All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
The Me Saga
My Routine Changes
This day is like any other, the same monotony of a constant and unchanging routine. I get up, eat, play, then its sleep. I guess that’s what summer is about; the boredom of school transversed to summer. You know, that’s the thanks we get for studying hard at school, isn’t it? We work, work, work, and then all we get is more and more boredom.
“Noah Miller! How many times do I have to tell you not to go outside at this time of night?” my mom snapped at me, wearing that same worried expression. Her face was wrinkled from frowning that way all the time. I hated making her worry, but it was hard not to; she worries about everything.
“Well, I guess a couple more times, since it still hasn’t got through my head yet,” I snapped. I always loved to sit outside at night. I was so comfortable that I could almost fall asleep because I felt so at peace with the world. I felt like the universe belonged to me, that I could do anything I wanted and the world would approve, but mom always had to interrupt my utopian moments.
“Don’t sass me boy! Now, get inside and fix you a plate. Dinner’s ready.”
I had no choice but to obey my mother. Man, I wish I had a dad. I’ve always thought that my dad would like me better, and treat me nicer. Mom just always was so anxious, and depressed that she made everything that was supposed to be fun, NOT fun. She was kind of like the sour apple of the bunch, but she’s my mother, so I have to love her…right?
It’s spaghetti! That was always my favorite. I always liked to slurp up the noodles, but a lot of times they would slap me on the face. No doubt, spaghetti is a dinner you have to have napkin for. As for my baby brother, Kevin, he always needs an extra set of clothes, the mess he makes. Mom usually has to mop the floor a couple a times to get all the sauce up. Now that I think about it, that may be why we only have spaghetti once every few weeks!
I sat down at the table, and tested the spaghetti. It was searing hot. It burnt my tongue, so I spit it back onto my plate. My mom gave me the “mind your manners” look, and went back to serving a plate to Kevin; he just stared at mom as he always did, giggling and smiling at her, oblivious to her anxiety.
It was a quiet dinner. The only noise was Kevin trying his voice. Mom chomped down her two plates full of food-yes, two plates full. I always wondered about her. She would stuff herself till she could barely stand up, then she would run to the bathroom. It sounded like she was belching, or gagging herself. I tried asking her about it, but she dismissed me.
As the routine unravels its repetitive story, the time for sleep comes. I slip into my pajamas, and remember that I forgot to brush my teeth. I slip out of my room, and I pass Kevin’s, thinking I might as well check on him.
I open his door quietly, and look directly at his bed. He isn’t there. Maybe he’s with mom, I thought.
“Mom!” I yelled. She has to be here somewhere. She would never leave the house with the behemoth of an anxiety disorder she has.
“Mom!” I yelled again. This is a big house, but you could hear everything from any room, so she should have called back by now.
“MOM!” If she was playing a trick on me, this was enough. I have stripped this house down to the inch, and I have yet to find her. Now, I’m having a mother moment; I’m beginning to worry.
I walked into her room, and she is nowhere to be found. She might be in her bathroom, I thought. I opened her bathroom door, and looked around; still no mom. I glanced over the bathroom one more time, and I notice something; the toilet. It looked like someone had thrown up.
I felt a cold breeze hit my arm. The ever-appearing chill bumps came upon me, and I looked for the source of the breeze. I spot the window that is ALWAYS shut and the curtains pulled over it; if it isn’t anxiety that my mother has its paranoia.
I walk over and shut the window, rubbing my arms as trying to scrap off the chill bumps. I think I was also trying to rub off the worry, but worry was persistent, and it stuck with me like my own shadow.
I tried looking for them again and again, and thought maybe I should call the police, but I just couldn’t pick up the phone for some reason. It’s like I know that they couldn’t help, or that because I’m only a twelve year old boy, that they won’t believe me. Disparity took its place in my thoughts as I decided that the only option left was to go to the neighbor’s house.
I ran back to my bedroom, talking to myself as I did so, trying to keep myself company. I grabbed a warm sweater, and headed toward the door. I was just about there when the phone rang. I ran to it and answered it.
