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Baby BoyThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Steven | |
| Thursday, 17 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      "Mommy, mommy I'm hungry." The little boy put his ear to the door, waiting for a response. No voice came through from the other side though, so he slowly tapped his fists against the door to make sure she was there. Again, there was no response, except for the child who leaned harder against the door thinking he could hear better if closer to the door. Still, nothing came from within the room. The boy thought about all of the other times she went in there, hurriedly walking in and slamming the door shut, only to be followed by a simultaneous locking noise. She seemed so much different when she went into the bathroom, spending hours at a time without any contact with the rest of the house. When she came out she was no better, ignoring whoever had waited for her to come out as she briskly walked into her bedroom. "Mommy, there isn't anything in the kitchen to eat. I'm really hungry, and it is dinner time now." Now impatient with his mother's lack of a response, the boy put his hand on the door handle. Even though she kept the door locked when she went in, it always generated an aggravated response from her when he jingled the knob. Once more only silence met his actions. The boy grew frustrated with his mother's inability to respond, and he looked up to check to see that the light switch was indeed on for the bathroom as his stomach growled with an unpleasant reminder. Puzzled, he tried to remember the last time he had seen his mom, quickly thinking back to last night.
He had told his mom goodnight before going to bed, quietly going into her room to tell her he loved her and give her a kiss goodnight. As he had reached over to kiss her though, he noticed her cheeks glistened with small trails down her face, where they ended on the pillow beneath. Crawling onto the bed, he hugged her tightly before laying down beside her on the other pillow. Her eyes flickered open, noticing how her late husband's spot was so effortlessly filled by her son, and she let a small smile crack her dark face. Putting her arms around him, she let herself believe that everything would be ok. Quietly she whispered stories of things they had done together, surrounding herself in the memories aided by small comments that her child made. She thought back to a specific instance when the child was only a few years old, and how he would sit in his father's lap while he plucked off stems from grapes before feeding the eager child. He had loved them both so much, and worked so hard to give them everything they could want. To see that small scene was the complete happiness she could have wanted with life. The boy tried to think back to this particular event, but couldn't, and quietly mumbled that he didn't remember it. Snapping back to reality, she could only stare at the child before asking again, and then wondering how he could not remember such a loving moment. Sitting up, she began shrieking at the boy, before grabbing him by the arm and forcefully dragging him out of the bed and throughout the house. She was yelling at him, saying how she couldn't believe he couldn't remember and how awful a child he was because he couldn't remember, wishing he had never been born he was so horrible. The young boy wailed and screamed as she dragged him along, until they stood in front of the garage door. Throwing it open, she shoved her son in, quickly closing the door behind him. The lock soon followed a resounding click that seemed to remind the child to freak out. He pounded on the door, since he was scared of the dark, and now he was completely surrounded by it. He couldn't even think of as to why he was locked in the garage, but began pounding on the door while sobbing and screaming, pleading to be let back in the house. He told her he remembered the story now and apologized again and again for forgetting it, until he heard her stomping away back through the house. He fell down against the door, trying to hug the light that streamed through the cracks in the old door, before looking ahead at the dark space before him. His head had become dizzy from all of the screaming and crying, and the darkness before him only helped to make him feel worse, until he lay down and closed his eyes. The door opened just a few minutes later, his mom waiting for him on the other side as he scrambled in. Embracing her, he apologized again, hoping she would keep him out of the darkness. Pulling him closer, she mumbled "sweet baby boy" again and again to him, before falling to her knees in front of him. Her face was covered in tears, and she embraced him again before telling him she loved him as she led him to bed. After tucking him into his bed, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead one last time, saying as she walked out "I love you, my sweet baby boy."
The boy now walked around the house, checking to see if his mom was somewhere else. At the back of the house, he checked out the windows to see if she might be outside playing with the dogs or talking with the neighbors. He didn't see her outside though, and turned to check the laundry room next. Kicking a book as he went, he looked ahead and was reminded of what was left in the back of the house. A bookshelf lay smashed on the floor, left lying in a few pieces with its books scattered across the entire room. Behind the bookshelf were small glass shards, remnants of a few glass cups. His parents had been fighting, although he wasn't sure what about, but after his mom had thrown the cups at his dad, he had grabbed the back of the bookshelf in frustration and slammed it to the ground. In frustration his dad had left, taking time to cool down in hopes of reconciling, of course he never made it back home, as he was shot down at a convenience store while trying to by more beer. He had apparently walked in as the nervous robber was grabbing the cash, a passerby in someone else's misery. Now the bookshelf still sat on the ground, a symbol for six months of tragedy. He turned around, knowing she wouldn't have come back here. Standing in front of the bathroom door again, he called out one last time to see if she was in there. Grabbing the door knob, he turned it slightly and was surprised to see that it was unlocked. Maybe she went for a walk then, accidently leaving the light on after using the bathroom. Pushing the door open, he shyly peered in as the door partially opened. The lights were bright in the bathroom, a sharp contrast to the dimmed and darkened house. The marble sink was glistening white, all of the items usually on it nowhere in sight. The cabinets above the toilet were open, its contents spilt out around the toilet. Pushing the door open completely, the boy stepped into the bathroom, feeling his socks wet as he did. Noticing a small puddle next to the red rugs, he followed it up to the bathtub. There in it, he found his mother. The water was filled to the rim of the tub, as she lay inside it. A knife floated next to her, explaining why the water had a red hue. Her body had already discolored, taking a sickly pale blue color, as it lay drained of blood from deep cuts in her wrists. Her eyes stared ahead at nothing, and not even a smile could grace her face in death. As the boy walked out, his socks left small, red footprints on the floor.
Copyright 2008 Steven |
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| Last Updated ( Thursday, 17 April 2008 ) |
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