SEW SORRY by ARON BEAUREGARD & DANIEL J. VOLPE

Author:ARON BEAUREGARD & DANIEL J. VOLPE [ARON BEAUREGARD]
Language: eng
Format: epub

THE FINAL DONATION

D uring the fifteen-minute jog back to the Bentley house, Henry was forced to stop on several occasions because he was bawling so severely. He couldn’t get the little girl’s haunted, defiled expression or her scratchy adolescent screams out of his head.

“She didn’t scream,” he kept repeating to himself every so often.

Eventually, Henry finally returned to the dreary house, albeit not the same person that he was before he had left it. His jelly legs dejectedly jogged back down the cellar steps, nose still sobbing and discombobulated. He lifted both his bookbag and one that held his forthcoming donation.

When he returned to the trees on the back of the property, he approached another gigantic pile of leaves. This one was independent of the one that he’d layered over Ron’s grave. He set the bags down on the side and reached into the mass of brown and orangey dead vegetation.

Henry was still trying to bottle his volatile emotions when he lifted up the handlebars of his bike out of the leaves and swung out the kickstand. He unsnapped the back storage case that was fixed to the rear of his two-wheeler and stuffed the sack that had Ron’s shell inside of it.

He slung the backpack over his shoulders and jumped onto the seat as fast as he could. There was a burning urgency that was now boiling inside him. The longer the entire ordeal had dragged out, the more torturous it felt.

“It’s time to finish this.”

Henry stomped down on the pedal and sped out of the backyard and down the driveway. The freezing wind nipping at his skin made him think about Ron. How he’d never feel the bone-aching cold or sweat from a summer heat wave again. He wouldn’t be dressing up for another Halloween, graduating (not that he would’ve anyway), or get hitched.

It’s for the best. It’s all for the best.

It was beginning to seem like Henry was trying to convince himself that the decisions he’d made over the past two days were the correct ones.

Did the evil and trauma inflicted upon Ron excuse the total cruelty he served up with regularity? Did his homicidal drive to stunt Ron’s time on the planet in ultra-violent fashion and satisfy his own self-centered pilgrimage justify him turning his back on that girl?

He was afraid he knew the answers.

She didn’t scream. She could’ve screamed. She could’ve told him that I was there. She didn’t.

As Henry rolled down the slight hill and past the sign that read “PIERCE PARK,” the guilt was devouring his guts. It felt like he’d swallowed a hot coal and it was burning a hole in his stomach lining.

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