“Mom?” I said as soon as the phone was to my head, “Mom?”
“No,” A deep voice said to me. It sounded mature, and smart, as if the person the voice belonged to had lived hundreds of years.
“Who is this?” I asked timidly.
“Me,” The old voice replied.
“I’ll call the cops!” I threatened, “I will if you don’t tell me who you are!”
“I told you. I am me.”
The voice scared me so much, I hung up the phone, and locked all the doors in the house. I couldn’t even go outside to get to the neighbors now, I was so afraid. I had so many questions that needed to be answered and so prayers at that.
I turned on all the lights, and turned everything that could make a sound on, too, the volume on high. I wanted to make it seem that there was a huge family in the house, so to deter the person from the phone.
I sat on the couch for a while, still contemplating why I couldn’t call the police. I mean, it was the only reasonable thing to do in a situation like this, but I just could not own myself up to do it. I felt so helpless without my mother. I wish I hadn’t disobeyed her earlier, now that she’s gone. I love my mother, and my little brother. I really wish I knew where they were.
I got up off the couch, figuring since the phone hadn’t ringed again that I was safe to leave the house. I went to my mother’s room, and got the pistol she kept hidden in a shoe box under her bed. I feel bad about getting it, but I have no choice. This is self-defense. I stuck the pistol into my sweater, and grabbed a flashlight on the way out.
The night was quiet. It was too quiet. I walked slowly down my front steps, and onto the dewy grass. I felt it seeping through my socks- Just then I realized that I had forgotten shoes. I continually flashed my flashlight in all directions as if to cover everything. I didn’t see anything, but I felt someone there. It could be a something, but I was sure it was a person. The third thing it could be is me; well, my paranoia. I more like my mother than I thought. I miss her.
I never noticed how far away my neighbor‘s house was until this night. I kept wishing I’d see Mr.
Fillmore’s lights from his living room. I kept wishing I’d hear his dog, Killer, barking as he always did whenever someone was close to the house. I kept wishing I see my mother sitting on their porch with Kevin bouncing on her lap, giggling.
Mr. Fillmore’s lights came into view as I rounded the corner, and my eyes took it in with joy. I was safe. I was finally safe. The old voice from the phone can’t hurt me anymore. I can finally figure out what-
Blackness. Pain, throbbing pain. Consuming nothingness. Hours of agony. Maybe days, I couldn’t tell. What I did know is that I was hurt, hurt bad.
I open my eyes. It’s a little fuzzy, like I’m trying to see underwater. I see a figure over me. I can feel eyes boring into mine.
“Who are you?” I ask weakly. My voice was very shaky, and it hurt to breathe.
“Me,” an old, matured voice said.
Fear swelled up in me. I started to cry a little, wishing my mom was here even more now. I tried to get up, but I couldn’t- I was shackled to the floor, both hands and feet. I tried to scream, but the figure taped over my mouth before I could.
“Noah,” the figure continued, “Don’t try to fight. You will only make this worse.”
“What did I ever do to you?!” I cried. I kept struggling with my shackles. I knew it was hopeless, but I couldn’t help but try. Thinking back on it, I probably should have called the police
Through the tears, I tried to identify the figure, or match the voice with a face. Neither option can be done because the figure sat, hidden in a corner where only he could see me. As for the voice, I had never heard it before, and wish never to hear it again.
“I have seen you before,” said the figure, “all the time as you sit outside at night. I watch you, Noah. I see you staring at the stars. I see you looking for the hoot owls. I see you watching the little lightning bugs flash their lights. I watch you Noah.”
“WHO ARE YOU?” I demanded.
“Me,” he replied simply, calm as ever.
Still he sat in the shadowy corner, staring at me. I’d had already given up trying to get loose, so I laid there and soaked up my misery. I couldn’t stop thinking about mom and Kevin. They meant so much to me. I felt so bad because the last thing I did was give my mother attitude, and now I might never get to say I’m sorry….
