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Jan152009

January 15th, 20XII

It's a Sunday. Two weeks into the second term and the kids are already contemplating why they were so happy to have come back. High school is a strange mistress. At this point in their lives it's hard to have a life outside. But inside, the rules and restrictions can sometimes be unbearable.

There are those that ponder, contemplating such rationale and then those that fall by the wayside of simple exposition into hatred. It used to be said that college was to be the best time of one's life. Then the recession hit and the younger generations would be just as screwed as the rest.

Not much to look forward to when secondary education is daunting because of the necessity of at least a second job just to make tuition payments and the occasional portion of a bar tab. It can be mind-crushing. Though such is far beyond where those easy-street thinkers dare venture. Except this is about him. One of the few who hold the weight of a world and then some on his shoulders.

His name is Michael Lamb. Broken down into word meanings, he could be considered a 'god-like sacrifice.' Puts a lot of pressure on someone especially when they're an emancipated minor who's still suffering from the recent death of his mother and constant reminder that once this term ends he'll have little means to make it in the real world.

It's pretty depressing really. Or so that's what flows through his mind. Seventeen years old and with but one true friend. Matheui Rouzer. A 14 year old kid who, like him, has no parents. Michael finds it funny that amongst all the other 'associates' he has made, he feels he can only trust Rouzer. Perhaps it's because of their similar situations or maybe it's just the fact that they share a common love of strategy games.

Most of his peers find games such as those childish by this point but there's just something about them that he can't shake. Perhaps Michael held on to such a hobby as a way to cope with having to 'grow up' so fast. You see the last time he ever felt like a kid was back when his father was still overseas and it was just his mom and sister. Things seemed peaceful back then. He felt safe. No matter what happened in the day, as soon as he made it home he could feel all his troubles slip away.

He loved his mother. She was the best mother in the world in his eyes. She worked all day but still had dinner ready every night and would even make sure they were up and about in the mornings for school. She worked so hard for the family. So much so that he even decided to get a job himself to help out. Although she was against it she really appreciated the help. He felt it was just the right thing to do. That and besides his sister was too young to really understand what was going on.  Which may be ironic since he'd fold to that same rationale when their father came back and he would turn towards emancipation.

But all of this is mere excess that floats around his mind from day to day. The weight that only builds, never seeming to lessen. It's Sunday and already the thoughts have started. Things'll be okay though. It's Sunday. The day him and Rouzer tend to hold their matches. Ever since they've known each other, going on four years, they've made it almost tradition to challenge one another to some type of war/strategy game on Sundays. They usually play online but sometimes even shift to tangible boards and pieces because it hasn't been that long since digital beat out analog.

It was at those times when his mind could be clear. He was just Michael Lamb. Not Michael the student. Michael the older bother. Michael the senior. Michael the Dinning Services carver. Not even Michael, the one feigning interest in things that don't really matter when you're not as terribly fortunate as kids your age, so as to keep up perceptions with the people who've come to rely him you to fill the 'quota.' Perhaps the only time he could just be free of the restrictions and expectations of others.

Yeah. It's a Sunday. But for Michael Lamb, it'll be a good one.

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Reader Comments (1)

Looks promising.
I like the writing style.

20180110 | Unregistered CommenterKB

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