Not a lot of things made sense, but this state of confusion was nothing new. After being shuffled around from relative to relative in the first year since his mother's death, he had finally been settled at a distant uncle and his wife's house for the last few months. However with the recent events, he couldn't say with any amount of certainty how much longer this arrangement will last. He wasn't too broken up about it; his uncle was never home enough for him to get attached to, and nothing felt right since his mother's death anyway. It was only frustrating, feeling out of control and left at the mercy of adults who waved around paperwork and talked about convenience and childcare and never talked to him about what he wanted.
Not a lot of things made sense, but what made the least sense at the moment was what happened yesterday on the way back from school. His uncle had been furious, although he did his best to hide it (not very effective, nevertheless), and his aunt nearly fainted when she heard. The police officers who got involved had a thousand and one questions too, but he had just as many questions and answers to none. What was he thinking? How did he do it? How was it possible? He didn't know. He saw a car roaring down the street, he saw an old man making his way down the street right in its way, and with a feeling like a punch in the gut was some instinctive, irresistible urge to go over there and stop it, so he did.
So he might've stolen a steel pipe from a nearby construction zone. So he might've damaged the pavement when he stabbed one end of the pole into it. So he might've totaled somebody's car (it was a guy on the run anyway). So he might've caused a minor pile-up because of it. He couldn't explain to himself, let alone anybody else, how he was capable of doing any of that, but at least the old grandpa was okay and even thanked him for saving him.
That was a day ago. Right now it was the night after, and he wasn't at the house because he didn't want to deal with the questions. But maybe he should've stayed inside anyway, because running into a shifty, scary looking guy attacking someone was not unheard of in this part of town but also nothing close to how he wanted to end the night. He has no idea, at this point, if the girl is okay, but he does know that he might not be coming out of this okay with how crappy his luck usually is and with said guy chasing after him with what is unmistakably what the manga writers like to call 'murderous intent'. Why did he intervene? Why did he decide to run up there and kick the guy in the head like that's a good idea? He liked superhero shows but he had no dreams about being one?
That matters very little now, he guesses, compared to the question of how should I take care of this guy? that's running through his head as he leaps over a few garbage cans and wooden crates lining the alleyway next to a grocery store, crashing through a pile of cardboard boxes, and rolls out onto the side street on the other side, right in the way of some guy in a suit. Crap crap crap.
He unceremoniously slaps a banana peel from one of the garbage cans out of his hair as he gets to his feet and turns to anticipate the weirdo he knows is chasing him. And if someone asked him later why he yelled to the second man, "Run!" -- well, he doesn't think he can give a very satisfying answer to that, either. It just felt like the right thing to say.
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Not a lot of things made sense, but what made the least sense at the moment was what happened yesterday on the way back from school. His uncle had been furious, although he did his best to hide it (not very effective, nevertheless), and his aunt nearly fainted when she heard. The police officers who got involved had a thousand and one questions too, but he had just as many questions and answers to none. What was he thinking? How did he do it? How was it possible? He didn't know. He saw a car roaring down the street, he saw an old man making his way down the street right in its way, and with a feeling like a punch in the gut was some instinctive, irresistible urge to go over there and stop it, so he did.
So he might've stolen a steel pipe from a nearby construction zone. So he might've damaged the pavement when he stabbed one end of the pole into it. So he might've totaled somebody's car (it was a guy on the run anyway). So he might've caused a minor pile-up because of it. He couldn't explain to himself, let alone anybody else, how he was capable of doing any of that, but at least the old grandpa was okay and even thanked him for saving him.
That was a day ago. Right now it was the night after, and he wasn't at the house because he didn't want to deal with the questions. But maybe he should've stayed inside anyway, because running into a shifty, scary looking guy attacking someone was not unheard of in this part of town but also nothing close to how he wanted to end the night. He has no idea, at this point, if the girl is okay, but he does know that he might not be coming out of this okay with how crappy his luck usually is and with said guy chasing after him with what is unmistakably what the manga writers like to call 'murderous intent'. Why did he intervene? Why did he decide to run up there and kick the guy in the head like that's a good idea? He liked superhero shows but he had no dreams about being one?
That matters very little now, he guesses, compared to the question of how should I take care of this guy? that's running through his head as he leaps over a few garbage cans and wooden crates lining the alleyway next to a grocery store, crashing through a pile of cardboard boxes, and rolls out onto the side street on the other side, right in the way of some guy in a suit. Crap crap crap.
He unceremoniously slaps a banana peel from one of the garbage cans out of his hair as he gets to his feet and turns to anticipate the weirdo he knows is chasing him. And if someone asked him later why he yelled to the second man, "Run!" -- well, he doesn't think he can give a very satisfying answer to that, either. It just felt like the right thing to say.