead of feeling refreshed, you woke up disorientated and wondered what day it was? That’s what happened. I’m exaggerating when I say this, but it was like I had been hit by a truck. I’m sure I looked like I had been. Emotionally.
The sun had already sank below the horizon, but it wasn’t completely dark. It was going to take a lot more than the lack of light to make me feel lost inside of Rosewater Park. Plus, if anything happened, I had Slash safely tucked into my combat boot.
Slash was the name I had given to my switchblade. Weird? I know. But I feel a sense of security knowing I have something on me I can protect myself with. Especially when the situation called for self-defense. So why not give my precious knife a name? Nothing of importance happened while I was in the park alone—in fact nothing did happen. But I was on my way home in the commercial district sticking close to the shadows. Then it happened.
I paused in the middle of the sidewalk, and glanced to my right. Beside me was Witches’ Brew, a family-owned local bar that was popular but a run-down joint for ex-cons, motorcyclists, and people who were the type to glare at you if you looked at them wrong. My mother visited this place, and often.
Next thing I know, a woman burst out from the double doors of Witches’ Brew stumbling. Her face was flushed and she couldn’t stand still without leaning sideways or forward. It was Mom, and she was drunk. Mom locked her gaze with mine, and pointed her pale index finger at me.
“You . . . !” she exclaimed.
For someone intoxicated, she moved fast. Mom grabbed my arms, tightly. I kept myself entirely motionless, because I knew better than to try and writhe myself away from her grip while she was in this state. Her fingers were cold, and her voice sounded like steel.
“You worthless daughter! Where have you been?!” Mom shook me violently, and her voice caught the attention of others.
I didn’t answer; I remained calm. I stared into her eyes and noticed she was on the brink of tears.
“Do you have any idea how I feel when you’re gone for hours?!” she shouted. Mom’s breath reeked of alcohol, and a tear fell down her rosy cheek. But her face was twisted in raw anger as she shook me again.
“Do you want to leave me like your father? Huh?!”
My nerves were struck, but I didn’t respond. Mom and I stared at each other for a long time. Her eyes were glassy, and we were surrounded by our own silence. Her next words came out as desperate whispers, so quiet only I could hear her and not the spectators.
“Just like Natalie . . . ?”
That name hit me like a tidal wave, and I felt like I was on the brink of tears. Mom finally broke down into a sob, and hung her head on my shoulder. I let her do this for as long as she needed. When she revealed her face, I realized how much she was crying.
I said to her, “Let’s go home.”
Mom used my arm for support as we walked. Though what she said tonight shocked even me, I knew she wasn’t going to recall any of it tomorrow morning. She never does.
The rest of my afternoon felt like a lazy one. I depended on Jasper to cover which locations of the town Dakota was in most, so I had the free time to do whatever I wanted. When you have a heavy job like mine, moments of freedom during work hours are rare.
It was around four thirty in the afternoon when I managed to get a cup of coffee with Sonia(though she always preferred hot chocolate). We were talking in the cafeteria inside Emerald HQ. Somehow I always found myself going back into the workplace no matter what.
Her job is to physically train and guide the recruits who are aiming to become field agents. She’s basically their temporary mentor until that recruit is handed off to be paired with someone else experienced with the field missions. Sometimes those recruits end up going solo once they’ve had enough time learning. It’s similar to a bird leaving the nest to fly.
“Hello? Alec?”
“Huh?”
“How are your parents?” Sonia questioned. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”
“They’re okay, I suppose. Mom is a bit quieter, but she’s still herself.”
“Witty and loves poker?”
I nodded with a grin on my face. “That’s her. Dad could be better though. He was a bit grumpy after I last saw him. He insists it’s not too late to get a different career, rather than be a ‘journalist’.”
The one thing I hated about this job was that it had to be absolutely secret. I always had to lie to my parents about the subject, and I’ll always have to, even to new people I meet who ask me what I do for a living.
Sonia conveyed a sorrowful expression. One that wasn’t a depiction of pity, but rather empathy. She understood what I was going through from personal experience. By now, she would’ve reached over the table to place her hand on mine. Then I’d turned my hand on its side and rub my thumb over her fingers; a habit of mine I did so often it was normally unintentional.
But it wasn't appropriate to show everyone at your workplace you're in a romantic relationship with a co-worker. Especially here. We both knew that.
Once stepping inside this building, we go back to secretive-mode and only give each other smiles and second glances when we walk by each other. It's amazing how discreet we've been and not be detected by anyone else who saw us.
“You’re his son, Alec,” Sonia said. “He still loves you.”
I told her, “I know . . . But it certainly doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”
“What was something nice he did for you or said?”
