Another creeping engine came roaring from behind the bend of the road as Apollo turned and stuck his thumb out. They drove past him yet again, this time without even looking. Apollo dropped his hand to the side and adjusted the garbage bag that hung over his tired, aching shoulders. The number of hours he’d been walking, hoping to hitch a ride from someone, had been lost upon him with the Sun beginning to turn the skies into what he would once call beautiful shades of pinks and blues.

The grassy fields located on both sides of the road were as empty as his stomach, and once again, he hadn’t the faintest clue of where he was going. It felt as if he were running around in circles, escaping from city to city, dodging police officers who ended up being slaughtered by his hands.

There was no form of direction or purpose to any of it, except having to deal with the constant reminder of the number of families he’d destroyed: taking away someone’s grandson, son, brother, father. Apollo twisted his face in discomfort, a pang of guilt striking his heart. That last one hurt the most. Taking away a father.

Having grown up without one and losing his mother at an early age, the importance of having two parental figures in a child’s life for their development and how they integrated into society couldn’t be understated. And he ruined that by not heeding Saigon’s words.

I know you are not a monster, or a demon, or whatever other pejorative people like to use, but you mustn’t make it a habit of being so reckless. You have to remember people’s lives are at stake here. If you continue to allow your emotions to get the best of you, you may end up doing something you’ll live to regret. Apollo shook his head. He wasn’t sure how he was ever going to sleep peacefully again, but Saigon was right, and it was a regret he’d be taking to the grave.

All I’ve ever wanted out of life was just to make you proud, Ma, and I failed you. I’m not worthy of being your son.

Another subtle hum of a car engine approached from behind. Apollo didn’t even bother sticking his thumb out. They wouldn’t have stopped anyway. By now, his face was probably plastered on every major news station across Canada and possibly the world.

Marcella and Odion often insinuated he was a disgrace to society who deserved to die, and most importantly, a monster. The more Apollo mulled it over, the more he realized both of them were correct.

Apollo paused and looked toward the sky, and then out toward the grassy fields around him, taking in the wide empty space. He was just a single body on the field, a blip on the map. Nothing more than a fraction of a grain of sand on a beach. An insignificance in the unfathomable Universe. Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps that was the message life was trying to convey to him all along. That he was indeed a worthless piece of shit like so many of his peers had told him before. Odion was right.

Apollo readjusted the bag over his shoulders and continued to push his tired, sore legs further along the road, unknowing of what awaited him or where this journey lead to—if it lead anywhere to begin with. He may not have had a lot of life experience, but three constants remained true throughout his sixteen years of living: the good suffered for the bad, all pure-hearted souls died young, and there were no happy endings.

The world was a cold, dark place filled with nothing but hate, terror, and suffering. And he was the cause of it. That’s probably why it seemed everywhere Apollo went, terrible things happened—because he was the product of hate, terror, and suffering.

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