“Where is your mother?” The man asks again, this time much louder.
“She’s… she’s…”
“Is she dead?” he asks, deadpan. I simply nod, searching for her among the stars, but the sky is cloudy tonight. I look down at the ground. The man glances back at my mother’s plaque, then turns to me. His breath smells like booze.
“Mate c’mon, you can’t go through life like that. You need to be firm with what you’re saying. You need to be like, my mother is dead. She’s dead and that’s that. There’s no room for this emotion you’re giving it, all you kids nowadays are too emotional,” he explains as I feel a sour taste in my mouth.
“I sound like my fucking Dad,” he chuckles while taking another swig of his alcohol. “The thing about death is that we shouldn’t feel sad about it. Some people are killed like dogs, some people live to eighty. You shouldn’t bet you’ll have a long life. Betting’s a mugs game,” he says, spitting on the ground beneath him. Anger stirs inside me as I clench a fist.
“You know you shouldn’t spit in a place like this, people come here to mourn her,” I say, my blood boiling. I stand up as I say this and the man clocks my clenched fist.
“Pipe down mate, you don’t want to let your emotions get the better of you,” he says through his teeth. “I think we should all get rid of emotions to be honest, it’s when we act on them that bad things happen,” the man says as I catch myself rolling my eyes. He thinks he’s so wise yet all he’s really saying is that we shouldn’t feel anything, which is bullshit.
“You’re quiet.”
“You’re drunk,” I spit out without meaning to. The man laughs quietly to himself. He sounds like someone has taken a cheese grater to his vocal chords. Too many cigarettes I imagine.
“You’re too emotional, learn to pipe down, eh? That emotion will get you killed.”
Okay, enough is enough.
“Fuck off, what is this, a therapy session? What are you doing at my mother’s bench?” I say, rage gripping me tightly.
“Oh… right,” he says, chuckling to himself like a broken instrument.
“What’s so funny?” I ask the man who has now decided to stand.
“So, this is your mother’s bench? That would make you Noah Wright, right?” He says, chuckling again.
“Yeah? What’s it to you?” I demand, shaking inside.
“You have a nice boyfriend, Noah.”
“You don’t know anything about us,” I scoff, avoiding the man’s beady gaze.
“Teddy, is it?” he says, and suddenly fury sparks inside me.
Keep calm.
Keep calm
Keep calm.
Two other men walk up behind him, with masks on their face. One much taller than the other.
They’re wearing the same masks the Bronze Family wear. My throat suddenly feels like a desert. I stand up and back away from the men.
“What do you want from me?” I ask as he steps towards me, my feet slowly edging towards the cliff edge.
“My name is Stanley Bronze,” he says, and suddenly my legs grow weak.
“You’re part of the Bronze family.”
“Correct,” Stanley says, taking another step towards me. I take another step backwards, I can see over the cliff edge now.
“You know what we do, right Noah?” Stanley asks, grinning widely. His teeth are rotting away and his breath stinks. It makes me want to gag.
“You steal things.”
