Hangman's Noose

2358 Words10 Pages
Len stood lazily against the metal frame of the bus stop when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. The man answered it quickly, without looking at the caller ID, and found it to be his wife. He greeted her, asked what was wrong, but before he could finish, Len’s beloved wife erupted into a fit of tears. She stammered her news, barely squeezing audible words in between obnoxious sobs and whining. Len immediately hung up the phone. A sharp gust of wind was summoned and dried the tears that had started to form in his eyes. Clouds hung low around the station, the sky threatening to break open and pour down on the residents of Greenfield at any given moment. And just as the first drops started to fall, several tears trickled down his cheeks. It wasn’t long before his clothes were soaked, demolished and ice cold from the lowering temperature. People huddled under the shelter of the awnings of the neighbouring buildings, but Len couldn’t be bother to shuffle his thin frame under the protection of the bus shelter. Buses came and went, and still Len stood there, rain pouring, hands trembling, soaked in the cold October weather. * * * Milo took a cigarette from his shirt pocket, lit it with his yellow Bic lighter and took a long drag. Squinting, he blew smoke out of his mouth with expertise an eighteen year old shouldn’t have. He twisted his head to the left and caught sight of an older man leaning against the frame of the bus shelter. He watched with disinterest as the man answered his phone, an old cell from that had to be six or seven years old. Milo’s eyes narrowed as he, a man who found an odd pleasure from listening to other’s conversations, strained his ears and leaned forward, trying to catch word of what the man said. He hear... ... middle of paper ... ...is father, the big suck, had gone off on his mother (“how could you let our son do this to himself?” and “this is your goddamn fault, Candice!”) while she threw her own harsh, unrepeatable words at him, all with a little white burning stick jutting out from her lip-gloss plastered lips. It was frightening for him, watching the drama ensue, and without an ounce of liquor. It was all raw, uncut, unaltered. Honestly, it was frightening. They ate together, slept together, the norm. The discussed what would happen that weekend, when the wake would be held, usually during meals. But in between, it was a disaster. He couldn’t bear it, so he spent his time at Milo’s. The two spent most of the time in Milo’s room, listening to old Nirvana albums, sometimes talking, sometimes sleeping, but mostly laying on his bed and tracing out images on the older boy’s popcorn ceiling.

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