Nostalgia, poverty, and rust lingered in the air as Elijah's boots crunched over dead grass. Doors creaked as he lit a cigarette while he explored the cul-de-sac. Trash spilled over thrown-out furniture and rusty, run-down cars. Sheets of plywood hung, covering the windows of weathered brick homes. He picked up a vintage Tyrial magazine with a faded image of Sarah on it. It ripped down the spine the minute he tried to turn the page.
"What the hell happened?" he grumbled to himself as he glanced at the deserted homes.
A clatter of cans snapped his head toward the alley behind a nearby house. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and then flicked his cigarette, his eyes narrowed as he listened. A juvenile raccoon rummaged through a trash can as it walked behind the house. The raccoon glanced up at him, its black mask glistening in the dim light, then grabbed a half-eaten waffle before slipping underneath the foundation of the house.
"Fucking waffles," he muttered to himself, then shook his head.
Elijah rubbed his neck as he approached the boarded-up home at the end of the cul-de-sac. He sighed as he looked at the vinyl siding and window trim. The red paint faded from years of weather exposure, while the gutter and downspout dangled from the house. Childhood memories flooded his mind, clashing with the visual of what his home has now become. He glanced back, his eyes widening as his memories stitched echoes of what once was his neighborhood before decay.
"Damnit," he grumbled as he got a splinter while pulling the plywood off where the front door should be. He rubbed his palm as he plucked it out before reaching for his pack of cigarettes.
He rubbed his eyes and sighed as he lit his cigarette. Glass crunched under his combat boots as he entered. The wooden floorboards creaked with each step. Broken photo frames, child toys, and ancient video games littered the wooden entertainment center in the living room. An old CRT TV covered in dust sat on top while a ceiling fan hung askew overhead.
"Mom?" He yelled as he heard a can drop from the kitchen. "You again?" he grumbled as he watched the raccoon glance up at him, then dart out of the kitchen.
Elijah shook his head, then searched through the empty cabinets before checking the empty fridge. Empty boxes of cereal dotted the top of the refrigerator, while plates and silverware sat unused in the dish drainer. The rusty wooden chair creaked under his weight as he sat down at the small, round dining table.
A photograph caught his attention, hanging loosely on the refrigerator door. The group photo was that of his daughter and mother, sitting on the front porch. His eyes lingered on his daughter as he fought back emotions buried for so many years. Another memory surfaced, buried beneath the grief as he glanced at his mother in the photograph.
Elijah rubbed his face as tears trickled down his face. He gazed out into the living room, staring at nothing in particular as memories of him as a child flooded his mind. Faint visions of his child self ran past him in the kitchen. He saw himself smiling as his pre-puberty self picked up the controller and played his favorite video game. A mocha-skinned woman approached and snagged the controller from his hands. She turned off the game console and shouted at him.
"Turn that crap off now, Elijah!" his mom yelled.
"But mom... I did my homework already," Elijah pleaded with wide eyes as his mom held the controller.
"It's not about the homework; it's about what you're playing. What would the ENGINE think seeing you playing this filth?"
"It's just a game, Mom?"
Elijah's mom then walked over to the game console and threw the game cartridge in the trash. "Go to your room now, before I toss the whole console in the trash!"
Elijah sighed as he watched his child self run upstairs. He got up, then walked into the living room and looked into the trash can, only to find it empty. Dust collected on his fingertips as he rubbed his hands on the television before glancing up at the staircase that led to his room.
The wooden staircase moaned and creaked as he climbed the flight of stairs. He paused as he looked up at the ceiling, then sat down halfway. His cigarette burned out as he sat with his melancholy, dreading what he might find or not find upstairs. Elijah dug into his pocket and grabbed his pack of cigarettes, then lit another before heading upstairs.
Faded paintings of the ENGINE clung to the eggshell white walls on the second-floor hallway. Religious artifacts, trinkets, and dusty books dotted the forgotten bookshelf next to his mother's room. He turned his head towards the flight of stairs, cans clanking from below, just as he grabbed the doorknob. He shook his head as he ignored it, chalking it up to the raccoon again.
