Prelude/Chapter 1

Prelude: America

It was the darkest of nights, a new moon was suffocating the light and all that could be heard were the howls of wolves in distant valleys. In the far reaches of Eifel, Germany, against the low mountains existed the esteemed manor of House Dietrich which overlooked the small town that sat quietly below. A narrow dirt road, hidden from view in a forest made of elder spruces and pines, was the only pathway to the estate. Despite the late hour, not all was silent. With only a few lights shone from its stone walls, above all of Eifel, the House of Dietrich stood with dismay howling throughout its corridors like wolves in a frenzy.

From within the old manor, up the stairway that greeted guests, inside the great hall with oil painted portraits of past relatives and knightly statues, through a system of bends lied the family’s study. There the eldest brother of the Dietrich family was in a quarrel with his father. The father who as of late was often found in the family’s library. A rather muscular man with a wrinkled complexion and graying hair that grew out thick around his head and face, patiently awaited his son’s final uproar before resuming his reading of an old tome, a torn and ancient set of script, one he always kept near to him. In the warm glow of the fireplace across from his desk, he maintained his studies, along with contending to his son’s spoken desires. Yet, the library was fully engulfed in his son’s rage, continuing his argumentum, dropping books from the shelves in spite. The father, becoming impatient, stood slamming his hands into the hard wood desk.

His father could take no more. Passing his desk towards his son, he opened his palm and struck. “Stadtler! You dare disrespect ages of knowledge at the foot of your father?” He spoke as the bulky young man fell to the floor, now laid amongst the scattered bindings of text.

The pain caused Stadtler’s rage to flare and he lifted himself quickly to glare into his father’s eyes, with heavy breaths and teeth showing. But his father’s composure did not falter, and in that innate fear Stadtler began to calm himself. Stepping down from his father’s gaze, he resumed his position near the fireplace, with arms crossed.

His father however, reached out and ran the same palm that brought his son to the floor, back across his cheek in a gentle stroke. “My boy, even in decades, you are still so young.” He spoke softly, before settling himself back behind his desk. Contemplating, he spoke once more. “It is that youth, however, that has kept you ignorant. For that, this punishment should come as no surprise.”

“Boris, I implore you…” Stadtler replied, but not a second passed before his father’s own eyes grew large in disgust.

“Do not use my birth name, you call me father, no matter how old or how strong you grow. You call me father, from here unto the end.”

Stadtler, with his great pride being set aside, bowed his head forward and responded, “I am sorry, father. It’s just, you know what this could mean for the family. The name of Dietrich has been fighting for so long that…” he paused, thinking of his siblings. “Hannah has barely become a woman and Mica… Mica lacks the spirit. This journey you have your sights on, it’s just another word sent from those sniveling dignitary’s. Haven’t we done enough, by lineage alone? Hasn’t our blood been spilled more commonly than the very people we’ve employed? When does it end?” He refuted with anguish.

His father’s gaze was between the book and his son. Carefully closing the ancient script as footsteps were heard from above, he responded “Stadtler, someday soon, perhaps before my passing, you will understand why the House of Dietrich has defended this world for so long.”

He stood once more, moving towards the fireplace across the room for warmth and light. As he passed Stadtler, he gave a pat to his shoulder before standing before the fire. Its vigorous flames seemed to leap and contort to their own chaotic will, bouncing and twisting themselves in yellows, oranges and reds. Hanging above the fireplace was a mantle of a man with very similar features as Boris’ own, yet much younger. Boris himself, upon setting eyes over the mantle, seemed deep in thought. As Stadtler looked on, he wondered to himself whether the greater good could have been justified if it was for the benefit of his own family.

Boris shuttered, “Stadtler…” he paused, “…it is without a doubt in my mind that this world is cruel. The monstrous dark that seems to place a veil over our heads is only temporary, so long as we tear it from existence. Humanity is too young, is too… naïve.” Turning back to his son, Boris then picked up the scent of lilacs from outside the library hallway. He smiled, “Hannah, you may come out of the dark now.”.

