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Chapter 1: Happy Birthday
The faint, pencil-gray shadow of the farmhouse spread itself gently across the underwatered lawn. It lay on top of a small hill, a gentle curve of Oregon green, overlooking a thick forest of evergreen trees. Behind the farmhouse, beyond the forest and the crumbling fence, lay the auto body shop where David's foster father, the owner of the farmhouse, worked. A little further past that lay the junkyard, a library of all things old and forgotten. When David first arrived at the farmhouse five years ago, he would sometimes hop the fence and take the mile’s walk to that junkyard, where he would peruse the forest of forgotten scrap, finding bits and pieces of trash he could take home and polish, sharpen, bend, break, or melt. 

Now, David approached the barn that lay a couple hundred feet west of the farmhouse, where Ricky, the closest thing to a big brother the farmhouse ever saw, ever will see, stands.

Ricky looked out to the forest in front of the barn, the one that doesn’t change colors with the seasons. He seemed to be in the middle of a conversation with some unknown thing, arguing with it, battling it with his eyes, a tightly rolled cigarette weaving smoke into the air above his lips. David kicked the gravel, and Ricky looked at him with charming emeralds, the invisible conversation over, the imaginary face in the forest no longer speaking. Ricky leaned further into the ramshackle barn as well as his thoughts.

“Hey there, kid.” He gently took the cigarette out of his mouth.

Ricky had been calling David “kid” since the day they met, five years ago. He said it with the same tone, the same sitting voice trapped in a melting moment, enjoying a waning cigarette. David never liked it when people called him things like “kid”, but it was a warm word coming from Ricky. With Ricky, David didn’t need to be David anymore.

“Mr. Mann’s looking for you,” said David.

“Missing his cigarettes?” He raised a playful eyebrow and pulled a pack of Camels from the front pocket of his hand-me-down jeans. The faded logo on the box stared at David with vacant eyes.

“He says he wants to give you a birthday present.”

“Oh, I guess it’s getting to that time of year, eh?” Ricky said it with a heavy voice, the voice of a tired adult that wished the world could stop turning for two minutes.

David said nothing and Ricky gave a little chuckle.

“Well, I’ll head back to the house after I enjoy the last of my own present.” He raises the cigarette, a toast to nicotine, and sticks the cigarette cartoonishly into his mouth. The smoke curled strange shapes, coils of tar and dollar-store paper, in front of Ricky’s eyes. They saw past the shapes, back to the forest. He was in conversation with the face again. The thing that lurked past the ramshackle fence, the mystery that stretched on forever and whispered words through the trees. Ricky stood listening.

David opened his mouth. “Ricky?”

“Hm.” His head turned first, then his eyes. He pulled the cigarette from between his tired lips.

“What do you think you’ll do when you get out?”

He took a long pause. The silence was heavy. Leaves ran around the barn, like playful puppies, stopping to nip and bite at ankles before being swept away again.

After a while, he spoke. “I’ll move to Montana or Washington, go find a nice piece of grass and live off the land for a while.” He was looking back at the forest. “That or I’ll be a movie star, with any luck.”

David: “Do you think you’ll ever be happy?”

“Happy…” He gave a little laugh, a short exhale of tired breath. “The world revolves around happiness and everyone’s miserable…” He drew a long stretch of toxic air through the friend between his fingers. “Goddamn miserable…” Ricky nodded, as if confirming the truth of his words. He threw his friend on the ground, now nothing more but filter paper and wasted health, and pushed himself off the barn. He stared at his feet, as he kicked with a straight leg and a worn, combat-style boot against the gravel. “Catch ya’ later kid. I’ve got some thinking to do.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed off to the farmhouse, the clouds judging him from the comfort of a white-washed sky.

David looked to the trees, to the face that wasn't there, and he saw something, if only for a moment. It was a glimmer, nothing more: the wind brushing its icy fingertips against a branch or a startled squirrel scrambling to safety. But David swore he had seen something lurking in the shadows of that forest, beyond the time-stained fence, staring back.

hiya

hru?

💀

76 Just took a nap so good thanks! I'm currently wiring out a post