Other Sidney Story

Amity Park was a quiet place. Too quiet, even, if you start thinking. The whole city has recently been covered with posters with images of happy and smiling faces. New houses in the suburbs were being sold. The central quarters were being built up more and more densely, and the working-class part of the city next to the railway station was teeming with life. And against the background of this, one could afford not to notice anything wrong. ― It's time to hunt Sid the hare! ― A laugh came from behind and an egg flew into the back of his head, unpleasantly trickling down his neck by the collar. The viscous drops from the second egg's throw got on the glasses and glued the eyelashes together. What a setback. And right outside his house. A convertible carrying kids from his school drove past Poindexter. They laughing. They cheerful. So similar to the characters from the posters. Surely those wide smiles on the faces of the happy family from the poster, calling to buy a new house in the suburbs, are also caused by laughter at all those who simply will never be given permission to buy such a property. Watching the car with the teenagers disappear behind the trees, Sid suddenly realized for the first time in a long time that he no longer felt anything. That he had reached his limit in both anger and pain. That it burned out like an incandescent light bulb. Entering the house, the teenager hoped that a dog, a small and playful mongrel, which he picked up from the street a year ago, would meet him on the threshold of his room. A puppy named Donut was his joy. He took care of him as best he could: he saved on lunches to buy better food. He walked him, combed him out, and when he went to school, he locked him in his room so he wouldn't bother anyone. The dog was mute and couldn't even bark, so it couldn't make any unnecessary noise except for the click of tiny claws. There was an old carpet in Sidney's room, and he was sure that the Doughnut didn't bother anyone with even such a small thing in his absence. But instead of a puppy he was greeted only by an empty room. Sidney walked unsteadily to the window leading to the backyard and froze. For a while, the brain refused to understand what it sees on a pile of garbage in the backyard among old tires. To Poindexter, the world had long seemed black and white, but this maroon spot on the animal's skin stood out. It was hideously contrasting and bright against the background of construction debris and a rusty car body. But then again, he didn't feel anything. Anger showed up vividly in him only for the first time, a long time ago, a very, very long time ago. Right now, she was just an ordinary background sound that didn't even need to be demonstrated. Just because it didn't make any sense. In any case, no one cares. Going back down to the first floor, Sid found his father sitting on a worn sofa with a can of beer. There were already quite a few of them around him and the rickety table with the broken corners. And they're all empty. His father was staring at the wall, listening to a football match broadcast on the radio, and my Mother was sitting in the kitchen with her face buried in the countertop. She had obviously been out for a long time, a sticky drop of vomit was dripping from the table onto the dirty floor, and next to the half-finished bottle of beer lay an overturned container of arsenic, which they usually used to poison rats in the basement. — Where's The Doughnut? — Sidney asked dully. His own voice was calm and even, as colorless as the world around him. — What? ― Father seems to have just woken up from his voice. — It's your flea―ridden mutt in the backward, — the man waved his hand vaguely and took another sip of beer, not immediately realizing that the can in his hands was already empty. Annoyed, he threw it somewhere on the floor and began to look around for an unopened bottle. He kicked those on the floor, picked up and shook bottles from the table. But all of them had obviously been empty for a very long time. Probably since this morning. — Uh, kid. Go get me a drink, — the man somehow turned his swollen face towards Sid. His eyes were gray and watery, his gaze was unfocused and did not linger on anything for a long time. Looking at this, the teenager assumed that instead of him alone, the man now sees at least three. ― Let's remember two stupid dead dogs. One in the backyard, and one in the kitchen, hehe, — the man laughed drunkenly, looking at the teenager, and seemed to switch off for a second, forgetting everything he had said, and turned away again. — Don't just stand there, Sid. Be useful in something. The guy didn't feel anything. Nothing particularly new or even noteworthy. My father's shotgun was lying on a cabinet right by the exit to the backyard, along with a couple of cartridges. The teenager knew perfectly well where the rest of the stock was. He knew how to use this thing and could even imagine how it was loaded before shooting a puppy. Sid didn't feel anything when he loaded the gun. When he cocked the trigger. When he was aiming. But after the shot... When his father drunken body went limp and lay still forever, having lost half of his head, he felt. A slight dizziness and pleasant euphoria, as from his first cigarette puff. Putting down the shotgun, he took a cigarette from the breast pocket of his shirt and lit it with pleasure, taking a long drag on the smoke burning his lungs. Outside, Poindexter leaned back against the wooden wall of the house and slid down it to the threshold. In front of his eyes was a view of a small landfill, just behind which was a vacant lot. Until that moment, he had been absentmindedly thinking from time to time that one day a representative of the developer would knock on their door to offer a very profitable offer for himself. Surely there could be something beautiful in this place. Something new, but only on condition that Sid himself won't be there. That he would pack up his belongings and go somewhere far away so as not to bother his eyes. And here, far from the city, they will be able to clear the land, remove garbage and erect a couple of good buildings. Maybe even a park. Sidney remembered perfectly well that once this house was next to a beautiful forest, and not a wasteland with mountains of garbage. And before that, they even had neighbors, but now there is only a small trailer of a deaf old man at the end of the road. Except that from time to time some kind of car might pass, like the one in which his classmates caught up with him, but nothing more. The unfiltered cigarette was already so burnt out that the smoldering tip burned his fingers. Without extinguishing the cigarette butt, the teenager threw it away, towards a pile of junk, on top of which lay the carcass of a dead dog. Absently, he followed it with his gaze, taking another one out of the pack and lighting it up again. He almost wondered when anyone would notice that his father hadn't been on shift for too long. When will the school pay attention to whether he attends classes at all or just skips once again? When will the mother's relatives realize that she hasn't called them for a suspiciously long time? In a week? In a month? Sometimes it seemed to Sid that even if no one at home made themselves known on Christmas Day, none of their relatives would notice. After finishing his second cigarette, he stubbed out the butt on the step, leaving a large black dot of fire and ash on the light gray tree, got to his feet and headed back into the house. He needed to pack his things for the school day tomorrow. Dump all the books and notebooks in the backyard and burn them. He had already firmly decided that he would not need them anymore, even though he planned to stay at school forever after tomorrow. But after collecting all the cartridges in the house in my room, he realized that still forgot to do something. The phone hadn't been disconnected for non-payment yet, so he could still make at least one call. After dialing the required number and waiting for an answer, he politely greeted, asking for someone to answer the phone.: — Hello... Yes, it's Sidney, — Poindexter smiled slightly. — I wanted to know if you're leaving for California tomorrow or... Ah, it's already tonight... No, nothing, I just wanted to wish you a good trip... A souvenir? For me?... I don't even know. Take something at your discretion. mirror, everything will ok me... yes. Have a good weekend. After hanging up, he went to the bathroom. Still, it was tonight that he wanted to tidy himself up a bit. Prepare a clean shirt and bow tie. Polish his shoes until they shine, smooth the arrows on your trousers. For the first and last time, wear a fashionable black raincoat with a hood. For the first time in a very long time, Sidney felt relieved. There was some sense in his actions.