Chapter One: Dark Serenity

"The psychological rule says that when an inner situation is not made conscious, it happens outside as fate. That is to say, when the individual remains undivided and does not become conscious of his inner opposite, the world must act out the conflict and be torn into opposing halves."

-Carl Jung

Bleak and dreary was the night, as the full moon was masked by thick, black clouds. A veil of foreboding shadows hid the nightlight of a small, sleeping town, where the only nightmares were kept secluded within the minds of troubled souls, affected by their own respective ailments that life conditioned them to. A dense fog blanketed the streets, making it hard for the few drivers on the roads to utilize their high beams for better clarity. The day's rain and humidity was to blame for this, due the mid summer's bipolar weather patterns.

Each porch light was a faded beacon of hope, aiming to illuminate through the thickness of masking elements. Despite the conditions of mother nature, it would seem that organized human ingenuity worked well to maintain a semblance of order, keeping checks and balances against the uncertainty of natural disorder. While it was teaming with mood altering conditions, there was one who decided to tread through the midst of the mist, finding comfort and a sense of acceptance while he took his stroll through the darkness.

Cain Husher was a young teenager, a boy who loved it most when the majority of people weren't out in public. He found solace in vacant transparency, left to wander within eerie silence. He did this more often than he should, but due to the trials and tribulations that his family life provided him, he felt a need to escape whenever he could. He had finished spending the week at his mom's house, which resided on an isolated street off the main road between two states. It went around in a circle, with one side being a large incline and the opposite side declining in altitude.

More often than not, he would usually go into the woods surrounding the far side of the street, where he found paths for both hiking and for hunting, as well as an abandoned construction site where three large, rusted vehicles were left behind by their owners. It made him wonder what they were building, since only the vehicles remained there; no planks or foundations to be seen. However, tonight, on the foggy road, he would make his first lap around before he stopped to let himself think clearly.

Cain wasn't usually one to meddle with his personal problems with others, since he usually did so with God on nights like this. He wasn't necessarily devout, but he found comfort in thinking that, despite the odds, he was never truly alone with his thoughts, especially the ones that troubled him so. Such companionship was a means to allow him, during his normal routines in life, to compensate for his struggles that he wasn't capable of putting into words. To most others, friends and family alike, he seemed to be well off despite the circumstances. He was an only child, and his parents were not too far away from one another in terms of distance. They lived in the same town, about a ten minute drive. He only wished that it wasn't something he had to endure every week.

As he stood there, letting the fog envelop him, he wondered how things could have played out differently. He often wondered if it was his fault, as shortly before the news was broken to him, the two were scolding him for something that he had done. He was then told to go downstairs before they came down and told him they were not going to remain in the same house, and the house he had currently stayed at for the week was already purchased.

His immediate, less appropriate thoughts of resentment toward his mother were immediately pushed down into his chest, where the bottle seems to only grow in pressure each time he does this. He'd shake his head and shut his eyes tight, before he let out a deep sigh and continued to make another lap around the street. The incline made him focus on his legs instead of anything else, as it was quite the workout to force himself to the peak. It was a fun game of his to ride his bike up the incline, especially so when he got to the top, he could sail down with such speed that it was an exhilarating ride during the day. At night, however, he'd be more cautious, and only walk due to the fact that he couldn't see well.

When he made it to the top, he'd take his time making the right hand turn, where about a hundred feet was flat and a house sat with the faint glow of their front door lights suddenly turning off, leaving him in total darkness. This didn't deter him, however. Quite the contrary; he felt like he was one with the darkness, as though no boogeyman or wild animal could lunge out and make him feel less dominant. He had in his pocket a flip knife that his father had given him recently, and he took it out to open it and grasp it tightly in his left hand. The cold, metal handle made him feel powerful, but as soon as a more concerning thought tried to force its way to the surface, he immediately closed it and put it back in his cargo pocket.

[I]"None of that, thanks."

During his walk down, he decided to go back inside instead of making a third lap around, where a warm bed was waiting for him. He'd have to be careful though, because the front door was loud and the small staircase was very creaky. He had turned off the security alarm before he left, to make sure that no one would wake up as soon as he snuck in. It was an older house, which was rather spacious and had a large backyard that he constantly had to mow. At least it was flat, unlike the front or sides, which were rather hilly. More often than not, he'd have to do it on his own, unless his best friend was over to share the responsibility.

When he made it inside, he'd carefully adjust the weight of each step up the wooden staircase, closing the front door slower than a slug. He'd lock it, tread carefully to his room, the first door on the right, and get into his pajamas. Tomorrow was Saturday, and he'd be going to his dad's house, which he was very much looking forward to. He loved his dad and the house he grew up in, favoring them over this place and the mother who he felt, albeit before pushing it down, went behind his father's back. He didn't necessarily hate her, for she was still his mother who loved him as equally as his father. The adjustment was still fresh on his mind, and he didn't really know what to feel about it all. He'd set his alarm for 8:00 a.m. before closing his eyes, remaining awake for another hour, before he eventually drifted off to sleep.

"Tomorrow is another day."