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"There's nothing to do in this goddamned hole!"
I looked up at Tom, who was hanging upside down by his knees from one of the wooden ceiling beams, swinging gently.
"Why don't you go out and do something in that goddamned hole of a town out there," I said sarcastically.
"Dude, I'm fucking serious. We've gotta do something. I don't wanna die without doing anything interesting in my life." His eyes looked sad.
"Well," I said. "You won't." I don't really know how that was supposed to be reassuring. Tom rolled his eyes. Apparently he didn't either.
"Uh. We could go steal an xbox and blow zombie brains out," I suggested. The last time we did that we tried to steal a PS3, which, as it turned out, not only had a tracker attached to it, but also didn't have any good games. Tom just looked at me.
"Have you forgotten what happened last time we tried to steal something?"
"No, but it's not like you suggested anything…"
"Well I don't fucking know. Let's go…" He gestured wildly, as if trying to pluck an idea out of the air. "Let's go set something on fire!" I stared.
"You think it's less likely that we'll be caught if we set fire to something, than if we steal something from a store," I said.
"Yep, that's what I think."
"Okay, just clarifying," I responded. Sometimes I wanted to laugh out loud at this kid. He was just so… odd.
"Hmmm…" He stroked his chin pensively. "Let's go set the old barn on fire!" he seemed excited by the idea, and I knew there would be no convincing him to do anything else now. I could either go with him and cover his ass so he didn't burn or get caught, or I could sit here while he was off risking his neck for adrenaline.
I grabbed my coat.
"Alright, let's go," I headed out of the small shed/barn thing we called home, in the direction of the general store.
"Where are you going?" Tom asked, jogging to catch up, blowing on his hands in the crisp November air.
"You know, if you wore gloves with the fingers still attached, I'm sure your hands would be a lot warmer. And I'm going to Jacobson's. We're gonna need supplies." He punched me playfully on the shoulder.
"If they had fingers, I wouldn't be able to feel anything," he reminded me. "Do you have money then? For supplies?"
I searched my pockets. "Hmmm… I have… 6 dollars, an expired coupon, some lint, and—what the hell?" I held up my findings in one hand, and what seemed to be a sandwich in the other. "Where the hell did this come from?" I asked, confused.
"What?"
"It's like… a sandwich or something," I replied, bewildered.
Tom stared blankly at me for a second, then grabbed me by the jacket. "Dude! You're jacket's like a fridge! What else've you got in there?" He shoved his hands in my pockets. I pushed him off.
"Come on," I said, heading towards the store, leaving him behind.
"Hey wait up!" he called, stumbling over a small mound of dirt and snow. He fell to his knees and remained motionless, waiting for me to go help him.
I turned and headed back. It always surprises me when I forget that Tom is blind, but it's not like he has a cane or sunglasses or anything. He can do just about everything a seeing person can do, he just relies on touch and hearing a lot more. I grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.
"Sorry about that, I'm always forgetting that you can't like, see or whatever," I said sheepishly.
Tom looked pensive. "Sometimes I do too," he said quietly.
I stood, still holding his arm pointlessly, not sure what to say to that. He seemed to understand though, and just oriented himself uncannily well to face the store.
"Let's go man, we got shit to set ablaze," he said excitedly, ecstatically even, in contrast to his tone moments ago.
He set off purposely, his strides long.
I watched him for several moments, admiring his ability to trip less than the average seeing person.
"Tom—! Wait!" I cried, throwing out a hand pointlessly. He was already far ahead of me, too far for me to do anything. My legs felt frozen.
I was running anyway.
"Tom!" I yelled as I ran. "Stop! For fuck's sake, STOP!"
Somehow he didn't hear me. He wasn't far ahead now. He was walking quickly, but I was running like my life depended on it.
"TOM!" I screamed. I had seen the pickup, seen it speeding down the highway, seen that it's wild path would take it far too close to my best friend, but I hadn't been able to move soon enough.
I watched in slow motion as Tom turned, too slowly, hearing the pickup at last, throwing out his hands, too slowly, trying to back pedal, all too slowly.
"TOM!" I screamed again. "NO!" Why hadn't he heard me?
I watched the surprise wrack through his body, I could see him trying to think of a solution with his quick mind. A mind that would never think again.
I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scene, as the pickup slammed into his skinny body, frail from malnutrition. I watched him fly ten feet down the road, landing limp like a ragdoll, followed seconds later by the truck, which still hadn't stopped. I watched in horror as the oversized wheels crushed his ribs and legs. I stopped running. Agony ripped through my body, and I buckled and fell.
"Tom…" I mumbled feebly. "No… Tom… please." I was filled with unimaginable rage born from unimaginable pain. I heaved myself back to my feet, and stumbled towards the road. The pickup had finally stopped, fifteen feet in front of Tom's crushed and broken body. My stride was getting stronger with every step. Another wave of agony hit me, and I nearly lost myself in a rolling black sea of pain. I almost blacked out, but I knew I had to keep going. I had to know who had done it. I had to know why. I dragged on. The road seemed so far suddenly, when moments ago it had been but ten feet away.