The figure stood up, and walked past me. I looked at where he was going, and finally realized my surroundings. I was in a small, dark room with ripped blue-stripped wallpaper. I t had writing all over it, and the room smelt of mold and dirty clothes. It was unbelievably humid, and I was sweating through every pore on my body. The floor on which I was laying felt like it was about to fall through, and it was wet. There was only one lamp in the room with one dim light bulb in it.
There was what looked like a bed in one of the corners of the room. It was the only well-taken-care of thing in the place. I peered to see what was on top of the bed, and I was shocked. There were hundreds of pictures of me, mom, and Kevin. I mean hundreds. I don’t even think the bed was meant as a bed, but as a table. Then I noticed more pictures hung on the wall above the bed, even on the ceiling directly above the bed.
I looked back to see the figure opening the door to the room, and as soon as he did I heard screaming.
“WHERE’S MY NOAH?! WHERE’S MY NOAH?! WHERE’S BABY KEVIN?!” As soon as I heard that voice I knew who it belonged to; my mother.
I Wish For Death
A rush of relief hit me like a dodge ball. My muscles relaxed, and my face wrenched itself into a slight smile, but the happiness was short-lived when I realized what my mom had said. She said she wanted to know where her Kevin is.
The figure slammed the door shut, and it went back to immediate quietness. I concluded that this room must be soundproof. I once again struggled with my shackles, but again, no such luck. As hopeless as I was before without my mother, I was even more now that I had her, but I couldn’t help her.
I just laid there thinking about a way out of this mess when I remembered the pistol I had taken from my mother’s bedroom. I rubbed my sweater where it was suppose to be, and I felt hard, cold metal. I still had the gun! The figure forgot to check me when he knocked me out. This was his greatest mistake.
I thought that if the room was soundproof, then I could shoot the gun, and nobody would be able to hear it except me. I took the pistol out of my sweater, and looked at my shackles. Maybe this could work, I thought. I aimed the pistol at my left shackle and fired.
The sound and the almost blowing my hand off made me jump, but when I regained myself, I saw that I had blasted away the shackle. I waited for the figure to show back up from the noise, but he didn’t. I guess I concluded right; the room is soundproof.
This time I put the gun in the other hand, and aimed for my right shackle. This was more difficult since I had to shoot with my left hand. When I fired, I jumped again, but when I looked at my shackle, it was still in one piece. I had missed. I shot again, and this time I got my target. My hands are finally free.
Now I only had three bullets left: one bullet for my right foot shackle, another for my left foot shackle, and the last bullet one for the figure. Even if he hadn’t hurt anyone, he was going to pay. I’ll make sure of that.
I shot off the right shackle, and then the left. I staggered a little, but I finally got to my feet. I put the pistol back into my sweater, and headed for the door, all the while thinking of how the heck I was going to get out of here with my mother and Kevin unscathed. It was all so scary, but I had to get to my mother, and I had to get out of here. I headed for the door. I knew once I opened it, all the sound I made from then on would be audible, and I had to be stealthy to get out of the hell-house.
I tippy-toed my way toward down a dilapidated hallway, sweating fruitfully. Still it smelt of mold, and the air was heavy. There was a hole in the floor, and I could have sworn that I saw a rat scatter by. This house was disgusting, and I couldn’t wait to get out of here.
I heard sobs as I rounded a corner, and found myself in another hallway. It had about four rooms on it, and only two and half doors; one room didn’t have a door, and another room had a door hanging on one hinge.
I put my head to the first door, and listened to see if the sobbing was coming from there. It still sounded too far away, though. I walked, even more the quiet, toward the next door, wondering if the figure had noticed that I was missing. If he had, I only have a couple minutes.
The sobbing wasn’t coming from this door either. I was starting to wonder if I was imaging the sobbing as if to give me hope, but I rubbed my ears out, and yet, the sobbing continued.
The next room was the one with no door. I edged toward it and looked in; the room was empty, except for an open window. I thought about jumping out, and only saving my skin, but the guilt of leaving Kevin and mom would kill me as if I had stayed. So I just passed that room, and went to the last one with the door hanging on one hinge.
