Kent turned the corner, forcing himself to look casual— though every nerve screamed otherwise. He veered away from the nearest bus stop. Something felt off.
As he took a turn into the next stop, his surroundings twisted like a corrupted code. The asphalt rippled beneath his feet. Then nothing— but a blinding pull.
Before he had a chance to react, Kent was sucked into an alternate dimension. When he opened his eyes, his surroundings smelled like burnt flesh. The air was heavy and it looked like a picture perfect war aftermath.
Kent was tense, pulse quickening. He had a bad feeling. Suddenly, it hit him— like the air itself carried memories. The scent of the smoke took him back to his childhood.
***
Kent's earliest memory was of his grandmother talking smack about his father who he never knew. Kent didn't even know what he looked like but his grandmother clearly did with the way she insulted his father with a passion.
23 years ago
"He shows up, gets you pregnant and disappears again?" Eliza asked her daughter, Liana.
"Bolton is busy," Liana responded, "why do you always take his side? Look at you! Look at my baby, Kent! How are you going to raise two kids on your own in this world?" Eliza chastised her daughter.
"I have you, of course." Liana chirped. Eliza's heart sunk in her chest, "what are you going to do without me?" She asked her daughter, pinching her cheeks with both fingers.
"Absolutely nothing," She paused as she got up.
"I need to go pick up Kent. Can you handle lunch?"
"You get going now." Eliza responded, heading to the kitchen.
"I love you!" Liana shouted as she walked out the door.
"I love you too, baby." She muttered under her breath. Her heart was guilt-ridden.
Three prior, at the hospital
Eliza was back at the hospital for the results of her biopsy.
"Miss Peckle?" The old, frail-looking doctor entered the consultation room.
"Yes!" Eliza responded, jittery. "I'm nervous," Eliza chuckled, "I'm sure I'm just being paranoid haha. It's just…my daughter is pregnant and my grandson is in his rebellious phase. I need to know I'm okay enough to remain at their side." Eliza held the man's eyes desperately.
The doctor cleared his throat obnoxiously before speaking, "your symptoms were consistent with a brain stem tumor and the laboratory findings confirmed that." Eliza's heart sunk in her chest.
"However, the tumor is barely the size of a pea. It is, though, lodged very close to the vestibulocochlear nerve so with time you would likely be experiencing some regression in coordination and eye movements."
Eliza smiled nervously. She was 92 and had lived a very full life but she wasn't ready to die. She hadn't seen the America her father dreamed for.
"How long do I have? I might be jumping the gun but isn't everything worse with old age? I know I don't look a day over 50 but you already knew that." She joked. It was one of her coping mechanisms since she was a little girl.
"You're right. However, given your great vitals and absence of co-morbidities, your life expectancy with the tumor still could be affected. I'm unable to give a direct answer unfortunately." The doctor responded.
She preferred to hear one month than live in the unknown.
"Thank you," Eliza left the hospital with a resolve to not disclose her illness to her daughter or grandchildren.
"I'll do all I can to live long for my family," she repeated in her mind. Liana was a strong woman capable of taking care of things in Eliza's absence but she was more worried about Bolton's possible reappearance. Eliza knew he was bad news although she had no proof.
Kent was home now, getting undressed and ready for lunch. Eliza was outside mowing the lawn.
"You don't need to be doing that at your age!" Liana said to her mom.
"Nonsense! I'm more than capable of mowing a lawn. I've done it since I was a teenager."
Liana closed the distance between them, placing her hand over her mother's.
"I'm a strong woman, mother. I don't need you worrying about me. Let me take care of you for a change. I can handle Bolton, he's my husband."
Eliza scoffed, "oh you had a husband? I forgot, seeing how he hasn't been home in years!"
"Shh, mom. I don't want Kent listening in on any of this."
Eliza calmed down. She also didn't want the kids pulled into the mess that was their father, Bolton Cross.
"I can protect them," Liana said, rubbing her pregnant belly.
Eliza watched her daughter, praying silently that she lived long enough to be present in her grandchildren's lives.
Later that day, when Liana was prepping Kent for bed, she noticed a bruise on his lip. She immediately felt guilty for not noticing earlier.
"Who did this to you?!"
"No one," A five year old Kent with a busted lip, replied. Liana palmed his face firmly, "are you being bullied?" As the words left her mouth, her heart shattered at the possibility of anyone hurting her boy.
Kent shook his head and flashed a grin, "I took care of it, mom. I'm okay," he reassured her. Liana heaved a sigh of relief. She was going to see his principal tomorrow.
"How's Brie? You said you were going to the doctors." Kent asked, "you remembered!" She cooed. Kent was smarter than his age.
"It was rescheduled for next week. Patient overload, they said." Liana sighed. She suddenly remembered one of the bedtime stories her mother read to her
"Say, Kent. Would you like me to tell you a story?"
The memory splintered, yanked away like a comfort blanket ripped off a sleeping child.
The scent of smoke was no longer nostalgia—it was real, suffocating, clawing at his throat. The warped sky above him pulsed like a dying vein. Kent's fists clenched. He wasn't five anymore. There were no warm hands to hold, no gentle voices to soothe him. Only the silence of war, and the monsters hidden in its shadows.
He wasn't the boy who needed stories.
He was the man who would write one—in blood, if he had to.
And something was coming.
Fast.