“He bought me my first guitar and paid for my lessons.”
“Nein,” Sonia said. A thin lock of her strawberry blonde hair fell in front of her face. She ignored it. “Something that doesn’t involve money.”
I thought for a moment, while Sonia looked at me expectantly. She was hoping my answer would prove me wrong. But I slowly shook my head and replied, “I can’t say that I remember a time like that.”
It’s sad to admit that, and it made me realize how disconnected the relationship is with my father. In the back of my mind, I wasn’t sad. Because I was used to it.
K O D Y
I overslept.
But it’s not like I had an appointment to go to. The day following after the Mist Haven incident, I went back to my secret spot in Rosewater Park. A small, but comfortable area surrounded by mostly bushes and overbearing foliage so it was(to the most part)private for anyone inside it.
That's my haven.
Not even Ryan knew about it. Only me. I always went there to clear my mind and get some peace. After all, my head was still so very cluttered, just like a neglected attic. Only this “attic” received a whole load of junk under a few minutes—that’s all it took.
Anyways, I wanted to take a power nap on the hammock I set up myself. I set my watch to a thirty-minute timer, I relaxed, and it was easy. That’s what I planned at four thirty p.m., but it’s not exactly what happened later.
I slept for four hours. Four. Have you ever taken a nap and instead of feeling refreshed, you woke up disorientated and wondered what day it was? That’s what happened. I’m exaggerating when I say this, but it was like I had been hit by a truck. I’m sure I looked like I had been. Emotionally.
The sun had already sank below the horizon, but it wasn’t completely dark. It was going to take a lot more than the lack of light to make me feel lost inside of Rosewater Park. Plus, if anything happened, I had Slash safely tucked into my combat boot.
Slash was the name I had given to my switchblade. Weird? I know. But I feel a sense of security knowing I have something on me I can protect myself with. Especially when the situation called for self-defense. So why not give my precious knife a name? Nothing of importance happened while I was in the park alone—in fact nothing did happen. But I was on my way home in the commercial district sticking close to the shadows. Then it happened.
I paused in the middle of the sidewalk, and glanced to my right. Beside me was Witches’ Brew, a family-owned local bar that was popular but a run-down joint for ex-cons, motorcyclists, and people who were the type to glare at you if you looked at them wrong. My mother visited this place, and often.
Next thing I know, a woman burst out from the double doors of Witches’ Brew stumbling. Her face was flushed and she couldn’t stand still without leaning sideways or forward. It was Mom, and she was drunk. Mom locked her gaze with mine, and pointed her pale index finger at me.
“You . . . !” she exclaimed.
For someone intoxicated, she moved fast. Mom grabbed my arms, tightly. I kept myself entirely motionless, because I knew better than to try and writhe myself away from her grip while she was in this state. Her fingers were cold, and her voice sounded like steel.
“You worthless daughter! Where have you been?!” Mom shook me violently, and her voice caught the attention of others.
I didn’t answer; I remained calm. I stared into her eyes and noticed she was on the brink of tears.
“Do you have any idea how I feel when you’re gone for hours?!” she shouted. Mom’s breath reeked of alcohol, and a tear fell down her rosy cheek. But her face was twisted in raw anger as she shook me again.
“Do you want to leave me like your father? Huh?!”
My nerves were struck, but I didn’t respond. Mom and I stared at each other for a long time. Her eyes were glassy, and we were surrounded by our own silence. Her next words came out as desperate whispers, so quiet only I could hear her and not the spectators.
“Just like Natalie . . . ?”
That name hit me like a tidal wave, and I felt like I was on the brink of tears. Mom finally broke down into a sob, and hung her head on my shoulder. I let her do this for as long as she needed. When she revealed her face, I realized how much she was crying.
I said to her, “Let’s go home.”
Mom used my arm for support as we walked. Though what she said tonight shocked even me, I knew she wasn’t going to recall any of it tomorrow morning. She never does.
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This chapter's main purpose was to pretty much to give some insight on Kody and Alec's personal life regarding home/family.
Useless fact: my best friend has always described me as "the evil puppet master" because I usually make sad/traumatic events happen to my characters. I have no regrets.
I can't not agree with my friend And if you're one of those people who do the exact same thing... Welcome to the club.
I appreciate comments, and thanks for reading!
First: chocolatte5.deviantart.com/art…
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Useless fact: my best friend has always described me as "the evil puppet master" because I usually make sad/traumatic events happen to my characters. I have no regrets.
I appreciate comments, and thanks for reading!
First: chocolatte5.deviantart.com/art…
Previous: chocolatte5.deviantart.com/art…
Next: chocolatte5.deviantart.com/art…
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