Starfall

Ashton took out his lighter, and got out his brand new pack of cigarettes, peeling off the plastic wrapping and tossing it to the ground.

With shaky hands he shoved a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it with such rugged manor he burnt his fingers in the process.

Ashton was all alone.

There were no cars on the street. The Murphys were not out walking, no were loitering in the local grocery store parking lot. Not even a stray dog passed Ashton as he walked alone to his house.

This was the last time Ashton would see his hometown.

Brightondale, or as Aston called it, the most boring place on earth. Ashton was born less than five miles from his home, and ever since then, his life has been signed away by a great deal of depression and loneliness. He had been in school with the same people since K5, and all of them were so, so, boring.

Every Sunday, the entire town went to the same church, every Friday the students would watch Brightondale High get destroyed in football. Every summer, it would be the same trip to the same beach.

Every May 11th, his father and him would go visit his mother. Bringing the same flowers, to the same field, in the same place.

Every. Single. Year.

So Ashton took this walk tonight, knowing there would be no more beach trips, no more football, no more flowers.

Three cigarettes had burnt out by the time Ashton had reached the gravel trail that parted through the woods, reaching back to his home.

Ashton stopped halfway through the trail and threw what remained in the pack of cigarettes into the woods.

When Ashton was gone, he didn’t want his dad to find out how unperfect his son was, even if he told him all the time how his only son was a disappointment, and how his mother’s life was wasted for nothing.

Ashton did truly believe half of it.

There were no lights on the trail, but even so, Ashton knew precisely where he was going. He had walked this path a million times.

Ashton emerged from the woods into a small clearing, where a small, broken house sat on top of a hill.

All the lights were on, but his bedroom was the brightest. That was the only thing Ashton was sure he would miss.

His room. The soft, grey bed sheets, all the posters on his wall, the dead plant that sat in the corner of his room. It wasn’t much, but it was his haven. It was the only place in the house that wasn’t covered in dust bunnies.

Even as Ashton walked up the steps to his deck, he could already sense the negative, pulling energy of the house.

As Ashton pushed open the door, a thick, nasty smell spilled over him. Ashton knew it well, it was a mix of alcohol and hot summer nights. He tiptoed around the house, careful not to wake his father, his feet dancing along the old hardwood floors to avoid creaks.

When Ashton had reached his living room, he saw his father was sprawled across his chair, fast asleep. Empty beer cans covered the floor, and there was still an open can in his father’s hand.

This was his routine. Get home at five, at six eat dinner, at seven down a pack of beers and turn on Andy Griffith, and eight, be fast asleep on his chair until morning.

Since Ashton could remember, this had been his life for nineteen miserable years. His father is addicted to drinking, and no one could do anything about it, except for Ashton’s mother.

Ashton’s mother died the second she gave birth to him, and every eleventh of May, they would go down to visit her.

His dad never drank that day, and Ashton felt bad, having to watch his father curl up on the ground, crying for forgiveness to his mother.

He would talk about how he failed her as a parent, how he would try to do better.

He never did.

Ashton looked down on his dad, thankful he had the decency to end his own life instead of ending up like this.

Ashton would usually pick up the mess his father had made, but there was no point in it now. At this time tomorrow Ashton would be gone, and there would be no one to pick up after him anymore.

Ashton didn’t look back after he entered his room.

Now all the matter was Ashton and his head.

He knew where the pills were. He knew how many to take. He knew he wouldn’t suffer.

So why did he hesitate?

When Ashton dumped the pills in his hand, he began to tremble.

He had gone through with this in his head before, the taking of the drugs, feeling the effect, dying.

But now, all he could do was stall.

Ashton brought the pills to his cracked lips, suddenly realizing he had left no note, he had said no goodbyes. No one was going to know why he had done it. He bet his father wouldn’t find him for a few days either. The only indicator he was gone would be the dishes beginning to pile up in the wash.

Too bad.

So many thoughts poured into Ashton’s mind as he brought the pills to his lips, then he swallowed hard.

Within a minute, Ashton could feel them beginning to take effect.

His head began to swirl, every time he would even breathe, he began to feel even more light-headed.

There was a loud thud as Ashton hit the floor, his final moment spent staring at the Led Zeppelin poster tacked to his ceiling.

…