I finally reached the pickup. The driver was standing beside his open door, hand over his mouth. He saw me.
"Shit," he mumbled through his fingers. "I am so fucked, aren't I?"
The rage boiled up in me, and I couldn't control it anymore. I didn't want to control it. I lost myself in the mass of pain and anger.
"Do you realize what you've done?" I heard someone ask in my voice. The man looked blank.
"Do you realize who that was?" He shook his head, his hand still over his mouth.
"That," I said, pointing, "Was the only man I ever trusted. That," I grabbed his lower jaw and forced him to turn his face to the wreckage that used to be Tom, "Was the closest thing that I ever had to family." My voice had become a snarl, and the man looked genuinely frightened. "And now you've taken him away from me," my voice was suddenly low, nearly a whisper. He was absolutely terrified.
I pushed him away, letting go of his jaw forcefully. He stumbled back, staring wide-eyed as he rubbed his face. Tears sprang to my eyes. Uncertainly, the man opened his arms and stepped towards me, as if to give me a hug.
Waiting for the right moment, I pushed his arms away, back to his sides. He seemed surprised. I took advantage and pushed him with strength born of pain and loss. He stumbled and fell this time. I towered above him, fire burning in my eyes.
"Hey!" A new voice joined the scene of horror. I turned slowly in the direction it had come from, as the man in front of me craned his neck to try to see.
"Jimmy?" the voice came from a face, out of focus, standing in the doorway of the store. I continued to stare as the body that accompanied the voice stepped slowly towards me.
"Jimmy?" it repeated, unsure. "Jimmy, what are you doing?"
I felt the rage leave my body. I slumped and the voice caught me, his face coming into focus as Ben Jacobsen, the owner of the store. He lowered me to the ground on to a waiting blanket.
I stared down at my hands, and recognized numbly that they were bleeding. I had been clenching my left fist so tight I had broken skin, and in my other hand I held a blade. I don't even remember where it came from. I realized suddenly what I had been about to do, and I dropped the knife like it was a snake.
I felt someone shaking me, and realized it was Ben.
"What're you saying boy? I can't hear you," he was repeating. I realized he was crying noiselessly. I came back to myself completely, and found myself repeating the words I'm sorry over and over again. I raised a hand to my face and it came away wet with tears. I hadn't even noticed myself starting to cry, but now that I had acknowledged it I was sobbing hard, clutching at Ben's shoulders. We held each other and cried for hours or minutes. It didn't matter. I mourned a brother, and he, a son.

Description
"There's nothing to do in this goddamned hole!"
I looked up at Tom, who was hanging upside down by his knees from one of the wooden ceiling beams, swinging gently.
"Why don't you go out and do something in that goddamned hole of a town out there," I said sarcastically.
"Dude, I'm fucking serious. We've gotta do something. I don't wanna die without doing anything interesting in my life." His eyes looked sad.
"Well," I said. "You won't." I don't really know how that was supposed to be reassuring. Tom rolled his eyes. Apparently he didn't either.
"Uh. We could go steal an xbox and blow zombie brains out," I suggested. The last time we did that we tried to steal a PS3, which, as it turned out, not only had a tracker attached to it, but also didn't have any good games. Tom just looked at me.
"Have you forgotten what happened last time we tried to steal something?"
"No, but it's not like you suggested anything…"
"Well I don't fucking know. Let's go…" He gestured wildly, as if trying to pluck an idea out of the air. "Let's go set something on fire!" I stared.
"You think it's less likely that we'll be caught if we set fire to something, than if we steal something from a store," I said.
"Yep, that's what I think."
"Okay, just clarifying," I responded. Sometimes I wanted to laugh out loud at this kid. He was just so… odd.
"Hmmm…" He stroked his chin pensively. "Let's go set the old barn on fire!" he seemed excited by the idea, and I knew there would be no convincing him to do anything else now. I could either go with him and cover his ass so he didn't burn or get caught, or I could sit here while he was off risking his neck for adrenaline.
I grabbed my coat.
"Alright, let's go," I headed out of the small shed/barn thing we called home, in the direction of the general store.
"Where are you going?" Tom asked, jogging to catch up, blowing on his hands in the crisp November air.
"You know, if you wore gloves with the fingers still attached, I'm sure your hands would be a lot warmer. And I'm going to Jacobson's. We're gonna need supplies." He punched me playfully on the shoulder.
"If they had fingers, I wouldn't be able to feel anything," he reminded me. "Do you have money then? For supplies?"
I searched my pockets. "Hmmm… I have… 6 dollars, an expired coupon, some lint, and—what the hell?" I held up my findings in one hand, and what seemed to be a sandwich in the other. "Where the hell did this come from?" I asked, confused.
"What?"
"It's like… a sandwich or something," I replied, bewildered.
Tom stared blankly at me for a second, then grabbed me by the jacket. "Dude! You're jacket's like a fridge! What else've you got in there?" He shoved his hands in my pockets. I pushed him off.
"Come on," I said, heading towards the store, leaving him behind.