“You know,” she spoke in cheerful delight, “You’ll wake all of Eiffel at this rate. That is, unless you keep quiet. It’s a good thing I’m a creature of the night, otherwise you’d be in big, big trouble father. Oh,” afterwards, she pretentiously exclaimed, “and brother.” smiling with a wink before trotting across the room to her father’s desk.

“And why would I be in so much trouble?” her father asked.

“Because daddy,” she danced about, before opening the pages of her father’s ancient text, “a girl needs her beauty sleep…” her energy degraded as she took notice of the text.

Her father smirked from across the room, walking over he closed the book in front of her. “That isn’t for you, not yet.” He beamed.

Stadtler, annoyed by her spontaneity, grunted before speaking in a condescending tone, “No amount of sleep will make you beautiful. So, if I were you, I’d start applying more make-up.” He snidely remarked.

Hannah’s smiling face turned to a temper. “Stad, why are you always so mean to your little sister?” She left the desk and approached him cautiously. At his front, running a finger underneath his chin, reaching up to his ear she whispered, “There’s more than claws on me, brother.”

“Enough!” Boris shouted, “the night is almost at an end, and we have much to prepare for. We leave, one by one tomorrow.”

“Leave?” Hannah exclaimed, “We’re leaving again? What for, where to? Is this another one of those Council things?”

“Wouldn’t you know?” Stadtler interrupted, “You’ve only been hiding behind that doorway for this whole conversation…”

“Hey, no fair!” She shrieked. “I thought that only dad could sense me.”

“Soon I’ll know more than just where you are,” Stadtler teased, “I’ll know where you’ve been as well.”

Two hands hit the desk again and both siblings stood alert and faced their father. “Hannah, you of all people should know our pace is due to the Council’s will. It’s only in the family’s best interest that I have these discrepant arguments with your older brother, but not you. I taught you better than to disobey my words.”

Hannah, feeling embarrassed, stood humbly. “Yes father.” she replied.

Boris then looked back to Stadtler, “Son, I allow you to make these motions apparent so that you may one day learn from them. Your responsibility as my eldest child should not go into question. But you must accept our place in the Council and obey them as if they were me and always me. Bless your mother for not having to…” Boris drifted off again as he returned once more to his seat.

Stadtler, chin held high with bright eyes full of pride, proceeded to nod in compliance.

The library went quiet again, the night was fading as the first light of a sleepy sun rose from the east over the mountaintops and brigade of trees. “Your brother should be home soon. It’s then that I can tell you all the plan.” Boris, exhausted from the night’s predicaments, proceeded to place the ancient text back into his desk. From within his upper-class garments Boris released a key strung to a silver chain, unlocking his yew desk and placing the book inside for safe keeping. He pressed his fingers to his forehead and rubbed. His children sitting in each corner of the room, awaiting their brother’s return home.

“Mica always takes his time, there’s no sense in waiting for him.” Hannah said impatiently.

“You’re such a brat, learn some sensibility.” Stadtler responded, before hearing his father’s voice speak over his own.

“Stadtler, you’re not much more than a young cub yourself. You may be the eldest of my children, but you certainly have more to learn.”

However, upon seeing the gratified expression begin to form in Hannah’s face, Boris turned his attention to her, “And yet, there is so much more that your younger siblings could learn as well.”

Hannah returned to a state of annoyance. “How fitting, isn’t it?” she began, “That Mica be out so late on a new moon. How fitting indeed.”

She spoke as she looked to her nails and then into the dying fireplace, wondering just how much longer it would take before her brother returned and her father’s grandiose news would commence.

Moments passed in bore, but it was in due time that Mica followed his siblings tracks back to the study where they all sat in wait. Mica, being the youngest and of a petite build for a young man, carefully leaned against a banister of books and quietly awaited his father’s words without a stroke of dialogue of his own. Boris, now rising from his desk as if it became a pedestal, opened his arms and welcomed his youngest kin. “Mica, welcome home, how goes the hunt?”

