xXXNeko-ChanXXx

Saturday was the last time she could remember seeing him. He was riding a bike home from the library - an ancient blue Schwinn with its back fender dangling like an acrobat. He wore a pea coat and his mother's old fair isle sweater, the yellow wool sweating and gasping as he pedalled down the street. She noticed his hair needed cutting, that it tumbled over his collarbone as he leaned on the handlebars. His face looked so much like his father's at that moment - the black coins of iris swallowed by too much white and his jaw chewing the February air that descended on the buildings - the quiet rage that good men harvest mingl