Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
My mother… Fuck, she’s probably even worse off. All her money either goes up her nose or in her veins.
And my father… if he wasn’t dead, I could count on him.
But then again, if he wasn’t dead, I probably wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.
If only he hadn’t gone on that last job Uncle Mickey gave him…
Scraping out scoops of formula one-handed, I dump them in a bottle then add water.
Grabbing the bowl by the sink, I fill it up with hot water and that’s when it hits me.
Uncle Mickey.
I haven’t thought of him in years.
Hell, I haven’t spoken to him since I told him I’d never speak to him again at Dad’s funeral.
Abel tugs on my hair and I instinctually make a funny face at him.
His face cracks into a smile and he giggles.
There’s something about his baby giggles that fills my heart with fuzzy warmth.
He’s my world. My everything.
I’d do anything for him.
When it comes to taking care of him, pride is meaningless.
I couldn’t live with myself if I ever lost him.
He sure as hell didn’t ask to be born, nor did he ask to have me as his mother.
His existence is on me. I brought him into this world and I owe it to him to do the best I can.
Going to Uncle Mickey for help would be like selling my soul to the devil.
But what other choice do I have?
2
Eden
South Hebron is exactly like I remember it—dirty, neglected, and decrepit. The air is so thick with hopelessness, it presses down on my shoulders.
My posture slumps under the weight of it.
Clutching Abel a little closer to my chest as we step off the bus, I’m grateful he fell asleep during the ride. It might be silly but I don’t want him to see any of this.
I don’t want him to see where his mommy used to live.
I know that he probably won’t remember any of this, but I’ve always wanted to protect him and shield him from my past.
I never thought I’d be back here and I sure as fuck thought I’d left it all behind me, but walking down the block I find myself falling into old habits.
As if they’ll always be second nature.
Keep your chin down and don’t make eye contact with anyone. If someone approaches, keep walking.
And if they’re persistent, demanding attention, get loud and annoying.
Most of the older homeless guys begging for some change so they can buy their next drink are easily intimidated. You just flap your wings a bit and they’ll go running.
It’s the younger guys looking to score enough so they can party that are the problem. When they approach, they’re usually overly friendly and have a sob story meant to tug at your heartstrings.
But the moment they sense any resistance from you, they get aggressive.
Thankfully, I don’t run into anyone that poses a threat. Just a couple of tweakers that don’t know what dimension they’re living in.
But it is rather early in the day. Most people around here are probably still sleeping. Waiting for the light of day to fade away so everything doesn’t look so stark and bleak.
Crime and drug use is rampant in this area. I should know, almost twenty years of my life were lived on these streets.
If you don’t hook, steal, or deal, you starve.
Opportunities in South Hebron are impossible to come by without connections. The few jobs that exist are shit and pay shit.
Abandoned by the Garden City council due to the absurdly high crime rate, the area hasn’t received any funding or development for at least three decades.
I’m twenty-two, and there’s been no new buildings, no improvements to the roads or infrastructure that I can remember. The area is lucky that it happens to share a water treatment plant with Elim or everyone would probably die of poison and thirst.
The neighborhood has been left to rot, probably in the hope that everyone will die or kill each other off.
Then the mayor can pave over the entire place and make it one great big parking lot graveyard.
Carefully weaving around the trash that litters the ground, trash so old it’s practically embedded in the concrete, I fight back the memories I’ve buried away.
Memories of walking to the corner store with my dad so he could buy his scratchers, under the ruse that we were really going to buy me ice cream.
Memories of my mom squeezing my hand so hard it hurt as she led me through a back alley to meet with some strange man that smelled funny.
Memories of the landlord tossing all our shit into the street after my dad passed away. My mom was so pissed, so focused on screaming and cussing him out, that she didn’t bother to stop any of the people that scurried up to pick through our stuff.