But before Mica could utter a word, Stadtler muttered, “In the woods, how does a wolf hunt with no senses…”

Mica, ignoring his brother, replied to his father, “It goes well, the town is quiet, the outskirts are still. I look forward to what this awkward alignment of our family will bring.” He replied with reassured reason.

Boris dropped his arms, now stern and attentive to his children, asking them to rise from their places and approach him at his desk. “You never know when the crows are listening, children.” He whispered before gaining strength in his voice. “We travel to America, to a place called Greywater, West Virginia. It’s there that certain items pertaining to our lineage must be recovered- that is, before the followers of the Black Goat find them first.”

Stadtler grunted, “The Black Goat…” piqued just by the name alone. “Call it what it is father, stupidity. Senseless people and their laughable cults always getting in our way.” he cried out.

“We can’t expect the world to know what we do without some toxic madness infecting them, dear brother.” Mica intervened. “Cult or not, these people might as well be brainwashed, if not quite literally just that.” He finished, sensibly spoken.

“America? No!” Hannah jilted, “No way, American’s are a toxic madness, Mica. I can’t… I hear they act like savage animals. Murdering over love, buying out lives, no sense of virtue or… reason at all… Father please, I rather be sent back to Romania.”

“America!” Boris firmly stated, “America is as much of Germany as it is of Russia, as it is of the world. It is a conglomerate soul, the forebearer of many lives and the producer of inbred things. There’s a reason to call it a melting pot. America is where the enemy goes and so, America is where we must go.” Boris, with his keen years behind him, prayed that his children would follow his lead.

“It’s not just the enemy then, is it? What we were talking about before father…” Stadtler circled back to the start of the night, “it’s also our place of providence. Still, there is no mercy in America, no peace nor salvation. If the enemy doesn’t do us in, then it will be the American people who will devour us whole.”

“The Council’s orders are and have been word for many generations.” Boris began, “To break the word of the Council would lead to certain exile or worse.” He reinstated. Boris had only known tremendous responsibility. From the sins of his father to the sins of his children and of his own. He felt in debt to the Council, for all the years they provided Dietrich wealth and prosperity. Thinking on it, Boris had but one last remark. One that summarized his feelings for the new bound country. A statement he would make, on behalf of his family and ancestors alike. “America…” he laughed, “America has no faith for the Gods or otherwise.”

Chapter 1: End of the World

I had that dream again, an unknown girl and I, standing over a precipice. I’m not sure whether there’s a great fire below or it’s simply the reflection of the sun pouring out from over a darkened sky onto the waterfront. Some immense darkness creeps past the light. Yet, we are not afraid…

…not yet.

Sitting along the tailgate of a 2003 Subaru Baja were two part-time freshmen college students smoking cigarettes and discussing nothing new. It was an ordinary affair, led by trials of future tense and present-day predicaments. Cars were dispersing from the parking lot as they watched another sun set over the Rocky Mountains to the west. Classes were coming to an end and finals were bound for the break of next week.

One student, although thin, had more muscle than fat about him. He typically wore some sort of black shirt with a particular band embedded onto the forefront, with skinny blue jeans and a knack for rebellion lined in patchwork across the twill weaves of his pants. His friend, with olive skin and brown eyes with darker hair to match, wore loosely drawn clothing around his somewhat larger build, mainly for comfort.

“Your parents don’t know yet? Dude, that’s sick, but- kind of bad too, right? Like… once they find out, right? You’ll be screwed, right?” Haim rarely failed to entertain.

“Haim, for the hundredth time, I don’t care. Living in my parent’s house makes me feel like a damn child these days. It sucks. But living rent free is better than living with rent… I guess.” He spoke firmly, while retaining dreamy prospects of self-ownership. With the weight of property taxes, leasing agreements and rental resolves hanging low around his neck, he was more than certain that his current situation was more than sufficient in the meantime.