The sobbing, as it turned out, to be giggling. I walked into the room immediately, and saw Kevin playing with a stuffed animal dog. Rage caught hold of me when I thought that the figure left Kevin in that room by himself, causing me to almost lose all good judgment, and find the figure and finish him off. It wasn’t a bad idea; it’s just that I would probably lower my chances of finding my mom, so that option is out.
As oblivious as ever to danger, Kevin giggled as I picked him up. I told him to be quiet, and he smiled at me, and then started to play with my hair. I walked out of the room, and started to think about what my next move was. Well, I could get out with Kevin, and then call the police for mom, I thought, but my hear t told me that I should look for mom first. In a sense, I was contradicting myself.
I crept down the hallway, shushing Kevin every once in a while. I made tons of corners which made this house feel like a maze, but I could be going in circles because everything looked alike in this house: the wallpaper, the floor, and the rooms; everyone I’ve been in has been empty.
I finally came to a stop when I reach a set of stairs, but not to the upstairs, but to the basement. Even in a situation like this, I thought of how in lots of scary movies people go into the basement even though it’s the worst thing you can do. Well, I’m about to do the worst thing I can do.
I walked down the stairs, but not quietly. Each and every stair creaked as I stepped on it, causing it to sound like bones cracking. I’m very scared now that I have a noise that I can’t control, and the figure will soon know of my disappearance, and come looking for me.
When I no longer hear creaks, I realize I must be off the stairs. I hear water dripping, and I smell something like caked-on blood and mildew. It makes me nauseous, but I feel my way around the walls, feeling for a switch of some kind.
The sound scared me and made me jump, but then I hear it again.
I stop, and listen. The sound is coming from the opposite wall, and it sounds sort of like when you bump your head against something.
I know that when you’re in a scary movie moment as I am, you should NEVER go to the mystery noise, but obviously I’m not following those rules. I start to feel my way around again, the bumping noise getting ever clearer, but before I get there, I feel a switch; I flip on.
The light blinds me momentarily, but I soon gain sight of the basement in full light; I wish I hadn’t. My mother sits against the wall, tied up and duct tape on her mouth, but that is not the worst part. The figure stands over her with a knife and mirror as if to let her see her own demise.
“Somehow I knew you’d get out of my lovely room, Noah,” said the figure.
“I’m quite talented,” I snap. I don’t know where the sarcastic retort came from, but it felt good.
“Watch your mouth, boy!” the figure threatens, “That was always your mother’s greatest laceration in her personality; always having a remark for everything.
“Runs in the family,” I know saying this was stupid, but this was one way I thought I could get to him.
“You wish for death! You wish to see your mother die! You wish to see the little boy you carry in your hands right now slaughtered. This is clear to me. However, it only runs on one side of the family.”
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
Just then, my mother starts to wiggle furiously, and looking straight at the figure as if pleading with him.
“You wish me not to tell the boy! There, there Katherine, he should know. It’s only his right,” the figure laughs as he stares intently at me.
“What do you mean?” I ask him again. It scares me because I see my mother thrashing wildly, and for the first time, noticing that Kevin was not giggling; in fact, he was staring straight into the figure’s eyes.
“You see, Katherine? Noah wishes me to tell him, and I will tell him. It is his last wish after all,” the figure says more to me than my mother.
“Well, tell me already!” I demand.
“Who am I, Noah?” he asks me as he steps toward me slowly, “Who am I?”
“I don’t know”
“I really don’t know,” I tremble. He’s right in my face now. I set down Kevin, and he started to cry; he finally notices the danger, “The only thing I know is that you’re ‘Me’”
“Yes, Noah. I am Me, but really…..Who am I?” We’re now nose to nose now. I’m very scared, but I hold my ground.
“Your…..your…..oh no…..it can’t be!” I scream as realization hits me. Some twist of fate has brought me here. Some Otherworldly force brought me to this conclusion. Mental lightning has struck, and thunder rings in my ears as I know who he is. He is my father.
Baby Kevin Saves The Day
“Yes! Yes! He knows, Katherine! He knows!” he cackles crazily, “Not up to your expectations, I see. Well, you wanted a father. Well, you have one!”
“Why are you doing this?” I cry as I sink to floor.
