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⠀'Look, here it is!' Isiah peered across the cramped interior of the dingy van, ears pricking up. 'There!' Abraham Ford sat upfront, and the boy watched the way the man's wrapped hands clenched across the rubber steering wheel. Hearing only disappointment come from his words, as the vehicle spluttered and tripped forward across the heaving tarmac. Everyone inside had felt the soft jerks from beneath them, the last steps of their last drop of gas. As if the object uttered its last breath.
⠀And no one's going to notice a silence when it's staring them in the face. Isiah is staring them in the face, yet, his silence doesn't mean a thing. And they should be worried ― they're not. The overall steaming worry sets upon the wellness of their stomachs, and keeping hydrated. Not the silence coming from the mouth of the young boy.
⠀'for behold, the kingdom of god is in the midst of you'
⠀Isiah had been shamelessly waiting for some type of release. He was expecting death, lurking its way around the corner. Every time they opened the car door, maybe that's where it'd be ― maybe it was waiting itself, for the right time of day. Because he could see it, not only feel it, how broken everything was. He remembered the last words of his sister.
⠀"I get it now." And maybe he did. Just maybe.
⠀But the mere, and only, possibility of the release set him on edge. He wasn't afraid, but probably impatient.
⠀Isiah Greene wanted to die, and he wanted it now. He wanted it then and there, every time the concrete came into contact with the holey bottoms of his shoes. Every single time he remembered a single memory, he felt the air had taken him for granted. He wanted to die and he knew he wasn't going to regret doing so.
⠀But with all this, he still feared this. The boy was still afraid of hell, as he felt he had no chance in heaven. He was taught from a young age the passages, and the words to abide by. And when his mother died, he was left to the books and the thinking. The thinking there was something wrong with him, and that was the first time he felt nothing but alive because all he wanted was death. All he wanted was to be with his mother.
⠀Here he was again, with empty hands and nothing but scriptures filtering into his ears from his own lips. Small, quiet mutters, unintelligibly enigmatic and only his. The feeling of being too alive.
⠀What Isiah didn't realise was that this, honestly, was a toxic relationship between him and his god.
⠀His body was squashed tightly between Sasha and Tara, curling his arms around his knees. It had been a short while since he found a comfortable position to put his legs in. The young man's right appendage had been growing numb as it lay between the figures of everyone else, and he looked worriedly between his limb and the now opening door.