“Semesters almost over bro.” Haim replied, before becoming frenzied by another female student walking by. “Oh, Hell yeah brother, look at the tight ass she’s strutting. Shotty!” He called out. Haim, now noticing his friend’s embarrassment by his outburst, spoke up, “Dude, Jake, it’s all cool bro. She’s a total flake anyways, just an eye piece.”

Jake, without any real interest nor resentment towards his friend’s outburst, pulled out a pack of American Spirits and continued as he struggled to light one in the subtle breeze. Feeling the smoke enter his lungs, he coughed slightly before inhaling again, that sense of pure nostalgia and relief settling in for just a handful of seconds before returning to the world. A warm orange light retreated over the community college, dressed in its concrete enclosure. The college itself had been designed by an architect who mainly worked on the layouts of American prisons, whose work clearly spoke for itself. From the plain, flat concrete walls to the lack of windows. At least there was beauty outside, the springtime now expiring and the blossoms holding their own across the medians of a drab and dreary parking lot.

“Man, my parents don’t need to know. Probably would never find out that I keep dropping classes. This shit is boring anyways. And why is it…” Jake inhaled on his cigarette once more, then blowing smoke “…why is it that what we learn in high school is to prepare us for college, when all college tries to do is prepare us for the real world? The real world’s here, ain’t it man? I’m living in it, I see it, I feel it. So, what do I need an overpriced education for?” He argued, to nobody really except himself. Haim wasn’t much for a debate. He was a listening man at heart. But the more Haim agreed, the more Jake felt empowered by his own words. That’s all he needed really, not an A+ nor a B- or a solid C to D. F meant failure to most, but to Jake, F was for Fortunate, Fame and most importantly Freedom.

“I hear yah’ man, I hear yah’. Amen brother. Yo,” Haim, in a hitched sort of eccentric mood, now pumped up by the prospects of ditching class again, decided it was time to ask Jake, “you going to Stephanie’s party tonight?”

“Stephanie? From English?” Jake replied, uncertain.

“Nah man, Stephanie from high school bro. Stephanie Wheeler, size C, brunette…” nothing was hitting yet, until “…slept with Brandon, she said he had the smallest dick she’d ever seen. It broke the whole football teams moral that week, just before Homecoming and we lost the game. Simply because,” Haim waved his fingers around, “one guys dick wasn’t big enough for one girl’s fat hole.” and he laughed.

It then struck home, and Jake recalled the times he watched her in the halls, flirting with guys and acting pretentious. “I don’t know man, isn’t she kind of a bitch?”

Haim thought for a second before agreeing, “Yeah, totally, but she’s throwing a free for all bro and we can’t miss it.”

Thinking on the situation, Jake asked “Who else is going?” hoping to hear that the short of stature but insanely sexy Ashely, or perhaps the maddeningly cute Rachel would show up. In his mind, college was never about the credits, it was about the people you could meet along the way. And more so, which people you could befriend, collaborate with or otherwise… have a bit of fun with. It became a fleeting thought, as Haim spoke.

“Not so sure man. Just know the list is long. I think Tommy Muehler is making a scene, maybe Austin Bradford and his brother Mitchel. My sister might be going too, which kinda’ sucks…”

“Hala’s going to be there?” Jake responded, exasperated. “Well, isn’t that awkward for you?”

Haim, with little to no thought, responded carelessly with, “Nah man, she may be my sister, but she ain’t my property or nothin’. Not sure who invited her though, she’s still underage, though that’s never really stopped either of us.” He smiled before returning, “Hala’s got her own thing going, just about to enter college… I just hope she sticks to her grades. Unlike us.”

“What you mean, unlike us?” Jake pressed.

Haim grinned and told him, “Just. Like. Us.”

