Cicadas chirped outside, The ceiling fan buzzed, The night sang its lullaby, but awake are the sinners.
Sam packed his clothes into an orange backpack, each shirt a memory he wished to hold on. There was something unnerving about the way sam folded his clothes, his hands were trembling yet his eyes remained distant, lifeless. He worked quitely, methodically, as if the calm were a shell he slipped into muffle the storm beneath.
Items were packed relatively swiftly, he tried to fit in as many pieces of clothing as he could in that 60L backpack,but the closet remained endless, even his favourite leather jacket, one that he had found a couple years back, while thrifting with his brother had to be left behind.
Somethings were too heavy to carry.
He opened the door to leave, but could not escape glancing one more time at a room he had seen all his life. It had the stillness of a forgotten memory.
A band poster curling at the edges because the glue was running thin, A plant, containing more brown than green, still clinging onto life, two skateboards hung beside each other, a little dust settled on their wheels, and a framed photograph lay facedown on the bedside table.
Sam closed the door hesitantly, but something in him remained open.
He rushed down the stairs even though he had all the time in the world.
Downstairs all the lights were turned off except a dim lamp in the living room, a woman could be seen sitting in an armchair, drinking wine, with a cigarette on her other hand. Routinely she drew from it, before stubbing it out on the table beside her- only for another cigarette to take its place.
Sam looked upon the woman, who looked back upon him, albeit slowly. The pair gazed into each other, although there were no walls between them, the unsaid tension seemed thicker than any wall.
Sam's throat tightened around the words he wanted to speak, I am going, mom.
He tried to open his mouth, to give words to his thoughts, but the opposing eyes were faster, crueler, it dismissed him before his tongue could act, Like smoke from the cigarette was he to the eyes that witnessed him... Atleast it felt like that.
He didn't try again.
When ice is dropped in water, Even if it melts, the water becomes cooler.
Sam's eyes mirrored hers, and just as quickly he had run down the stairs, he left the house. running, escaping, leaving.