Strays

A 5′6 tall, fair-skinned man sat on his twin-sized bed, and he stared at a small window nearby. He was scrawny, and he had sunken pale-blue eyes. A few small but distinct moles were plastered on his face. His lips were thin and chapped, and there were faint bruises on his arms and legs. His clothing was distinctly dirty, and he looked like he hadn’t showered in a week.

His room, on the other hand, wasn’t anything special. His walls were rough and white, and there wasn’t anything hanging from them. It was bare. Next to a small window was his twin-sized bed, with light brown sheets. Only a singular white pillow sat at the top.

Loud footsteps were heard outside of his white-locked door. The boy tensed up and quickly sat up. Those footsteps were his mother’s, he knew that. He had known that since he was 7 years old.

“Quit locking the door, Graham Pierce!” A female’s voice yelled out. Graham let out a shaky breath, and he slowly stood up. He felt himself getting dizzy, even if all he did was stand up. He hadn’t had proper food or water in days.

He was hesitant. He knew that if he unlocked the door, he’d get screamed at right in his face.

He’d get yelled at either way, actually, but at least it wouldn’t be directly in his face. This was a decision that he had to make every single day, almost.

A loud pounding sound echoed from the hallway.

Graham stood next to his bed, still thinking about whether he should open it, or stay silent. After all this screaming and banging, he knew his mother was more pissed off than usual. He was questioning if it was even safe for him to open it.. would he get slapped? He honestly couldn’t determine that.

A few hours passed, and the knocking was over. He was back on his bed, staring at the window.

Graham was starting to think if he should run away. He was already thinking about the pros and cons, and the pros outweighed the cons.

He had thought about this before, but he never actually made up a plan. He looked over at the ground. He had a notebook hidden under the bed. He leaned down and grabbed it. It was mostly just his vent journal, but now it would serve a greater purpose. It had a black cover, and it was no more than 7 inches in length. He pulled out the pen that was attached to the spiral part of the notebook, and he let out a deep sigh.

‘Pros: I don’t get to see my mom anymore. I don’t have to live in this stupid house anymore. I would be able to live by myself. Cons: None.’

He lifted the pen and he smiled. The pro’s outweighed the cons.

Tomorrow, he was going to run away.

The rising sun poured through the window, and onto Graham’s face. He let out a groan, and his slim hands reached to rub his eyes. It took him a moment to realize that today was the day. He was finally going to leave.

His cheap, black backpack was already packed from the night before. It didn’t have much, since he didn’t have any belongings anyways.

Graham stood up and opened up the backpack. He needed to make sure he had everything he needed, after all.

Inside the backpack, there was a light blue blanket. It was thin but still soft. He had the blanket since he was a little kid, and he wasn’t given any other blanket since. There wasn’t much else, just some small snacks and a little bit of cash. Maybe only $5. The pockets were empty since there wasn’t anything to put in them.

He zipped it back up once he knew that everything he needed was in the backpack, and he swung it onto his shoulder.

Graham’s footsteps were quiet, and his heart was racing. He didn’t want to wake up his mother or father. He didn’t even want to know what they’d do if they caught him. His steps stayed quiet as he walked through the empty hallway. It was filled with wedding photos of his mother and father, but there wasn’t a single photo of him. It was like he didn’t exist. His hands got clammy as he walked into the living room. Unsurprisingly, there still weren’t any photos of him. The walls were empty this time, though the room wasn’t. A brown leather couch and a 30” TV, plus a table that held the TV. It wasn’t much at all, honestly. His family wasn’t exactly wealthy, and his mother seemed to just.. hate decorating. It “took too much effort”, according to her.

He let out a sigh and he took one last look at the house. He certainly wasn’t going to miss this.