“Just like us.” Jake agreed, giving a quick fist bump before asking “What time’s the party starting? Is it at Stephanie’s parent’s place or she got her own pad?” He thought aloud, wondering how long it would be before he could throw his own parties at his own residence. That roof over his head, that granite kitchen top, that outdoor patio, those tickets to fly to Berlin or maybe Paris, paid by Jake and him alone. All these vivid dreams of home and travel weren’t going to be paid out by student loans, only delayed. How many years, he often wondered, would he have to waste just to find a startup job, with more years to waste until he could afford such a venture? But by then, he figured, the time would have been wasted. That was the irony of education, he’d often preach to his friends. In a paradox of sorts, he thought about how expenses for an education were supposed to afford commodity over comradery at an adjusted, fixated, manifested rate. When to him the only rate that mattered was the rate at which one could finally say they escaped their own institutionalization.

“I get it man, the party with its confetti confections: pretty girls and loads of alcohol. But man, how we suppose to live?” Jake asked. “I may be trailing off here Haim, but isn’t there more than these needless celebrations to get us through? I love the adventure, meeting new people and all… but if anything, it isn’t getting us where we need to be.”

Haim, who gave a quick nod and a friendly touch to Jake’s arm, resounded his statement. This awoke a feeling in Jake, a sense of realism that brought him back out of his head and back into the real world.

“I’m sorry, man. Just got these thoughts is all.” Jake replied and Haim with a simple gesture, beckoned in agreement while standing carefully in wait.

“Well...” Haim began, thinking that this time would be better than any to ask, “I was wondering if you could pick me up. No car, you know, take the bus and all that. Party’s at seven, I think. But if we get there by six, we might be able to snag some extra drinks and ladies in the process.”

Jake’s anxiety whispered in his ears; the idea of picking Haim up was more irritating than it should’ve been. The drive time back and forth, the irresponsibility between drunk drivers, not to mention he would have to wait later if Haim felt like staying longer at the party. The whole act of it was numbing, disquieting and full of personal accountability. Jake didn’t want to be personally accountable for the two of them, he had trouble enough looking out for himself these days.

“Your sister’s going right, maybe you should drive with her?” It was Jake’s nervousness now taking over. Or at least he told himself it was. As any reason his brain could concocted, he concluded with the simple answer yes. The yes man to his own absurdity, whether it was “Yes, let’s miss Mother’s Day to smoke a bowl with the guys.” or “Yes, let’s ditch class for another day of wandering through daily nothings.” to the now and coherent “Yes, let’s not drive our friend, because it takes enough to drive ourselves to this unknown place, full of unknown people and unknown outcomes where we may be despised or misplaced.” At the end of the day, in some estranged and formidable way, it always felt as though too many eyes were watching him, full of unwanted expectations he couldn’t meet.

“Dude, please, I could wait if you got other things going on.” Haim begged in a polite way.

Jake pondered what was right and wrong. He knew better than to go to the party, having not been on his parent’s best side lately. However, by negating the obstacle of picking up Haim (who lived on the other side of town, and not the good side), all the while waiting on his friend and then driving him back, while staying semi-sober for the drive there and from… Honestly, it all felt way too exhausting to take a hold on. Any change in plans, any denominator that Jake could not anticipate was frightening to him.

“Haim, I’m sorry bro, but I’m not exactly sure if I’ll make it to the party or not. You might as well hitch a ride without me. My parents have been on my ass lately and... anyways, just in case, what’s the address to the place?”

Haim, diluted, gave Jake the address to the party. He knew his friend’s faults through and through, and gave mercy where it was needed. In the end the two bathed in the magnificent sunlight, parading across the highways to the highlands and the forest tops. From the blue shadows to the purple highlights and the bright burning candlelight sunset scenes, the two watched as shadows fell over the lands, reaching them in harrowing shades. It was the scenery that brought peace to an otherwise obstructed conversation. The two let their differences subside.

“Well… hope to see you at the party, ok?” Haim doubled down, content, hoping to relieve his friend from his formidable isolation.

But Jake couldn’t help it. It was in his nature to dispel uncertainty and unreason from the conventional and the contemporary. He wanted a simple life, something rudimentary or, in contrast, something of fame and fortune. These two extremes, neither affordable lest obtainable, and so he wondered: Would an education or an experience get me there? After two years of his continued education (not assuming the twelve years and a one year break it already took to reach this point), he chose experience as his go-to solution. Something he hadn’t tried to its fullest yet. Through memories of wooden desks and lit projector screenings like drive-in movie showings of the past, he cared little about the education required to reach a degree. Experiences, for him, made up his short lifetime. Perhaps experiences alone could make up the rest of what he wanted.

