Cassian

The mornings are brutal. I catch the train at 5 a.m., bundled in layers that don’t help much. I wait alone at the cracked, frozen platform, boots crunching on gravel, breath fogging the air. The train doesn’t arrive for fifteen minutes, but I go early just to stand still pretending I’m waiting for something that matters. I don’t get to school until 7 a.m. It’s the only warm place I know. I live with my aunt now strict, old school, and colder than the farm we work on. She grew up tough and expects the same from me. Emotions don’t matter here. She gives orders, I follow. If I talk back, I get grounded. If I’m late to feed the chickens or haul the hay, I go to bed without dinner. That’s just how she is. She says it’s better than what my parents gave us nothing. They never gave a damn about us, not me or my brother. Her son ignores me like I’m a shadow in his house. He never lets me hang out with his friends, like I’m some embarrassing stray his mom picked up. I don’t care anyway. Most nights, when they’re asleep, I sneak into the barn and eat candy I stash under the floorboards. It’s dumb, I know, but it’s all I have. I miss my brother Roan stupid, reckless, loud. A total pain. But he kept me warm. He’d give me the last of his food, yell at me to wear a coat, sneak into my room when the power went out just to make sure I wasn’t scared. He’s in jail now. Tried to rob a store to feed me. I told him not to called him an idiot. He did it anyway. Said I was worth it. Right before they arrested him, he looked me in the eye and said, “Go. Before they take you too.” So I ran. Like a coward. Like the little brother who couldn’t do anything but run. Now it’s just me Cassian the cold, and the silence of a house that never felt like home. Every day I get on that train hoping something changes. But all I ever feel is how far I am from everything that mattered.