AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Winning that war—and the others that followed—left me with more money than I could spend. I took care of my sister for years. Convinced Hoyt to send her to college and law school, so she could be our lawyer. These days, she’s plenty successful on her own.
When the other members of the newly founded Steel Berserkers Motorcycle Club moved into a former vacation lodge, I joined them. I liked having all that space, and the place felt fancy to a poor boy like me. The land where the Pigsty rests is also a thing of beauty. For years, I called it home.
Though I tried to be someone else, I could never wash off my past. My road name is Hobo because the locals view me as a homeless wretch, just like when I was a kid.
Over time, McMurdo Valley’s rough land called to me. I’d take walks and just forget to return home. The longer I spent exploring the bush, the less I could handle being tied down to the Pigsty.
For years, I’ve moved around McMurdo Valley, setting up camp wherever I want. If I get too cold or hot, I go home. If I need to talk to someone, I’ll find my club family. Those times get fewer and farther between.
Lately, I’ve begun losing track of time. My days run together. I forget to eat until the hunger tears me apart. I move around McMurdo Valley every day without fail. The longest I’ve stuck in one place was when I was playing spy for the club.
I’ve got a talent for skulking around a property without being seen. I honed the skill as a kid, trying to steal from people’s backyards. I got so good that I could swipe food right off the barbecue when no one was looking.
These days, I don’t need to worry about going hungry as long as I remember to eat. My sneakiness is only necessary when spying for the club or peeking in on my friends’ lives.
I sometimes watch Hoyt—now called Ruin—and Silas—now Nomad—with their new families. Friendships have become easier to maintain from afar. I suspect I’ve lost something human inside me over the years. Now, I’d rather spend my day with the trees than my friends.
During one of my rambling journeys around McMurdo Valley, I come upon Velma Wolner’s property which backs up to a meadow touching the woodlands. The woman’s lived alone for as long as I can remember.
At some point, she fixed up her tiny “guesthouse” for renters. I heard her talking about making extra income by renting out to students from the local women’s college.
The woman I see out there as the sun slides below the horizon seems too old to be a student. She stares out at the land, seeming sad.
I don’t know why I squat down. I’ve got no reason to hide. I’m not her enemy. I’m not even spying. Everyone knows I roam this town. There’s no harm in being seen.
Yet, I still squat and watch her. Her hair is straight and dark blonde. The long strands move with the summer breeze. Her face is glorious, like a painting.
I don’t recognize her. She must be new around McMurdo Valley. I tell myself to walk away. I’ve got no use for fantasizing about pretty, sad women.
I still watch her for a while. She wipes a tear from her cheek at one point and then looks around as if embarrassed to be seen crying. No one’s around. Just me and her. She doesn’t spot me, but I can’t take my eyes off her.
Her thin build sways like her hair when the wind bulldozes its way through the Valley. Between the setting sun and rough wind, the woman gives up on admiring the land. She retreats to the tiny house.
Velma did a good job making the cottage look inviting. Nothing wrong with the appearance of the place, but I imagine how tight everything must be inside. Not for the wispy woman, but a man like me can’t fit right in such a space.
I use that reasoning to finally walk away from the guesthouse.
Women stopped interesting me long ago. I don’t even remember the last time I enjoyed the feel of one on my dick. If I get lonely enough, I can hit up one of the Pigsty’s Friday parties.
Rather than get lonely, I have the land to keep me company.
Except that night, I can’t settle down once I’m in my tent located at a clearing in the woods a mile from Velma’s place. No matter what I do, I keep seeing the woman in my head.
As a kid, I often wanted a real home with everything clean and tidy. Once I got that house at the Pigsty, I missed the freedom of a life with no walls or expectations. My childhood dream couldn’t compete with what my heart truly craved. I’m a slave to my desires these days. I go where I want and never apologize for my choices.
That’s why I return to the woman the next day. I figure I’ll see her and realize I’m building up something in my head that won’t fit my real life.
She doesn’t stand outside that next day. I prowl closer in the darkness, craving something I can’t name. I just want to feel her a little, and I can’t do that in the meadow. I need to know she’s nearby.
I think I hear her crying inside that tiny house. I screw my eyes shut tight and struggle to turn off my need to fix her pain.
I don’t even know her. There are plenty of pretty women in the world. Why waste my time and efforts on a woman who might be crying over something petty? She could be missing a man. What do I think I can do about that anyway?
I stay away for days. When necessary, I’m good at ignoring my suffering. I walk when my feet hurt. Go hungry when no food is around. Sleep on the hard ground, even when my back begs for a little mercy.
I do the same with the woman by staying away from Velma’s homestead. I go out of my way to avoid the wispy woman with her tears I can’t fix.
Like a ghost, she haunts me. In my dreams when I sleep. In my thoughts when I’m awake. She even makes a real appearance when I’m strolling down Howling Prairie Road. I’m startled, like maybe I’m actually as crazy as people think, and I’ve started hallucinating.