“I’ll see you at the party…” Jake began to confirm, before allowing denial to slip in again, “…unless I can’t make it, ok?”

Haim in disbelief, knowing his friend’s fickleness, responded with “Whatever you say bro. I know I’ll see you there either way.”

Those words from Haim were enough for Jake to at least try and show up at the party’s doorstep. With the conversation ended and the two abandoning each other to the nightlife, they fist-bumped once more before pathing their own ways. While passing Haim near the bus stop, Jake made his way onto packed streets of nine-to-five workers returning to home, stuck sitting behind the steering wheel, contemplating futures.

What to wear? Should he shower? What brand of body spray? What excuse could he use to keep this from his parents? It’s not like his parents were stupid, he was sure that they knew all too well what he was doing. Or better yet, what he wasn’t doing: passing his classes. He lived day by day, the future being a dream and the past acting as a friendly reminder. Cruising past streetlights and intersections, he eventually made it to his house. To him, it was another successful day of playing the part of a successful student. Now he had to act as if he was that successful student.

Out of his car, he prepared himself for the inevitable. Walking inside, the lights to the kitchen and living room were lit. His nostrils filled with the scent of his mother’s cooking, the wonderful smell of roasting beef, with the subtle hints of carrots and potatoes being slow cooked. Although Jake resented his parents to an extent, his mother’s cooking and his father’s occasional time with the grill were two things he’d never forget. His mother, having heard his entry into the house, called out from the busy kitchen.

“Jake, if that’s you then please grab your father from the garage and set the table. Please.” Please was always a statement on its own, pretense from his mother.

“Yes mom, let me just drop my stuff off in my room real quick.” He replied, hastily heading to the basement. “What do I tell them? … what do I say? …” he muttered to himself down the stairs. “Tell them I’m meeting up with some other students… study session!” He spoke aloud, “On a Friday night though?” contemplating, he laid his school bag near the edge of his bed and fell onto the comforter in thought. “It’s for biology mom, we’ve been working on the… uh… cells! Yeah, cells and um… dad, finals next week. Between Logic and English, I just haven’t had enough time to keep up with Bio, yeah. So, I might be out for a bit tonight.” He rehearsed himself, word by word until it sounded honest.

“Jake Jager, dinner is almost ready! Please get your dad and set the table!” His mother yelled from the top of the staircase. Jake knew she was serious now by the mention of his last name. He was lucky that his middle name had not been mentioned.

He shot up from his bed. “Things will be fine” he told himself. Running up the staircase, almost tripping over the last few steps, he exited from the family room to the backyard patio. From the stained wood platform was a large sixteen-hundred square foot square of green grass, laid beside a four-car garage and a driveway equipped with two basketball hoops. His father, a dedicated mechanic, was always working on something. It was a generational thing, or so he was endlessly told by those a part of his father’s generation, that the work was never truly done. In his mind, the work was done when you wanted it to end. All the needless keeping busy and out pacing yourself never made much sense to him. Though Jake never held more than a startup job in his life and couldn’t blame his father for always working. It was a passionate trade and Jake was still seeking his own.

“Dad!” he called from the patio, “Dinner’s almost ready!”

His father, a somewhat average man with a beer belly to match his age, hair beginning to shed from his head, gave a wave of confirmation. His hands covered in oil and grease, his work shirt forever stained with a variety of fluids and granular solvents, walked his way over to the garage’s sink (which he installed himself). The man was a hard worker, Jake gave him that much credit. From the patio to the family room, the old-timer had designed and built nearly everything from scratch. In fact, the only service that his father didn’t provide was the renovation of his mother’s kitchen and the construction of the four-car garage in the backyard, which was strictly used as a man cave and workstation.

