Juan Harrison's Arc

Chapter 7 of 9

Juan sat on a bench near his apartment and watched a group of kids play basketball under streetlights. Their sneakers squeaked against concrete as they drove toward the hoop. One kid missed a layup, swore, then grabbed the rebound and tried again. This time the ball dropped clean through the net. Juan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The kid hadn't quit after missing. He'd adjusted and scored. Juan thought about his notebooks full of wrong information, his three years aimed at the wrong target. Maybe mistakes weren't endpoints. Maybe they were just missed shots that taught you how to aim better. He stood up from the bench and headed home. Casterton Industries would burn, but only after he rebuilt his plan the right way. The anger was still there, sharper now, focused like a blade instead of scattered like buckshot. The next morning, Juan walked through the plaza and stopped at a metal sculpture. A butterfly, caught mid-transformation, rose from the base in twisted steel. The early stage showed a caterpillar wrapped tight. The middle showed the cocoon splitting open. The final stage showed wings spread wide, ready to fly. He touched the cool metal and thought about the past three years spent planning the wrong target. The sculpture reminded him that change took time. Destruction came before rebirth. He would tear down Casterton Industries, but maybe something better would come after. The butterfly didn't stay angry at the cocoon. It just broke free and moved on. Juan found a smooth stone seat near the edge of the plaza and sat down. The stone had depressions worn into it from years of people sitting in the same spots. He fit his body into one of the grooves and felt the weight of the city around him. Cars passed. People walked by with coffee cups. Nobody looked at him twice. The stone was solid and permanent, older than his anger, older than Casterton Industries. He pulled out his keycard and turned it over in his hands. The plan to burn the building still felt right, but sitting here made him wonder what came after. Prison? Running? The stone didn't answer, but it held him steady while he thought. He walked to the library and pushed through the heavy doors. Tall windows showed rows of books stacked on wooden shelves. The smell of old paper and binding glue filled his nose. Juan moved between the aisles until he found a chair near the back. He sat and stared at the spines around him. Each book was someone's attempt to make sense of the world. Some succeeded. Some failed. All of them got finished anyway. He thought about the butterfly sculpture and the worn stone seat. Both had survived longer than any grudge. Juan pulled out his notebook and opened to a blank page. Casterton Industries would burn. That much hadn't changed. But maybe after the fire, he could build something that lasted longer than revenge. He clicked his pen and started writing a new plan—one that included what happened the morning after.