The Boy Made of Air
A response to a prompt over on BookStack, and a prequel to my "The Midnight Collective" mini-series.
Have you ever read The Midnight Collective? It’s a mini-series I did here a while ago. This series started off as a bet between me and
, and eventually transformed into something much more. Today we’re going to explore an event that happens before the madness all begins.And this short story is in response to a prompt I put out on BookStack. If you want to learn more about that, or would like to participate in it. Hit the link below.
Now without further ado, it’s time to dive into the story. Please remember though, like usual this hasn’t been edited, and may feature errors and typos. There may also be slight continuity errors too, as I haven’t really gone back and checked to make sure the lore lines up. So, hopefully there isn’t. Alrighty, here we go.
The Boy Made of Air
“Please, let me out…”
The whisper rang in Alex’s ears long after he’d woken up. For two days the boy had been floating in the corner of his eye. Now though after their initial contact, the boy made of air was nowhere to be seen. It was like his attempt at communication had drained his existence, or maybe Alex had pushed him out.
The young boy wondered if he should ask his father about it, but quickly stifled the thought. Marcos preferred to spend most nights at work, away from his child and wife. In fact, neither of them remembered the last time his father had come home. Alex often found his mother crying in the kitchen, who’d poorly hide her own tears to console the boy’s fears.
Well, that part was a lie.
Alex’s mom had died. Neither Marcos or Alex brought it up since the funeral, and their ways of processing grief became increasingly apparent. Alex sought for his dad’s warm embrace, and Marcos chose to shut everything else out. Everything but his organization, The Midnight Collective. Something Alex knew little about.
It all made him wonder if dying was more certain than his father loving him. And strangely, after seeing the boy made of air, Alex felt sick. Or rather… guilty. If he had more time, could he have saved the apparition? Or had this been yet another cruel trick his mind had played on him?
Walking towards his bedroom door, Alex notices a small picture on the ground, muddled by clothes, trash, and other debris. He picks it up and looks it over. His mother is placed on the left, smiling warmly as Marcos’ hand wraps around her back. His father looks stern and unhappy, as if he didn’t want to be there.
And where Alex was supposed to be? Nothing, except a faint cut-out in the shape of his form. Worse– whoever had done it didn’t even bother to replace the cut part with scenery or anything. They wanted their disdain to be known.
Of course, tears were already welling up in his eyes. Alex couldn’t help it. He’d always been sensitive, more so when he came out as gay. And even more after his mom had passed. He remembered both moments so vividly– his dad refusing to look him in the eye, and his mom consoling him. Then his only true anchor was gone, and his connection with Marcos’ finally severed.
He crumbles the photo, clenching his fist tensely before throwing it into the waste-bin next to his desk. There was no point keeping the photo around. His eyes were blurry now as tears streamed down his face. And no amount of sobs could hide the figure now standing in the corner of his eye. No, the boy made of air wasn’t back to greet him. Instead, it was Marcos’ with a scowl on his face.
At the worst moment, he’d returned home.
Alex desperately tries to rub the tears from his eyes, partially hoping for his dad to disappear. Yet, also fearing being seen as vulnerable by the man made of stone. Marcos is quiet during this, saying nothing with an expression left unchanged. Why was he here?
“I have good news,” He eventually says, though his voice is cold and calculated. Then pauses to see if his son will say anything. When Alex remains quiet, he continues: “Progress in the Collective has been going smoothly. And… we’ve decided to bring you onboard.”
Alex’s heart nearly skipped a beat, ignoring the obvious hesitancy in his dad’s voice. His father actually wanted to see him? Truthfully, it wasn’t much, but to a kid trying to find any way he could to feel connected with his dad? It was the world.
“Yes, of course!” He nearly shouted with glee, struggling to keep his eager-to-please enthusiasm down. “What happens now?”
His father flashed a slight smile, “We leave now. There’s no time to pack your things though. Our driver is waiting for us outside.” Again calculated, this time with a mock-like joy. But Alex didn’t care about any of it. He was going to get to spend more time with his dad.
Alex barrels straight into him, wrapping his arms around the old man. Marcos looks confused at first, but then accepts the hug, his smile now a very awkward, yet amused expression. If this was the price to pay for his plan, then Marcos would accept it as heartedly as he could allow.
Don’t go with him… A voice in Alex’s head shouts from somewhere distant. It takes Alex a moment to realize it’s the boy made of air. You can’t go with him– the boy insists, but puts no effort to explain why. As if a vague warning would be enough to deter Alex’s newfound joy.
And for a moment it does. The kid falters, his arms sliding away and leaving the hug. Marcos steps back, and the two stare at each other blanky for a second. Then in one last attempt to ensure his plan would work, Marcos says exactly what Alex wants to hear.
“I love you… Son.”
Wow what did you think of that? Please let me know in the comments, and if you want to read the other parts of The Midnight Collective, here’s a link to the first one.
It all made him wonder if dying was more certain than his father loving him...oh this line.....I can relate. But with my mom. Wonderful writing Hazel.