Joshua Smoak

The Other Boy

The boy was an only child. Often, he surrendered to the deepest depths of his imagination to not feel so lonely and to escape from reality. The house of his upbringing—broken. Broken like the dishes that mother threw at father because he was gone for hours only to return smelling of booze and cheap perfume. It was no secret to the boy, merely 11 years of age, that he was born by accident. Two kids, now known as mother and father, accidently brought the boy into the world. Knowing he was a mistake and alone, the boy had no other choice but to surrender to his imagination. He would imagine what it was like to have a loving home with two older brothers and a younger sister. He would imagine large plates of spaghetti shared at a table big enough to seat his robust sized family. Thunderous laughter filled the air. Plates smashing, mother yelling. Back to reality. The boy could only escape for so long. This night was different—he couldn’t take it anymore. His grandmother’s painting of frozen lake with a happy mother and father ice skating landed abruptly by his feet. Smash. Foot through painting.