“Because of your mother, you stupid child! We would have had a happy family had your mother not have left. But no! She leaves when I try to help her!”
“What are you talking about?!” Tears are freely falling now.
“I’m talking about your mother’s problem. Don’t you know? When your mother and I lived together, she held a secret…..until I found out. Your mother would chomp down extreme amounts of food like an animal, and then go throw it up! I tried and tried to help her get over her Bulimia, but she rebelled. I probably wouldn’t have pushed her so hard had she not been pregnant with Kevin, but she wouldn’t stop.
So one night, she just left with the clothes on her back…..and you, Noah. I searched everywhere and couldn’t find her. I went crazy trying, but then I came across you, sitting outside, looking at the moon. I couldn’t believe it. I had given up, but as I was passing through the town, you were there, and I took advantage of it. I thank you, though. If you hadn’t have been outside, I wouldn’t have ever known.”
Now I finally know. Finally. I now know why she hated me sitting outside. I now know why she’s so paranoid. I finally know why she worries so much. I just wanted to run to my mother, and tell her I’m sorry for ever disobeying her. She had good reason for her rules, but I wouldn’t listen.
My “dad” turns to baby Kevin, and starts to walk toward him while my mother tries to scream through the duct tape, but only muffles a squeal. Kevin starts to cry hysterically, trying to crawl away, but soon our father catches him, and picks him up.
“He’ll be the first to go,” he says as Kevin fights him, “I want your mother to suffer. She’ll watch both her children die.”
I’m too scared to get up. My eyes follow Kevin, but I’m completely rooted to the spot.
“Now, how are we going to go about killing you, Kevin? Any suggestions?” my father asks Kevin casually as he sets him on a table stained by blood with bunches of knifes on it. There was even a cut off finger that had a ring on it. It was green and it had maggots slithering in and out of it.
Kevin picked up a knife, and almost stabbed our father with it, but he was too fast. I don’t think Kevin meant it as a way to be killed, but that’s how our father took it.
“Good suggestion,” He says as he wiped it on shirt, “I like your way of thinking.”
I think that Kevin knows what’s about to happen because he lets out a cry like never before. It was so loud, it even made me jump.
I looked over at mom, and saw that she was crying more than see was before. Every time she blinked, she let out a tear.
I turned back to the table, and saw my father getting closer to Kevin with the knife. I snap out of my shock, and uproot myself. I remember the pistol and take it out, and point it at my father. He’s got all his attention on Kevin, so he doesn’t see me.
I’m just about to pull the trigger when-
When I see my father drop to the floor-bleeding. He’s screaming in agony, and then I realize why; he has a knife stuck in chest, only inches away from his heart. I look up, and see Kevin almost laughing; he had took a knife, and stabbed his father when his father was about to stab him; although, I think it was more by accident than on purpose.
I waste no time; I use it all to my advantage. I run to the table, got a knife, and cut my mother from her binds. She immediately gets up and runs to Kevin.
“Come on Noah!” my mother screams at me, urging me.
I don’t immediately follow; I made a promise. I promised I would use the last bullet on the one who lies on the floor before me. I take the gun and point it at my father, the one person I truly wanted to have with me, but now I wanted him dead.
“NOAH!” she screams to me again.
I still don’t listen. I stand there staring at him as he stares at me. I know he won’t die from the stab. I have to shoot him. I have to.
“NOAH! DON’T! IT’S NOT WORTH IT! PLEASE, IF WE LEAVE NOW, WE’LL BE ABLE TO GET OUT OF SAFELY! NOAH, PLEASE!” She says more in a whimper than a scream.
This time I listen, but first I tilt the gun only centimeters away from my father, and shoot. It makes a hole in the floor just by his ear.
With Kevin in her hands, mom and I start to run through the maze-like house, and after what seemed to be a year, we reach the hallway with the four rooms. I tell mother that there is a window in the second room. She tells me to go through first with Kevin, and just to start running.
When I’m out the window, my feet work like a well-oiled machine. I’m running through some woods, but after a couple of minutes, I’m in someone’s backyard. It looks familiar.
