!Timmy

The rumble of the Porsche's engine, a low guttural growl that usually announced his dad’s arrival home from work, now clawed at Timmy’s ears. It was a sound of rebellion, a metallic roar against the stifling expectations of his suburban life. He’d slipped the keys off a desk in the living room, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs, and now, here he was, tearing through the night, the forest a dark, looming silhouette ahead. He was going to a bush party. No invites, just a whispered rumour in school.

The paved road dissolved into a dirt track, and the Porsche, a sleek fish out of water, jolted and grumbled. Timmy parked it haphazardly amongst a cluster of trees, far enough back that its gleaming chrome wouldn't immediately scream "stolen luxury." He killed the engine, and the sudden silence was profound, broken only by the distant murmur of voices and the crackle of a fire.

He followed the faint light, pushing through thick undergrowth, until the trees thinned into a small clearing. It wasn’t much of a party. No throbbing bass, no flashing lights. Just a raw, untamed space illuminated by the orange glow of a roaring campfire, casting dancing shadows on the surrounding trunks. A dozen or so teenagers milled about, their faces lit from below, their conversations loud in the quiet of the woods. Some were laughing loudly, others sharing hushed secrets, a few just staring mesmerized into the flames; and a certain few making out. They were being themselves, uninhibited by the usual social pressures of school or home.

Timmy found a spot away from the main cluster, a patch of cool grass under a sprawling oak. He sat down, pulling his knees to his chest, content to simply observe. He wasn’t here to mingle, not really. He was here to exist, unseen and unheard, a fly on the wall of someone else's wild, quiet freedom. He watched the sparks rise and vanish into the infinite canvas of the night sky, feeling the earth cool beneath him*

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