The Changeling

Prologue

Hollis had known he’d never quite fit in. In the sense that he had a tingle between his shoulder blades whenever he walked through tween spaces, doorways specifically.

Others tended to shy away from him most days unless they had questions about directions or where they could go for a decent beer, as if he’d know.

This morning was much like any other, he had his earl grey tea, warm but not hot. A dollop of sticky honey drizzled into his royal blue mug, with the two vertical knicks on the edge.

The mug his father had given him just before he died.

Hollis could say he was predictable and a bit orderly, too orderly for his teachers and fellow students.

He was a bit too on the nose.

He had packed his grey backpack this morning meticulously with his class materials, all labeled and organized alphabetically. His tea infuser was in the back pocket alongside a plane grey pencil case, not overstuffed, mind you.

Each notebook was organized by priority, and then alphabetically.

He never left home without his blue mug. It stayed cushioned nearest his back on top of his pencil case.

However, the one difference today from all those other days, is the fact that his mug was sitting outside of his rusted cell, on a hand carved wooden table next to all of his belongings, all of which had been strewn carelessly across the splintered cedar.

Hollis, who hates to be dirty currently sits disheveled and sporting a split lip, arms wrapped around his legs, mudd caked on each knee.

Longingly he stares at his father’s mug.