Aim for the Head (Chapter 1)

And it began.

With a morbid, tingling sensation that rushed through his body, the heat that rose on his cheeks and the clenching of his mauled fists, he finally broke. A twisted grin crept its way into the boy's mind and through his expression it showed itself. The tears that finally fell were ones of pain, ones of angst and ones of regret, apology. He didn't even have time to say he was sorry, to his mother and to his father, for everything he had put them through. He was such a low-life prick, a fool to think that he could ever save them at this hour. He had lost the only thing, or things, that he ever had in his miserable life. Gone with the crowd, just like that, drove out of the city by the monstrosity that was becoming well known as the end of humanity.

"So-rry," he choked, falling to his knees and letting the sobs wrack through his broken bones. He hit the ground with his ripped knuckles balled up into fists and screamed in rage, delusional as he was. He didn't know to who or to where, but he yelled and yelled until his throat was dry and torn and his saliva churned into a fatal suffocation that had him coughing and hacking and sobbing and he couldn't stop. He let himself fall, he let himself crack and break into a million tiny pieces. He didn't care if he was like a broken childhood toy, impossible to put back together. The child would just move on and get another toy and they would be as happy as they were before. But they always forget about their old toy, lying on the top shelf, covered with a thousand weeks worth of dust and sorrow. It would be just the same with his parents. They would move along without him, maybe even die without so much as a thought of what happened to their little boy.

And the name of this "little boy" was Lucas David Reinerman, the sixteen-year-old son of a high-employed corporation professional who worked constantly and never came home to so much as hug Luke or his mother. Lucas believed he was just a burden in his mother's beautiful life, and so he would always leave the house and wander the city, trying to find himself because his mother always tried to find him first.

This time was different, however. He had nowhere to run.

So, after the grievances had been uncaged and the sobs had reluctantly been ceased, Lucas rose to his feet with a sniffle. His dignity was lost and he knew it well, and for the last time Lucas heaved a sob. "I'm so sorry," he muttered under wavering breath, pivoting on his heels.

And when he walked away, as far as he was willing to go, he never let himself look back, not once.