Acid Rain by R.D Rhodes (literature books to read .txt) 📗

dairylee dunkers once and a cup of tea, because I didn’t have any lunch with me.”

I smiled at the thought of the teacher’s kindness. “And you still lived in Inverness then? Did your parents never give you anything?”

“Yeah, I lived there till I was ten. Well, no, they didn’t give a shit to be honest. That’s why the social took me away, eventually….That was a good day though." He stared pensively at the wall on my side, “I think you’re right. What you said at the hospital, childhood really is precious. I was wrong to tell those kids what I did.”

“I’m sure you haven’t damaged them that much.” I reassured. “And everyone makes mistakes. Don’t let it eat you.”

He shook his head regretfully. “I don’t know.”

I took a drink and placed my cup between two jumpers. “Do you ever still think about suicide?” I asked.

Harry sat up fully, seeming taken aback by the question, and he turned his body towards me from a yard away. He looked at me and his eyebrows raised, “Do you?”

“I never told you I did.” I said. “But yeah, sometimes. Not often. I feel like I want to try and make some positive contribution though. To change things, though I’m not really sure how. That keeps me going.”

The bright lamplight shone fully on his face, pronouncing the sharpness of his nose. With no hood and no beany hat, his short hair looked weird. He looked away, “I think about it pretty much every day. I want to give it another ten years though. Maybe fifteen. Thirty years old, or thirty-five. Even forty. That’s enough for me,” his voice was controlled and measured, like he’d given this speech to himself a bunch of times already. “Life is for the young, that’s the way it should be, I think. Remember what we were talking about in hospital on that first night, about Jesus, and living like a child? Well, that’s just so sacred, I think. The naivety, creativity, the innocence even, it gets lost with age and the world suffers for it. People become cynical and crush out all the hope. Governments should be full of young people, even kids, who think more about the next generation and about making the world a better place. People over forty are more selfish, or else just focused on their own families. And I don’t want my body breaking down either. I can’t imagine that. The indignity of it. I want to go while I’m still strong.”

“I get you. I think.” I said. “It kinda helps with overpopulation too. That’s a big thing for me. But I never thought, so young.”

“Maybe I won’t. I don’t know. But there’s something really beautiful about death that really draws me. Pulls me in. Attracts me. It always has. I like what those old Indians in Canada and Alaska used to do, with their groups. When they got to a certain age, and couldn’t keep up, or weren’t strong enough anymore, they held back on the trail, and were left for the animals. But they saw no badness in that. No negativity. Human sacrifices too. And all their resources, the resources they would have used, were left for someone else. Or for the next generation. It’s unselfish. And just to be relieved of the suffering. To not have to think anymore. Wow, I crave that sometimes.”

“You like it here, don’t you?” I said. “You were awe-struck earlier. We had such a laugh. You were so happy.”

“Yeah, I know,” His voice picked up defensively and he looked at me instead of at the wall, “I mean, it’s not for sure. But could I have the same joy at forty? You just asked me, and yeah, it is on my mind a lot.”

I topped up my cup with more tea.

“But you’re right! I was so happy today. I am happy. I won’t do it for a long time.” He announced cheerily.

I indicated towards his cup, but he didn’t want any more. “I think next time we’re in Inverness,” I said, “we should phone the care commission, anonymously. Tell them what the inspector did, about Sanders and Kev. And the state of things there. But you’re right, no police.”

He nodded in agreement, “Okay. Next time. We’ll do it.”

-----------------

Only the stream gurgled away. We switched off the lamp and the world plunged into blackness. We tucked ourselves into our sleeping bags.

“Aisha?”

“What?”

“Do you mind, if I ask what your dad did, in politics?”

“He worked for labour.” I said.

“Oh.”

“…What was he like?”

His face before I’d killed him floated into my mind. “As a politician? As a person?”

“Both.”

“Well, like I said, he was okay when I was younger, then he just kind of, flipped. When my mum left him. He had been spending more and more time away from home before that. I found out he was taking bribes from companies. I think he just got greedy, it went to his head. He turned into some kind of monster. They kicked him out the first time-.”

“-because of the money?”

“Yeah. He was hoarding different donations as well, and stowing some in an overseas bank account. They caught him and suspended him, but they let him back in.”

“Like Chris Hun. But he got rich instead.” Harry grumbled.

I softened the back of my head deeper into the pillow. “How long were you homeless for?” I asked.

“Only about two or three months. It was in the summer too, so it wasn’t that bad. I just crashed in abandoned buildings, or under bridges.”

“This will be s-

We leapt up at the same time.

“What the fuck was that?!”

It sounded like a scream, and from not far away. I turned on the light and we stared at each other, frozen.

My ears pricked the silence, but we didn’t hear it again.

I crawled