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View character profile for: Soren Miller
TUESDAY MORNING - 9:40am 5/1/90 Miller House
The house is quiet. Full of memories choked by the many lifeless days of nothingness. Soren sits on the good folding chair. The one without any creaks or wobbles. Dad used to play cards sitting on this thing. Mom called it his white trash chair.
“Remember that kiddo?”
He hates when Matt calls him that. They’re the same age. Not a kid anymore. He looks at his hands, still covered in the dried blood of that poor old lady out on the street.
“Why’d you have to go get involved? Hanging out with that weirdo dork with the long hair?”
“He’s not a dork. He’s nice. And I like his dog.”
“Well, he was trouble. I saw it a mile away. But he had a dog. Your weakness. God forbid you pass up on a weirdo with a dog. Sucker.”
“I’m not a sucker. I’m lonely, that’s all. I just want a friend. Don’t you ever get lonely?”
“I got you, kiddo. We got each other. That’s all we need. Remember what Mom always said. You always got family. Can’t trust anybody else.”
“We do have each other. But...it’s not enough. Sometimes I feel sad and alone. We need...friends.”
“No! Listen, kiddo. You got your big brother looking out for you. We don’t need some weirdo freak ass punk trying to take from us. Trying to take you away from me! You hear me?! Stay away from that guy! There’s something off about him. Evil. Trust me, kiddo. You and me...we are all we need. Family.”
“I don’t think he’s evil, Matt. He doesn’t want anything. I’ll be careful, I promise. Okay?”
“Mark my words, little brother. I will say I told you so. Count on it.”
There’s nothing but silence. The voice of his twin gone as if it was never there at all. Silent. Lonely. Alone. A quiet house lit only by the dusty beams of morning light from filthy windows. A house long abandoned by the ghosts of family long dead.
Soren slips away into sleep, still wearing his puffer coat and a sweatshirt way past needing a wash.
“The dog will probably die anyway. Trust me, kiddo.”