renawrites
The baby is cradled safely in her arm and it peeks up at her with blinking, trusting brown eyes. She swallows and continues walking, tearing her eyes away from it and clenching it tighter all the same.
He cups his hands around the smooth cherry wood box, staring down at it intently, holding it like a precious new born baby. His palms were clamming up, and his lips moved, whispers of incoherent babble leaking out ever so often. His friends and family were in despair. He held this box like it held the secrets of the universe; truth is, when the box was finally pried from him and examined, there was nothing inside but the empty hopes and insane speeches of a sixteen year old boy.
The framework is marvelous. He finds himself running his fingers over the intricate, interwoven designs. He see's entire worlds within it, and he feels like the carved wood holds so much more meaning than just anybody can place.
The residue is everywhere. Its on the wall, on the concrete. In his hair, on his skin. It's imprinted into the foreground of my memory.
When his friend pulled up to his house, he put the bag in the trunk, and silently slipped into the drivers seat. "Drive." He said quietly, staring straight ahead.
"Where to?" His friend questioned, a slight frown in his voice.
"Somewhere out of town. Anywhere."
His friend looked at him; and he looked back.
"What's in the bag?" his friend finally asked, letting his gaze drift away, somehow feeling the answer.before he even asked.
"I told you Mary was asking for it."
"I fixed it," she said proudly, conjuring the wooden train with her shaky hands from behind her back. Her father looked, nodded, and gave her a half smile.
"Nice," he said, and returned to his whiskey, raising the glass to drink deeply.
It would be years and years of empty hope before she realized that they could not be fixed like toy trains. Things would just have to stay broken.
The ratings are what he lives for. He cannot describe it to anyone-- he is the rating, and the rating is him. He waits for them with bated breath. This number is everything that he is. It is his value, his self-worth, all in the hands of a number.