"Hey wait up!" he called, stumbling over a small mound of dirt and snow. He fell to his knees and remained motionless, waiting for me to go help him.
I turned and headed back. It always surprises me when I forget that Tom is blind, but it's not like he has a cane or sunglasses or anything. He can do just about everything a seeing person can do, he just relies on touch and hearing a lot more. I grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.
"Sorry about that, I'm always forgetting that you can't like, see or whatever," I said sheepishly.
Tom looked pensive. "Sometimes I do too," he said quietly.
I stood, still holding his arm pointlessly, not sure what to say to that. He seemed to understand though, and just oriented himself uncannily well to face the store.
"Let's go man, we got shit to set ablaze," he said excitedly, ecstatically even, in contrast to his tone moments ago.
He set off purposely, his strides long.
I watched him for several moments, admiring his ability to trip less than the average seeing person.
"Tom—! Wait!" I cried, throwing out a hand pointlessly. He was already far ahead of me, too far for me to do anything. My legs felt frozen.
I was running anyway.
"Tom!" I yelled as I ran. "Stop! For fuck's sake, STOP!"
Somehow he didn't hear me. He wasn't far ahead now. He was walking quickly, but I was running like my life depended on it.
"TOM!" I screamed. I had seen the pickup, seen it speeding down the highway, seen that it's wild path would take it far too close to my best friend, but I hadn't been able to move soon enough.
I watched in slow motion as Tom turned, too slowly, hearing the pickup at last, throwing out his hands, too slowly, trying to back pedal, all too slowly.
"TOM!" I screamed again. "NO!" Why hadn't he heard me?
I watched the surprise wrack through his body, I could see him trying to think of a solution with his quick mind. A mind that would never think again.
I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scene, as the pickup slammed into his skinny body, frail from malnutrition. I watched him fly ten feet down the road, landing limp like a ragdoll, followed seconds later by the truck, which still hadn't stopped. I watched in horror as the oversized wheels crushed his ribs and legs. I stopped running. Agony ripped through my body, and I buckled and fell.
"Tom…" I mumbled feebly. "No… Tom… please." I was filled with unimaginable rage born from unimaginable pain. I heaved myself back to my feet, and stumbled towards the road. The pickup had finally stopped, fifteen feet in front of Tom's crushed and broken body. My stride was getting stronger with every step. Another wave of agony hit me, and I nearly lost myself in a rolling black sea of pain. I almost blacked out, but I knew I had to keep going. I had to know who had done it. I had to know why. I dragged on. The road seemed so far suddenly, when moments ago it had been but ten feet away.
I finally reached the pickup. The driver was standing beside his open door, hand over his mouth. He saw me.
"Shit," he mumbled through his fingers. "I am so fucked, aren't I?"
The rage boiled up in me, and I couldn't control it anymore. I didn't want to control it. I lost myself in the mass of pain and anger.
"Do you realize what you've done?" I heard someone ask in my voice. The man looked blank.
"Do you realize who that was?" He shook his head, his hand still over his mouth.
"That," I said, pointing, "Was the only man I ever trusted. That," I grabbed his lower jaw and forced him to turn his face to the wreckage that used to be Tom, "Was the closest thing that I ever had to family." My voice had become a snarl, and the man looked genuinely frightened. "And now you've taken him away from me," my voice was suddenly low, nearly a whisper. He was absolutely terrified.
I pushed him away, letting go of his jaw forcefully. He stumbled back, staring wide-eyed as he rubbed his face. Tears sprang to my eyes. Uncertainly, the man opened his arms and stepped towards me, as if to give me a hug.
Waiting for the right moment, I pushed his arms away, back to his sides. He seemed surprised. I took advantage and pushed him with strength born of pain and loss. He stumbled and fell this time. I towered above him, fire burning in my eyes.
"Hey!" A new voice joined the scene of horror. I turned slowly in the direction it had come from, as the man in front of me craned his neck to try to see.
"Jimmy?" the voice came from a face, out of focus, standing in the doorway of the store. I continued to stare as the body that accompanied the voice stepped slowly towards me.
"Jimmy?" it repeated, unsure. "Jimmy, what are you doing?"
I felt the rage leave my body. I slumped and the voice caught me, his face coming into focus as Ben Jacobsen, the owner of the store. He lowered me to the ground on to a waiting blanket.
I stared down at my hands, and recognized numbly that they were bleeding. I had been clenching my left fist so tight I had broken skin, and in my other hand I held a blade. I don't even remember where it came from. I realized suddenly what I had been about to do, and I dropped the knife like it was a snake.
I felt someone shaking me, and realized it was Ben.
"What're you saying boy? I can't hear you," he was repeating. I realized he was crying noiselessly. I came back to myself completely, and found myself repeating the words I'm sorry over and over again. I raised a hand to my face and it came away wet with tears. I hadn't even noticed myself starting to cry, but now that I had acknowledged it I was sobbing hard, clutching at Ben's shoulders. We held each other and cried for hours or minutes. It didn't matter. I mourned a brother, and he, a son.