Black soul rose by John Jones... - HTML preview
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Ian
Ian was out in the shed where his father kept and hoarded useless paraphernalia.
Mainly tools as he liked to fix up old bangers he had bought to sell them on. He was loathe to throw anything away, and half of the tools in there were rusty. One which wasn’t however, was a new fifteen-inch wrench which he put in the deep inside pocket of the winter jacket he was wearing.
His father always went to bed early, and his mother stayed up late to watch a documentary channel. They were ‘ordinary’ parents. Nothing unique about them. They obeyed the law, everything governments imposed on them, paid their bills on time, paid their taxes, believed the media, and were good honest citizens. Ian thought they were dull and boring, barely making footprints on this Earth in the time they were here.
Well, sod them both, he thought. No point in saying goodbye, he may well be back.
To the side of the shed was a barely used gate leading out to a barely used pathway leading out onto another road. He left this way.
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His ‘mother’ was in neutral mode. She was exactly halfway between depressed and happy, reading a woman’s magazine and listening to the radio in the front room.
Glenn took all her medicine out from beneath the sink and put it on the kitchen counter where she could see it if she came out. There were a couple of tools there as well. Hammer, nails, screwdrivers and pliers. He took a screwdriver.
Maybe it will remind her to take the lot, he wondered, and put a glass of water beside them and walked out into the hallway.
She probably won’t even notice me gone, he thought. Maybe not even care.
Good riddance to the little bastard.
He nodded at that, his hand on the front room handle, about to go in and say something along the lines of goodbye.
Then he thought better of it. Leave her be. Fuck it.
The door slowly closed and locked on his way out.