Mazen’s feet were the only thing visible of his body from where he rested on a wagon he had converted to be used for his “mechanics” as his grandparents called his work. He was in the process of repairing Charles Henry’s Mustang from down the road. It was candy apple red, and fast as the dickens when it would run- or that’s how Charles described it. Mazen had taken a glance at the engine and knew it could go ten times faster with some tweaking. He wasn’t tweaking today though he was repairing.
Mazen twisted the wrench, but his arms didn’t have the strength necessary. He sighed grudging his bodies inability to maintain a working relationship with his brain. He slipped an adapter onto the end of the wrench and pressed a button. The wrench began to pump things into place. Mazen removed the apparatus and surveyed his work.
Mazen saw shiny boots appear on the other side of the car. Everyone knew not to bother him when he was working. He slammed the wrench into a tool pouch and pushed with his arms so that he sped out from under the car. He could feel grease marring his boyish face, and knew that made him look extremely childish, but he didn’t care. He was ready to give someone what for.
“Mazen,” a man said smiling down at him at an odd angle. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all yours,” Mazen breathed as he stood up and took a set of keys off the wrack. He looked at them in his palm for a moment then turned and pelted them at the stranger only shouting “Catch” after the object had left his fingers.
He might have been impressed that the man had caught them without a fumble if he had been looking. As it was the lack of verbal reaction annoyed him. He was settling his tools into their places. He took account of everything each night sometimes his grandparents would sneak off with something for some silly household project. He’d literally seen his grandmother showing off one of his creations at a church picnic. As if he were five and painting with his fingers.
“That wasn’t very nice,” a woman’s voice chimed. She had a bell like tone to it. He turned curiously, and saw a woman standing beside the man, looking down at him with a smile that contradicted the condemnation of her words. “You are a little fiery aren’t you?”
Mazen glared at his shoes, and pushed the intercom button he had created from the garage to the house so that his grandparents would leave him be for longer intervals.
“Grandma come get these people.” He whined as if pained by their presence.
“On the contrary Mazen,” the man said jingling the keys before dropping them in a deep pile of hay. “We came to get you.”
Mazen digested the fact that it would take ages to find those stupid keys, and then the fact that these people had come for him. “I don’t go places with strangers.”
The woman held up a letter he had thrown in the trash earlier in the day. It revealed the wrinkles it had held from being balled in his fist. Mazen scoffed.
“That was a joke,” he laughed. “Come on, The Pattern? Saving the World? It’s not for real.”
The man eyed the woman as if he were getting tired of Mazen’s attitude. Most adults had long-sense stopped giving “that look” to him because he was far more intelligent than they could aspire to be. Mazen reached down into the hay to retrieve Charles’ keys. He never lost a customers stuff- it was bad for business.
“You checked yes,” the woman said bending to his level. “Don’t you want to save the world anymore?”
The man shrugged, “It’s a binding contract, it doesn’t matter now if he’s changed his mind.”
“Yes, it does.” Mazen snapped putting his hands on his hips like his teachers Mrs. Treebody.
The woman mimicked him and her gesture seemed more natural. “No, it doesn’t.”
“What people Mikey?” Grandma came into the garage wiping her hands on her apron.
“Hello Mrs. Ashland,” the man said smoothly. “We spoke on the phone, about the special school for Mazen.”
“Oh, yes! You said he’d applied for a scholarship, and been selected to receive it.” She said pleased she could remember the details. “I have lemonade in the kitchen, would ya’ll care for any?”
Mazen hung Charles Henry’s keys up and stomped toward the adults. “I didn’t apply for nothing.”
“Didn’t apply for anything,” the woman corrected in her too cheery voice. “And we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.”
Mazen looked at his grandmother debating on whether or not he would actually like to go with these people. Tears would ensure her stalwart support against his leaving. He knew he could work some up somehow. The man was watching him knowingly, like he knew too well what Mazen had in mind, and his eyes held a warning.
“No ma’am, we have to be getting on along.” The man said adopting a flawless southern drawl. His grandma blushed as the man took her hand in his. “We’d be mighty pleased if you’d help gather some of Mazen’s things while we tuck him into the car.”
“I’ll help,” the woman offered taking his grandmother’s arm and leading her away from the garage.
His Grandmother was going to let him leave with strangers? It didn’t seem possible. Mazen glared at the man furiously. He was changing the rules, and it didn’t seem to fit anymore. He might have thought to go for a tool and use it as a weapon, except it was habit to use his mind in dealing with adults.
The man picked him up like a sack of potatoes and carried a kicking Mazen to a very nice SUV. He was belted in moments later, and sullenly examining the shutters on his grandparents country home for what would be the last time for a long time- if ever. Mazen kicked the man’s seat with his grimy red sneakers caked in grease. The man let him three times, then on the third kick grabbed his ankle and twisted. His entire leg went numb.
“So, nice place ya’ll have out here.” The man said as if he hadn’t just disabled Mazen’s body.
All too soon, Mazen’s grandparents stood on the porch waving at him pleasantly, while the woman lugged a trunk of what he hoped included his creations to the back. She loaded it herself, and then hopped in the shotgun seat.
“I told them we ask the parents not to make it harder on the children by saying goodbye up close. I didn’t know if he would be fighting us.” The woman whispered as she fastened her seatbelt.
Mazen realized too late that his last escape had been ripped away from him and began to scream loudly. His grandparents continued waving, and the tear he saw his grandma wipe away did nothing to sate his anger and growing fear. He tried the door, but the handle wouldn’t work.
“Child safety locks.” The man shrugged with a grin. “Stop screaming.”
Mazen didn’t stop screaming, in fact, his voice grew louder as they moved farther away from the house. A sheet of glass slid up between the back seat and the front seat, and Mazen suspected they could no longer hear his screams. He kept screaming for another five minutes for good measure, but by the time they reached the edge of his known world, he was silently taking things in. He was going to save the world whether he liked it or not it appeared.