“Tell your mother I’ll be in a bit.” His father exclaimed, with Jake heading back inside.

In the kitchen, his mother asked him how his day went. Between casual conversations, he grabbed the plates and silverware. Moving back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room, he helped his mother bring out hot rolls, a side of green beans, butter, and the pot roast. His mother, although very stringent in her ways, was a woman of great pride. An early feminist from the seventies, she always stood her ground in any argumentum. Jake had never seen her bow to prejudice or misogyny. She was a woman who had kept herself looking her best for over forty years. Two hours in the morning, every morning, preparing her hair, makeup and attire. To an hour at night to remove it all and start again the next day. From first glance she could’ve been mistaken as ten years younger than she was. She was fierce, fierce enough to put up with his old man. That much, Jake respected. He had a hard enough time putting up with his father as is. Between sit-down conversations about Jake’s own future, to how to properly change your car’s oil, he was split between prosperities of common place and future tenses uncertain. It didn’t feel like he was being given advice, rather, he felt as though his father was always looking down on him.

“Is dinner finally ready, lady?” His father would joke with an exclamation set on “lady”. He was always that way, perverse and juvenile, but it never deterred from his masculine sense of responsibility to his family.

His mother firmly told him to “Shut up and sit down.”

It was then while crossing between the kitchen and the dining room that Jake noticed his father’s hand give a quick grab to his mother’s backside. She gave a quick shriek, a light slap to his fathers’ chest and called him by his name as she said, “…this is not the time, go sit down you pervert.” Even Jake laughed for a moment before remembering his upcoming rehearsal.

It was at the dinner table, which took up half of what could be called the living room, where a night’s feast was held. With the television playing the evening news, crime rates climbing and commercials commencing, the family sat mostly in silence sometimes gathering in conversation. Some talk of work went on, another talk about rising gas prices, but nothing about Jake’s grades or schooling came up. It was an utter surprise, with the semester coming to an end, he didn’t think that his parents would act so dismissively about everything.

Dinner came to an end and the family sat, letting the meal settle. The only sound became the news in the background, before Jake’s father silenced the TV and began the questions while his mother sat back in anticipation. Surprised, Jake knew that this was the time. As much as he had practiced for this, he realized that his parent’s had been preparing as well. It was a back-and-forth game of Russian Roulette, with the only gun pointed towards himself. “How’s school?” it would start simple enough, “How are your grades?” and “What classes will you be taking next semester?”. Thankfully, Jake had an answer for them all, either by bullshit or daydreams, he had a power to make little white lies sound true.

“I think Photography or Drawing 101 next semester to lighten things up. Maybe a math course since those are required. Oh, and a history class, maybe the European Nations or something.” Jake assumed things were going well, as he continued on, “There’s also a cool Multimedia Arts class that I’ve been thinking about, that’s gotten good reception and I think that-” But his words were cut short.

His father, who had looked displeased since the start of their conversation, quickly intervened, “Jake, son, you don’t need to keep lying to us about what you’re doing, ok? We just want honesty. And if honesty is too much for you then… I’m afraid there’s not much we can do to keep you living here.” His old man stated solemnly.

Suddenly, Jake was out of breath, caught off guard and pretending not to be the villain that he felt he was being prosecuted as. “I’ve got a big biology test next week and… I’m gonna’ go study with some classmates of mine tonight, so don’t worry I-”

“Jake,” His father reaffirmed, “stop lying to us. We’re your parents after all.”

“What was happening?” He thought. What went wrong, where did he slip up? This was all so sudden, all too much to accommodate. “What are you talking about?” he faked, hoping momentum would settle in again. It didn’t.

His mother, who had stayed strong and silent up to this point, had a few tears running down her cheeks and soon began a cascade of weeps and wallows. His father lowered his head, bringing a hand over his wife’s shoulder and in a caressing motion comforted her. Then bending his head upright, he stared towards his son venomously.

