My mind is field with corns. Sorry can't come up with excuses.

LANCE

First thing came to my mind is Dad. Was he alright? That small explosion of our car. It wasn't really big, is it? For it to burn half of the cornfields.

"Half of it is dead."

These words keep repeating as if on a loop. There's something weird going on here. The weeds on my feet back at the rusty gate, the more I push the playback button in my head, the more I'm convinced it's alive prior to my arrival.

"Mr. Augustus?"

I spun around to see a middle aged woman who clearly loves black, black titled hat, black gloves, black boots, black office skirt and blouse, her feet are in cross position. Her eyes are set to the clipboard she had in hand. Ticking with her pen.

"You're almost three hours late I see. Why?"

I glued my eyes to the ground. Here goes confessing the lamest excuse for being late.

"I'm sorry. My Dad plans to drop me off before coming to work but our car broke down. We tried pushing it against the slope but it didn't work. When we waited for help it suddenly" I swallowed a big lump on my throat.

"Explode."

Her expression tightens. She set her clipboard aside.

"So the smoking car our principal saw on the way was yours?"

"Could be. My Dad and I were busy running away through the cornfields when the gas leak like piss."

Her jaw clenched. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Ladies take offense to jokes more seriously.

"So you were on the cornfields, sprinting like athlete to get here in time?" Her tone suddenly pick up volume. At the mention of cornfields, all students stop chattering around me, silencing the yard.

Before I knew it, they started gathering around like curious ducks with crane necks and pointy ears for gossip.

I nervously looked around. Dad was right. This is probably the grandest entrance I've had. Ever. Before it was classroom hawk eyes, now whole school gossip heads. I'm asking VIP ticket for the bullies' bucket list in this situation, aren't I?

"Can you answer a question for me Mr. Augustus?" She asked.

Isn't that what you're doing since you came to me?

"Yes, of course. Ms...?"

"Ms. Greythorn pleased to meet you by the way," she offered her hand for a handshake. I wasn't informed introduction comes after questions.

I shook hers. Then she shoved me aside and we steered away from the students. She guide me towards an unimpressive, dull gray two storey building. I still feel the stares drilling into my back.

Majority are curiosity. But there's one. A discerning stare that chilled my boiling blood. Neither dangerous nor bloodthirsty, this one gaze like a creepy crow at night, observing my every move. Deciding what to do with me. Unearthly, spine chilling, the owner is like a panther. Just there to observe. Not to harm. Once, I tried to look over my shoulder just to find who, but nothing.

I looked down at my hands. The surge of energy I felt while running is completely gone from my body. Though bits of traces still linger. What was that? All my life I've always hated running. Because it's energy draining. Because I look stupid. One time I attended track and field club to participate school fest in middle school, of course, Dad didn't know. He'd be furious if he caught wind of it. Anyway, one of the participants is a hot girl in short white skirts and crop top. I let her win because, well, she was hot.

When I casually slide my hand on her sweaty bare arms and said, "You're good." She grimaced and said, "Please don't even think of flirting with me. My boyfriend is watching." Everybody who heard it laugh at the center field.

Result? I asked Dad we transfer places because I don't want to be reminded of the great pain of being rejected by a girl.

Ms. Greythorn's hand clamps my shoulder. She maneuvered me through the silent hall. As we walk, her boots clank against the shiny floor. The air smelled of fresh paint and chemical cleaning sprays. Lockers lined each side of the walls. When we emerged out of the hall, we took the stairs and white painted classrooms lined both side of the corridors.

"You're sending me to my class Ms. Greythorn?" I asked, the first classroom we walk through doesn't have a single student inside. It struck me strange.

"No, I'm afraid not Augustus. The principal is requesting audience to any students who might have seen the perpetrator of killing our cornfields."

Uh oh.

"But I don't - I'm not really -"

"Just narrate what happened before you came here Augustus. Your statement will be valuable to us. To the Mayor."

I stopped dead on my tracks.

"Mayor? What Mayor? I'm only three hours late but I have to explain why I'm late to a Mayor?"

She stopped and sighed. Before turning around to face me.

"The residents here in Opra are what we call 'superstitious'. They believe the sudden death of crops are the work of certain...god. A curse. Because we don't offer offerings in the shrine anymore. Because we try to reconstruct this empty greenhole of a town into ideal homes for city people like you. Searching for isolated, peaceful, rural houses. Looking for fresh start. I'm sure that's what you and your father came here for, am I right?"

I'm not sure about the fresh start since Dad is just paranoid about all things. Like someone could come and hunt us anytime. That's why we must hide. He must train me hard, so I could defend myself when a time he's no longer here to protect me comes.

"Yes, you're right."

But telling her could cost me my muscles aching in ugly bruises so nah. I don't want to add another limp to my let's - get - battered - by - Dad bucket list. Out of habit, I pressed my fingers to my side. Especially on the rib. Where he hit me with the scabbard five times straight.

Strange. I pinch, slap and rub but nothing hurts. I tried my legs, my arms, my back, still nothing. Come to think of it, how did I waved through the fields earlier? When I'm covered in bruises at my sparring with Dad. Heck, I barely walked out of our house without bumping scattered boxes and tables.

"Here we are," she announced. Facing at the wooden door painted with liqueur. She knocked three times before twisting the knob.

It seems like an office. To my left, there are shelves for books, then a desk with piling papers. Sitting in a swivel chair is a fat stout man,his head is bald, his frown is bridging two eyebrows and two eyeballs together. Standing beside him, is a slender woman with a colorful scarf on her neck. Her face a sever line of beauty and malnourished. Or a strict diet gone wrong.

Crowding around them are bald, beefy men in white sleeves. Probably construction workers - no there's not much facility building going on here, they're maybe the farmers those girls talked about earlier.

"And who is this boy you brought us Ms. Greythorn?"

They immediately stop arguing.

"This boy everyone, is in the field this morning. Not much time passed since he crossed the cornfields after their car broke down on their way to school with his father. I believe he could provide statements to who really is the culprit."

Questions erupted like crackers when these bald beefy men pulled me towards them. Demanding if I saw the perpretator who killed the plants, was it an alien or god sent servant punishing the town for immoral deeds, improper giving of offerings or mishandling the shrine.

Ms. Greythorn pulled me away and calm the men down. With a nod, she signaled me to start talking.

I really don't know where to start. I obviously can't say my Dad has a habit of beating me up with a scabbard, or has a crazy knack for imaginary assassins who's after his life. Or his 'treasured baby' blow up in the middle of the road, possibly burning the cornfields in the process.

I obviously can't tell them the so called 'god sent servant' punishing the town is actually our goddamn car acting up.