My jaw drops. It’s my backyard. I always knew there was a house back in those woods, but I never would have thought that someone (my dad) had moved in there.
Even with this weird twist of events, it worked in my favor. I ran into the house, and in the bathroom. I put Kevin in the bathtub, and then went to phone and called the police. They said they would send assistance immediately. Then, mom shows up.
“Where’s Kevin?” She asks.
“In the bathtub,” I tell her.
Then she picks up the phone, but I tell I already called the police.
“Oh, Noah!” she cries happily as she hugs me tighter than ever, “I thought I’d never see you again. I’m so glad you’re not hurt!”
“I love you,” I say simply, “I love you, mom.”
“I love you, too, Noah,” she tells me, “More than you know.”
When the police arrive, we tell them everything that happened. I wasn’t able to tell them the beginning because I was oblivious when it all first started. What had happened is that my dad knew my mom was paranoid, and so he nicked mom’s bathroom window open, and hid below it. When my mom went into the bathroom (she had Kevin with her as always) she saw the open window, and went to shut it. When she did, my dad pulled her out the window, and knocked her out. Then he took her to the house in the woods behind our house where he had been for at least two weeks, taking pictures of Mom, Kevin, and I whenever we went outside. After he had mom and Kevin in the house, he called me, and then that was the beginning for me.
The police went to the house, and found my dad lying in the same spot where he had been. He was alive, however. He kept the knife in his chest to hinder the bleeding, but he was still extremely weak. They took him onto a stretcher, and into an ambulance. The police told us that after he got out of the hospital, he’d be going to jail. I don’t think I have to tell you how good it felt to hear those words.
We lived with ludicrous amounts of alarm systems and locks over the coming years. Mom would still nag me about going outside-even during the day, but I love to go outside and play with Kevin now that he‘s older. I’m five years older than him, but he’s already taller than me. It feels weird to look up at him now.
I’m almost eighteen, but mom wants me to live with her as long as she can get me to stay. I don’t have to tell you the reasons why; even though it’s been years since that day, she’s still getting over it.
“It’s time for you two to come back inside now,” she yells at us through the kitchen window.
“Mom! It’s only four o’clock!” Kevin and I yell at the same time.
“Don’t y’all sass me! Now get in here!”
As reluctant as I am, I obey. I’ve been obeying my mother ever since that day, without question.
“We can play tomorrow, Noah,” Kevin says as we walk in the door, trying to cheer me up. He’s such a happy spirit; He’s doesn’t remember that day.
RING! RING! RING!
“Hey Kevin! Get the phone, will ya?” Mom asks.
“Okay!” Kevin says as he answers the phone, “Hello?”
No one speaks.
“Hello,” Kevin tries again, “I know your there….I can hear you breathe.”
No one speaks.
“Come on now! Who is this?” Kevin asks.
It’s really lonely around here since my older brother, Noah, left. It’s been only a week since he moved into his apartment close to the local college, but it seems like it’s been two years. Noah was always my loyal friend and loving brother, and now that he is gone, there’s a hole in my heart where he used to be.
He visits on weekends sometimes. He often brings me games and toys and says, “That should keep you busy, Kevin!” but only when he plays them with me. Otherwise, they sit in my closet, take up room, and collect dust.
So the obvious is revealed; it’s only my mom and me now. No need to mention how boring it is. She’s a complete couch-potato, and she’s always worrying about where I am.
“Marco!” My mom yells hourly just to make sure I’m still in the house.
“Polo!” I yell back reflexively.
I don’t know why my mother is so anxious; I mean, she’s been like this sense I can remember, but I don’t understand. I know something bad happened a long time ago. Something about Noah getting a weird phone call, and mysteriously appearing at the old house in the woods, but he said that it wasn’t a big deal. He passed it off like it was so cruel prank someone pulled on him and mom, but I think that is it more than that…..a lot more.
I believe this because I got a weird phone call, too. I answered the phone, but no one spoke, and then I asked who it was I was talking to, and the only reply was, “‘Me’”.