“Last semester…” his father began, “when you told us that you had lost your grades upon completion, well… we called the school. They told us that you had flunked every class except for poetry one-oh-one or whatever. We didn’t say a word…” he passively closed off for a moment before returning to confrontation. “We let it pass, let it go, knowing that you had really tried your first two semesters. We were hoping that you’d do more with your time this semester, return to your previous grades. But then we called again…”

“Dad, I can explain…” Jake began, but was hushed by the sight of his father’s finger and another leap in his mother’s whimpers.

“We called again; you’ve been skipping classes. You’re failing out of this semester too. We don’t know what to do…” And then, even his father had to hold back his own tears as he continued forth, “we said you could stay with us for free if you went to school. But you actually have to apply yourself. Signing up isn’t enough. Did you think we were idiots or something?”

Jake tried desperately to say “No, you’re not idiots. I screwed up, I’m sorry.” But the words couldn’t come in time and his father was swimming in an endless stream of realization now. He had really done them wrong. His actions then and now had consequences that he hadn’t accounted for and yet it was too little, too late. “You’re not idiots, I love you. I really do, I screwed up. I love you, say it to me too. I love you. Say it, that you still love me too…”

Too little, too late. His mother’s eyes reddened from crying. His father heartbroken, had no reason to listen any longer. “Jake… after this semester, you’re moving out. You’re kicked out from this household, you hear me?” He sounded saddened. Stern, yet aching in all the ways he chose to discipline his son. “We gave you a choice…” he solemnly spoke, “and you broke your promise to us. We’ve paid for you to learn and can clearly see that you haven’t learned a thing.” The room went quiet, before the end of the world consumed itself in one lasting sentence, “You have two weeks to move out.” He lifted himself from the dining room table and began to pick up the empty dishes as he spoke one last time, “I hope it was worth it in the end.”

“We both still love you, Jake.” His mother firmly professed, “But what you’ve been doing with your time and the money we gave you…” she sniffled and stood up to take the remainder of dishes from the table, retreated and said in a damper of words, “you’re wasting your life right now. I only hope… I hope that you improve after this.”.

Like that, Jake’s parents had cleaned up and left the table. Jake, without a word left in him, sat quietly to himself. Alone now, with only the sounds of washing dishes and words too quiet for him to hear being spoken. He rose from the table, crestfallen, he led himself down to his bedroom. From gasoline tears lighting flames of fury, Jake erupted as he struck the walls of his bedroom, laying imprints into the old wood. He screamed into his pillow; he threw fists into the air. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way!” he cried to himself. “It wasn’t meant to be this hard…” he swore, upon the marrow of his bones to the breaking point of pain. “No… It’s not me. They’re completely overreacting! They act like life isn’t hard enough as is! Maybe school isn’t for me. But to kick me out is wrong.” He deemed as certainty.

Soon he was counting over his bedroom. From his CD collection, and what amount he could fetch for over two-hundred used albums. To his latest gaming console and the handful of games he had bought for it. What types of prices could he manage with them? Old clothes, collective band merchandise that he had accumulated over the years, how much would each shirt and hoodie go for online? Random memorabilia in assorted versed action figures, and aged card games. What price could be matched? Would that price afford him a place to stay for a few nights, for a few months, till the next semester or the next year? Jake went into survival mode, contemplating alternative measures and counting the amount of money he could fetch for all he thought he absolutely wouldn’t need.

It was a rush of adrenaline, a power surging without a protector. The thought of leaving all behind as a prospect for intimate endeavors. Jake was about to burst from the inside at the mere thought of being let go. Left alone and otherwise left to one’s own demise, the struggle, he knew it had been coming. But he never thought it could had come so suddenly. He stared into the void of his bedroom ceiling and the void spat back, now knowing that this ceiling was no longer his. Not the walls around him, or the buried window that grazed instances of sunlight from above, to the spaces enclosed. In an instant, all rational thought left his mind as he checked the time and noticed it was ten-past seven.

He was late for a party. So, screw responsibility, it was time for release.

Prelude/Chapter 1

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