The Trip He Won’t Forget

It was a sunny October day in Millington, Ohio. The little town only had about 3000 people living in it. A new person moving into the town or a child being born was like Christmas morning. Just the thought of the population growing as a miracle. Too bad more people were going than coming. This great big urge to get out of Millington probably started, and was deeply rooted, in its high school.
Fin Johnson wasn’t the only one with ants in his pants to get up and leave. He was the stereotypical stoner: tall, skinny and not weighing more than an anorexic model. His shaggy, brunette hair flowed across his forehead, all around his ears, and down to the middle part of his neck. He’d try to use his hair as some sort of shield and would peer through the strands that fell in front of his eyes. The “peek-a-boo” game he’d play behind his hair truly contradicted his subtle, kind, light-brown eyes. When people looked into them you would have to tell themselves they were brown. Just brown. But they weren’t. The deeper one would look, the more a new color would emerge; a new speck of love, heartbreak, or hope.
Not many people ever saw this beautiful side of him. After Fin’s mother died, that side just got harder and harder to see. His group of friends, at least, saw it, and for Fin, it was all he needed. One of his best friends, Johnny Hutch, shared his pain. However, it wasn’t from his parents’ death. In fact, it was just the opposite. Johnny’s dad would beat him almost every night after his father got done with a long day of endless drinking. Because of this, Johnny would pray for his father’s demise every night.
Fin and Johnny did everything together. If one of them wanted to do something, the other would follow and do the same. They told each other everything, even if they didn’t want to hear it.
One Friday afternoon Fin came across some acid he hid from himself about two weeks prior. He decided to drop it. He knew Johnny missed it a lot too so Fin decided to text him, and text him, and call him. He tried this for about an hour and half. Finally, just as the acid started to kick in, Fin walked over to Johnny’s house. Luckily, Johnny only lived three houses down.
As Fin rose to leave his room, he realized that the wooden swirls that lined his door were shifting. The grains of his door were moving up and down following the vertical frame. When he put his hand down on the dresser to brace himself, the feeling of warmth from every over-heated computer and every chip or knick in the dresser pulsed through him. With each step, he couldn’t figure out if he was closer or further from the door. His first step made him closer, but his second pushed him further away. This continued multiple times until he finally stumbled to the door. As he tried to make it out of his house, Fin felt the memory of every touch the walls ever endured.
He pushed through the front door and fell down the steps, greeting the light-green grass with his face. He didn’t even fully get up before he started running in a frayed, line toward Johnny’s House.
         Fin whipped the front door open, winding through Johnny’s house. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, “Johnny where the hell are you man? Don’t mess with me right now. I really need you!”
         Finally, Fin climbed the stairs on all fours, hoping Johnny’s headphones were in and blaring his music so he couldn’t hear. Fin made it to Johnny’s room and turned the door handle, letting the door lead him into the room that he had seen so many times before.

His feet met a pool of crimson, red blood that seemed to just keep spreading. The thick flood of red appeared like lava: burning Fin’s eyes. The splattered puddles became engraved into his memory as Fin fell to his knees. He cried out, “Johnny where are you.” Then closed his eyes for the last time. Two more gone.