His mother's bedroom was mostly empty as the door creaked open. No bed, furniture, or relics outside of a tall bookshelf. Several dusty hardback romance books lay scattered on the wooden floor as he approached the closet. Empty photo albums and hangers sat in the closet.
"She left something after all," he muttered as he looked at the lockbox buried in the shadows of the closet. "Locked," he grumbled as he grabbed it and fiddled with it in the bedroom.
Elijah looked at the passcode security safe after pacing around the room. He typed in his mother's birthday, but it would not open. His birthday also did not work. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air as he rolled his eyes at the lockbox. The lockbox clicked when he typed in twelve, twenty-one.
"Of course it would be the ENGINE," he grumbled to himself as he flicked his cigarette butt.
Inside was a magnum with a mulberry-designed finish crafted into the grip of the gun. His eyebrow raised as he grabbed the heavy pistol. Elijah swung out the cylinder and checked the sights and hammer. He rubbed his hand across the gun as it glowed in the light from the window.
"What would the ENGINE think?" Elijah chuckled as a thousand-pound weight lifted from his shoulders. "I think it would want me to keep this," he muttered to himself as he holstered the weapon, then left the room.
Elijah creaked his childhood room door open. His eyebrows narrowed as he noticed his old bed was still there. Furniture, toys, and bookshelves were still where he remembered them from his memories. Cobwebs and dust covered every plastic toy and his bed. Religious books aligned the ragged bookshelf by his bedroom window. The bookshelf crashed into the creaky floorboards as Elijah toppled it over. He then sat down on his bed and lit a cigarette as he stared out the window.
"Of course, you left my stuff. You knew I would be back," he grumbled out loud as he looked outside. "How ironic I am chosen... wonder how you will respond to that, Mom."
He exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke as he left his bedroom. Elijah looked at the magnum and then closed his bedroom door. His gaze fixated on his mother's bedroom door as he approached once more.
"Maybe you will come back," Elijah said out loud as he left his old pistol in his mother's lockbox, then closed the door.
"This damn trash panda!" Elijah growled as the sound of glass echoed from downstairs.
Elijah's eyes widened as he saw his childhood television smashed on the floor. The raccoon looked up at him as it nibbled on a waffle. A glass cup shattered as its tail smacked it as it scuttled across the entertainment center.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Elijah grumbled under his breath as he rolled his eyes at it. He stepped over the broken remnants of the TV as he made his way to the front door.
The raccoon chittered as it rubbed against his leg as he opened the door. It stood on the porch, munching on the waffle, then glanced up at Elijah.
"Go on, get," Elijah barked as he waved his hand at it.
The raccoon did not comply.
Elijah shook his head and then walked down the road. He stopped as he heard the raccoon chitter again. The raccoon followed him as he smoked, stopping when Elijah turned his head back. It then scurried over toward a trash can. Filthy magazines, cans, and old toys fell to the ground as it rummaged through.
"Looking for more waffles?" Elijah asked, raising an eyebrow at it as he smoked.
The raccoon grabbed a game cartridge from the trash and then dropped it as it nibbled on its half-eaten waffle. Elijah grumbled under his breath as he walked over, then leaned down to pick up the cartridge.
"Holy shit... this is my old game," Elijah blurted out with wide eyes. He then looked at the trash panda, then back to the game in his hand. The raccoon chittered as it looked at him before gnawing on the waffle once more.
"Is this raccoon up for adoption?" Elijah asked as he reached out to pet the raccoon.
The raccoon chittered and didn't run from Elijah's hand.
"Alright, you can come," he said as he picked up the raccoon, and to his surprise, it did not bite him. He put the game cartridge in his pocket, then looked at the raccoon. "Trash Panda likes waffles, huh... I know who's going to like you," Elijah chuckled as he walked down Mulberry Valley.