The once night-empty streets of Bedlam had transformed into bustling roads and loud laughs filling the air. Saturday mornings in Bedlam seemed to be when everyone decided to get their plans done. Whether it was grocery shopping, stopping at the bakery or getting nails at the construction store - Saturday mornings are when it happened.

This is also when I joined my father to do those same chores.

Our red truck idled before my father took the key out of the ignition. Parked diagonally to the street, I hopped out of the passenger seat and made my way towards the grocery store.

Dad pulled his grocery list from the pocket of his thick blue and white flannel. His ripped baseball hat hung low over his eyes. The beginning streaks on red leaves trickled from nearby trees and down to my feet. They crunched as I stepped onto them, my father by my side as we neared the small grocery store.

His small piece of paper fluttered in the wind as he used his other hand to open the stained-glass front door. A large wheat field and a singular scarecrow were made of coloured glass yet seemed so real, “Your sister wants milk and your mother wants those microwaveable popcorn bags. Even though I swear I just bought another box of those things.”

The grocery store was considerably colder than outside, I could feel frozen waves radiating from the few freezers in the back. Bedlam’s only grocery store wasn’t very large; a couple aisles and a little area for fresh fruit and veggies to the right of the main door.

“Did you see the crows pecking in the field this morning?” My father said as he placed a cylinder of steel cut oats into the basket.

“Yes,” I affirmed, “This is the third time this month. I don’t think the scarecrow is working.” Last week Evelyn and I had installed in the middle of the field. We used some of dad’s old clothing and filled it with straw.

Slowly we filled the basket, grabbing milk and microwaveable popcorn just like Evelyn and mom asked. The white paper was slowly filled with more scribbles as we crossed objects off.

Leaving the store, “Last thing to do is the hardware store.” I nodded gently, placing the bags into the footwell of the passenger side.

A straw coloured bell rung above us as we entered. The cashier’s head popped up as our boots touched the hardware store’s tile floor, he nodded at us quickly, “Morning Henry, Rory.”

“Morning, Mr. Baker.” I responded, Even smaller than the grocery store, Baker’s Hardware only had 5 aisles. Each one filled to the brim with nails, shovels, hand tools or power tools. When I first moved to Bedlam, we had gone to the hardware store so often I learned to memorize where everything was so I could be extra helpful when it came to crossing things off the list.

Now, I could still recite where every object in the store went. But today was the first time I noticed a new detail; on many of the objects Alvara Corp was emblazoned onto the packaging. Obviously my dad scoffed at seeing it and promptly chose all the things he needed that just happened not to have the Alvara Corp’s logo on it.

The longer I searched for the logo, the more things I found with it on it. I had always known how much power the Alvara’s had within Bedlam, but it was easy to forget outside of times like these.

Suddenly like a glimpse on floating wind, I saw the ripped sleeves of a football jacket slip by the large window near the cash. Jack.

I blinked once…twice as the image of seeing Jack replayed in my mind like a broken record. Turning to my dad with a voice full of lies, “I forgot my phone in the truck. I need to go grab it.”

My dad’s eyebrow raised, “You can’t survive without your phone for the next five minutes?”

“Uhm…no! Nope! Be back in two!” I rushed out the door and turned down a nearby shadow filled alley. A couple garbage bins lined the walls between the two stores.

“Please,” I pleaded, voice cracking like a cliffside, “I just want to help Jack. Just give me the device.”

I tried to press forward, slow steps as if I was approaching a wild animal. I hadn’t been sure how much cognizance he had been left with at the hands of the device.

“I don’t want to fight you. I am not here to harm you.” Yet my soft words went through him like wind and his scarlet eyes set on me like there was nothing but anger thrumming behind his ivory ribs.

Charging forward, Jack’s fist found my jaw like that night at the party. Though this time I did nothing but swallow the pain and instead my hands tried to find his shirt. I just needed him to stop, there were too many people around. Too many people that could get hurt because of me.

I gripped the fabric of his shirt as he swung at me.

Throwing him into the side of the brick building, dust came off as he slammed to the pavement below. He did not move. Kneeling, I pressed my fingers against the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. There was, which allowed me to fall backwards and sit down.

I sat there for many moments, I’m still not sure how long. All I remember is how I refused to close my eyes, refusing to let the memories slip past my psyche and torment me as I

Why couldn’t I be human? What good has come of my heritage other than harm?

My gaze stayed on Jack’s limp frame, my lips pursed and I wondered if he would remember anything. His eyes had fluttered to a close. My shaking hands reached over, grabbing the technology in his arm and ripping it from his forearm. He did not budge. There were no marks from where the object had sunk past his skin.

It cracked in half under my strength. Its body filled with nothing but vials and wires. Unceremoniously, I chucked it into one of the open bins against the walls. Luckily it wouldn’t be long until someone found him, and it was better if it wasn’t me.

A sharp inhale got me into a standing position in the middle of the alley.

Turning away from Jack, I left the darker alley. Moving back onto the street and planting myself in front of the large bay window of the hardware store. I didn’t look through the crystal glass, instead I focused on the trucks as they moved past; some windows down and cigarette smoke billowing into the crisp air as they moved forwards.

My father came out moments later, his new construction materials weighing down the grey plastic bag. “Come on son,” He patted me on the back tenderly. I could feel his callouses against my back, “Let’s go home.”