Hello, Little Sparrow by Jordan Jones (the reading list .TXT) 📕

aggressively around the neck and motioned to a friend. “This is Blake…He’s another technician at the plant. I think you might’ve seen him around.”

Brooks nodded, trying his best to match Bryan’s enthusiasm.

This is how people are…

“Nice to meet you,” Blake said, extending his hand.

“Cool! Everyone else is inside. I think they grabbed us a table.” Bryan lead the way inside Lucky Charley’s and Brooks followed behind.

Then, his eye caught something.

A small SUV pulled up and Brooks saw a glimpse of John Trotter stepping out before the doorframe skewed his vision.

Brooks’ heart pounded out of his chest and seconds later, the line to get into the bar moved slightly, but not near fast enough.

John fell into the wall and braced himself…he was obviously already drunk, and Brooks knew he couldn’t be on the clock. Brooks had just killed his partner less than twenty-four hours ago, and John was no doubt taking it hard.

Brooks stared forward.

“I’m really glad you made it,” Bryan said. “You work with a good group of people and you’re about to get to know them.”

John held his face parallel to the floor in preparation to puke, but nothing came out. Brooks didn’t want attention on him or John. He just wanted the night to go smoothly so he could be like everyone else.

“Dude,” Bryan said, looking over Brooks’ shoulder. “You don’t look good, man. They might not let you in like that.”

Brooks’ face grew red…both out of fear and rage. He wanted to stab his knife into Bryan’s jugular.

Just shut up!

“It’s been a rough few days,” John said. “I need this.”

Brooks stood still and didn’t want to speak. Even in his drunken state, John might be able to recognize his voice.

“All right, my man,” Bryan answered.

The bouncer let Brooks and his acquaintances through after showing ID’s and John came in soon after and headed straight for the bar.

Everyone was already seated and gave a half-hearted cheer as the three men arrived. They all took their seats and immediately began talking obnoxiously loud. It bothered Brooks a lot.

He didn’t like a loud environment. He mostly kept to himself at home or locked in his office at work, playing instrumentals at low volume.

The loud thrashing bass pounded his ears as he took a sip from his glass. It was a mixed drink some random person from the group bought him before he arrived, but it was good.

Brooks hated alcohol; the taste, the loss of control…everything.

But tonight…tonight he was one of them.

He would become one of them and blend in. His Being would have to wait another day to manifest. That’s not who he was any longer. He couldn’t be who he really was.

Use someone else. He was angry at the prospect his work couldn’t be performed anymore. But, the itch was still there. Socializing only drew it out more.

He was conflicted.

All of these creatures moving about, talking about subjects no one cares about, asking about things no one cares about…it was insulting.

One man told the woman sitting across from him that his dog was severely out of shape and needed to go on longer walks.

Someone else said their mom won a bicycle at an auction.

Someone else couldn’t wait until the summer to go to the fair.

It was all drivel and Brooks thought about getting up to leave.

Then he heard, “So, I think I’ve seen you around work. What is it you do exactly?” It was a woman sitting across from him. He’d seen her around the plant…her hair was black and curly, her smile was infectious, and her eyes darted through Brooks.

“I-I-I am a horticulturalist,” he said, stumbling through the sentence. “I grow the plants for Dr. Leggons to study.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “You work in the greenhouse. We hardly see you around.”

“Most of my work is done in my office,” he replied. “Brooks is my name.”

“Mine’s Mae,” she said. “I work with the fish.”

“Nice to meet you, Mae,” he responded. She brought out a feeling in him he hadn’t felt in many years. She didn’t give off a romantic aura, but more of matronly one. He felt comforted around her and didn’t know her.

The person sitting next to her interrupted and took the focus away from Brooks. He felt a little better. He was isolated again, surrounded by people.

Fading into the backdrop of these unsuspecting peoples’ lives. This short conversation would have serious impact on him fitting in. Her flashbulb memory of this conversation would play over and over in her head. Every time she thought of Brooks, it would be that he talks like a normal human.

Not a killer.

He wanted to leave so badly now that he made his mark. He wanted to listen to the rest of the musical on the radio.

In his car.

Alone.

The DJ got on the microphone and screamed, “Are ya’ll having a good time tonight?” The speakers were blaring much too loud to listen comfortably, but as Brooks looked around; he was the only one wincing every time the man spoke.

He tried his best to compose himself and stand strong against the noise.

“Well, as you all know the last Saturday of the month is dedicated to you fabulous singers out there. The sign-up sheet has been passed around and we have it up here. Can I please get Suzanne Abbott up here?”

A staunch woman threw her hands up as she ran up to the mic, nearly tearing it out of the man’s hand. The music blasted at an obnoxious tempo and she sang out of key at the top of her lungs.

The crowd cheered for her as she sang, but Brooks was more confused than anything. Her singing was off, and she had no stage presence other than flopping around on the makeshift stage. Others