"I said hold formation! Ease onto the field, you useless pack of noobs! Steady, hold. Fire at will!" a young Canadian boy yelled into a gaming headset.
"What did Will ever do to you, Thom_cat860?"
"Really, Brat-in-the-Hat, your stupidity is going to cost us the dub! Just hit the left trigger!" the boy screamed.
"Thomas Seaton Wilson, what have I said about yelling in my house?" A light, airy voice floated into his room, seemingly kept aloft by an equally obnoxious smell. His mother had gotten home. She must have been on another date; she was wearing her 'special' perfume. "Get off of those computers and clean your room!"
"Yes, ma'am," Thomas growled into his headset.
"Duuude, that was your mooom? Busted!"
"Shut up, Brat. And that was not my mom. My mother is dead. That woman is a dating psychopath who went crazy after my dad died. My mom didn't wear perfume that smells like they crammed an entire florist's shop into a bottle."
"Wow, I'm sorry, dude."
Thomas shrugged. "Don't be. She doesn't care what I do anymore, which is why I'm nothing but the 'Boy Behind the Screen' to everyone I used to know. The only people I know now consist of you, the rest of my squadron, and the people who just obliterated you on the battlefield."
Brat groaned in frustration. "Aw, man! That was my last life!"
"Well, you just lost us the dub, you noob."
"Yeah, and it's six o'clock. I gotta go."
"Play tomorrow."
"Yup."
Thomas slowly pulled off his headset and shut off his computers. Once the blinding neon glare of the bloody battle simulation was gone, the only light came from the new moon that hung outside of his attic bedroom window.
He stood up, snatched his phone and his backpack, and opened the window. An old oak tree stood there, limbs outstretched. Thomas leaned out the window and grabbed the nearest branch, dangling three stories high. He silently slid down the trunk of the sturdy tree and dropped to the ground. Glancing through the kitchen window, he saw his mother... and a man.
His mother had never brought one of her dates home before. She must be serious about this one.
Sure enough, before his fifteen-year-old eyes, the man walked up to his mother and kissed her, running his hands up and down her body. Disgusted, Thomas turned and started down the dark street. His father was gone and his mother had never really cared.
There was nothing left for him here.
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