Population Control

Sam II

Finifugal – Hating endings; of someone who tried to avoid or prolong the final moments of a story, relationship or some other journey

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They'll come back. They're just caught up in something. Like that one time when I was six I was ill but we didn't have Calpol in for me to take and father was at work so mother had to leave for five minutes to go to Aldi but she was gone longer than five minutes because of traffic and I started to worry but she did come back. Instead of five minutes and Traffic, it's now twenty minutes and a Distraction.

Silently, I watched as rain trickled from the sky similar to fake tears conjured for a play. It was only a peek outside the front, nothing more and nothing less, nothing to read in to.

They're alive, they're well, they're safe. But, most importantly, they are coming back. A warm body joined me at the sofa - I'd turned it around to face the window the day after mother and father left - slinging an arm on the back that I leant back against, my eyes closed. One, two three, release on one, two, three. "You alright?" Mumbled Matthew.

"Good." It seemed better than replying with 'fine', more believable.

"Well I'm about to start making loaded fries for all of us, you fancy helping?" He asked, only glancing at me once then going back to staring at the curtain.

"What is that?"

It was like I said I'd never heard of Emmerdale before. When he explained it to me (in shock the entire time), he led me to the kitchen where he had me cut up the green onions while he did the chicken and the cheese and everything else. He'd found it all at the back of the cupboards, he said. The chips were on their out-date, the chicken seemed fine, the cheese was the sliced stuff for burgers he melted, and I don't think mother or father like green onions.

It was the most fun I'd had all day, all night, all almost ever. Throughout cooking, Matthew did most of it. I just chopped up the green onions, which he had to guide me through at first as I had cut them too large. He placed his hands on mine, resting against my back. It took everything in me to pay attention and even then, that was almost not enough. I'd never been that close to someone before, it was just nerve racking.

I'd also found out stuff about him, too. Stuff that just kept surprising me and surprising me. For instance, he loves nineties music, from Eminem to the Spice Girls; he knows pretty much every Just Dance routine there is; and he taught himself to write cursive because he thought it looked cool. To prove a point, he wrote a sentence down which I could just about translate with all the lines and curls. I'm surprised he was getting sevens in History with that almost illegible writing.

We'd just finished cooking, now serving all five plates with hot chips covered with chicken, a sauce of some kind with cheese over the top and sprinkles of green onion. "You did what?" Matthew laughed harder than I'd seen anyone laugh before.

I pouted, crossing my arms, "It's not that funny."

He doubled over, having to clutch his side. "It really, really is." Tears of laughter began to form in the corner of his eyes.

"What's so funny?" Asked Camille when she entered the kitchen. When no reply came, she gave me a curious look but let it brush. Shocked, she sniffed the air once more, "And what smells so good?"

Matthew looked proud of himself when he flipped the tea towel over his shoulder and flashed Camille a grin. "That would be my cooking."

Dylan walked around the corner, his hair now tied up in a bun. He gave a teasing smile, "So it's not safe to eat?"