Mazen twisted the wrench, but his arms didn’t have the strength necessary. He sighed grudging his bodies inability to maintain a working relationship with his brain. He slipped an adapter onto the end of the wrench and pressed a button. The wrench began to pump things into place. Mazen removed the apparatus and surveyed his work.
Mazen saw shiny boots appear on the other side of the car. Everyone knew not to bother him when he was working. He slammed the wrench into a tool pouch and pushed with his arms so that he sped out from under the car. He could feel grease marring his boyish face, and knew that made him look extremely childish, but he didn’t care. He was ready to give someone what for.
“Mazen,” a man said smiling down at him at an odd angle. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all yours,” Mazen breathed as he stood up and took a set of keys off the wrack. He looked at them in his palm for a moment then turned and pelted them at the stranger only shouting “Catch” after the object had left his fingers.
He might have been impressed that the man had caught them without a fumble if he had been looking. As it was the lack of verbal reaction annoyed him. He was settling his tools into their places. He took account of everything each night sometimes his grandparents would sneak off with something for some silly household project. He’d literally seen his grandmother showing off one of his creations at a church picnic. As if he were five and painting with his fingers.
“That wasn’t very nice,” a woman’s voice chimed. She had a bell like tone to it. He turned curiously, and saw a woman standing beside the man, looking down at him with a smile that contradicted the condemnation of her words. “You are a little fiery aren’t you?”
Mazen glared at his shoes, and pushed the intercom button he had created from the garage to the house so that his grandparents would leave him be for longer intervals.
“Grandma come get these people.” He whined as if pained by their presence.
“On the contrary Mazen,” the man said jingling the keys before dropping them in a deep pile of hay. “We came to get you.”
Mazen digested the fact that it would take ages to find those stupid keys, and then the fact that these people had come for him. “I don’t go places with strangers.”
The woman held up a letter he had thrown in the trash earlier in the day. It revealed the wrinkles it had held from being balled in his fist. Mazen scoffed.
“That was a joke,” he laughed. “Come on, The Pattern? Saving the World? It’s not for real.”
The man eyed the woman as if he were getting tired of Mazen’s attitude. Most adults had long-sense stopped giving “that look” to him because he was far more intelligent than they could aspire to be. Mazen reached down into the hay to retrieve Charles’ keys. He never lost a customers stuff- it was bad for business.
“You checked yes,” the woman said bending to his level. “Don’t you want to save the world anymore?”
The man shrugged, “It’s a binding contract, it doesn’t matter now if he’s changed his mind.”
“Yes, it does.” Mazen snapped putting his hands on his hips like his teachers Mrs. Treebody.
The woman mimicked him and her gesture seemed more natural. “No, it doesn’t.”
“What people Mikey?” Grandma came into the garage wiping her hands on her apron.
“Hello Mrs. Ashland,” the man said smoothly. “We spoke on the phone, about the special school for Mazen.”
“Oh, yes! You said he’d applied for a scholarship, and been selected to receive it.” She said pleased she could remember the details. “I have lemonade in the kitchen, would ya’ll care for any?”
Mazen hung Charles Henry’s keys up and stomped toward the adults. “I didn’t apply for nothing.”
“Didn’t apply for anything,” the woman corrected in her too cheery voice. “And we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.”
Mazen looked at his grandmother debating on whether or not he would actually like to go with these people. Tears would ensure her stalwart support against his leaving. He knew he could work some up somehow. The man was watching him knowingly, like he knew too well what Mazen had in mind, and his eyes held a warning.
“No ma’am, we have to be getting on along.” The man said adopting a flawless southern drawl. His grandma blushed as the man took her hand in his. “We’d be mighty pleased if you’d help gather some of Mazen’s things while we tuck him into the car.”
“I’ll help,” the woman offered taking his grandmother’s arm and leading her away from the garage.
His Grandmother was going to let him leave with strangers? It didn’t seem possible. Mazen glared at the man furiously. He was changing the rules, and it didn’t seem to fit anymore. He might have thought to go for a tool and use it as a weapon, except it was habit to use his mind in dealing with adults.
The man picked him up like a sack of potatoes and carried a kicking Mazen to a very nice SUV. He was belted in moments later, and sullenly examining the shutters on his grandparents country home for what would be the last time for a long time- if ever. Mazen kicked the man’s seat with his grimy red sneakers caked in grease. The man let him three times, then on the third kick grabbed his ankle and twisted. His entire leg went numb.
“So, nice place ya’ll have out here.” The man said as if he hadn’t just disabled Mazen’s body.
All too soon, Mazen’s grandparents stood on the porch waving at him pleasantly, while the woman lugged a trunk of what he hoped included his creations to the back. She loaded it herself, and then hopped in the shotgun seat.
“I told them we ask the parents not to make it harder on the children by saying goodbye up close. I didn’t know if he would be fighting us.” The woman whispered as she fastened her seatbelt.
Mazen realized too late that his last escape had been ripped away from him and began to scream loudly. His grandparents continued waving, and the tear he saw his grandma wipe away did nothing to sate his anger and growing fear. He tried the door, but the handle wouldn’t work.
“Child safety locks.” The man shrugged with a grin. “Stop screaming.”
Mazen didn’t stop screaming, in fact, his voice grew louder as they moved farther away from the house. A sheet of glass slid up between the back seat and the front seat, and Mazen suspected they could no longer hear his screams. He kept screaming for another five minutes for good measure, but by the time they reached the edge of his known world, he was silently taking things in. He was going to save the world whether he liked it or not it appeared.
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- ID: 40557
- Nickname: meet mazen
- Hits: 77