The voice sounded very mature, manly, and old. It was like the voice was one hundred years old. I didn’t tell my mom about it, afraid of her going on total lockdown, and never letting me go anywhere, even with the little freedom I barely have.
So I go on with life like the phone call is a figment of my imagination, however, I often think of it. During school, I’ll zone out trying to figure what face the voice belonged to looked like. When I daydream, I get fuzzy pictures of a man holding a knife to me, and of a finger that had been cut off, but I dismiss them; they must really be figments of my imagination.
I often want to ask my mom about that day, but I never do. I’m scared of what she might say, so I really don’t know what happened. I’m surprised that she hasn’t wanted to move out of this house. I remember Noah telling that is a good thing that I don’t remember what happened so that it won’t affect me. I’ve come to trust that what he says is true; I should never need to know.
“Marco!” mother yells right at eight o’clock, “Time for bed, Kevin!”
“Yeah, Yeah, woman! I heard yah! Just sit on your couch, and eat your chips!” I snap jokingly, however, mom doesn’t take it that way.
“Don’t give me another reason to ground you, boy! You know I will!” Mom says as she crunches on a chip.
“Oooooooh, scary grounding! What are going to make me do? Stay at the house!” I laugh.
“I just might do that!”
“You’ve already done it!” I decide that the rock I have as a mother isn’t going to budge; I’m not going to win this argument, just like all the others.
I put on my pajamas, and get into bed. I start to count sheep:
You wish for death! You wish to see your mother die! You wish to see the little boy you carry in yours hands right now slaughtered. This is clear to me.
“NO! NO!” I scream as I sit straight in my bed, sweating. I see my mom looking desperately at me.
“Its okay, Kevin. It’s okay. You’re safe. It was just a nightmare. It’s okay,” she soothes me. She hugs me, and then starts to cry a little, “I heard you screaming, and I ran in here, and saw that you were doing it in your sleep. I was about to wake you up, but you did it yourself…”
She told me that I should come sleep with her tonight, and I didn’t protest. That nightmare was, indeed, a nightmare. It seemed so real. I heard the words very clearly, but everything else was fuzzy. I feel like I’ve heard it before, but I can’t remember when I’ve heard it.
I can’t fall asleep. Afraid that the nightmare might come back, but worse. I just lay there, watching the fan go around and around, thinking that maybe I should tell mom about the mysterious phone call. I want to wake her up and tell her immediately, but as soon as I’m about to do it, sleep captures me, and my eyes close….
He’ll be the first to go. I want your mother to suffer. She’ll watch both her children die.
Now, how are we going to go about killing you, Kevin? Any suggestions?
I wake up, but I don’t freak out this time. I look over to see that mom has already got up. I glance at the window and see the sun rising; its morning.
“Mom, we need to talk,” I tell her as I enter the kitchen, seeing her fix a cup of coffee.
“We do?” she says questionably.
“Yes, mom, we do.”
We sit down at the kitchen table, opposite each other, mom waiting for me to begin the conversation. I watch her sip her coffee for a while, trying to figure out how I would ask my questions, while not saying the things that might alert her.
“Well….” I begin, “I had another nightmare apart from the one you know about. It felt so real, like I had actually experienced it. It was a little hazy, though.”
“What are you trying to tell me, Kevin?” she asks suspiciously, “If there is something you need to tell me, then you need to tell me, or I will not be able to help.”
I hesitate, thinking, but I continue, “I think the nightmare did happen, mom. I think that it’s when you and me got kidnapped. Please don’t ask me why I think this, but I believe that I’m right.”
“Well, Kevin. I never told you about the incident because you never asked, but now that you have….I will tell you.”
She gets up, fixes herself another cup of coffee and begins, “I was struggling back then with Bulimia. I wouldn’t allow anyone to help me. You were very young then, so you shouldn’t remember, but I know Noah does. When that day came, when you and I were kidnapped, I knew right then that I did need help, and if I got out of it, I would seek help. If it wasn’t for you and Noah, I don’t think any of us would be alive today.”
I’m confused; I can understand that Noah could have saved us all, but she said ‘If it wasn’t for you and Noah’. How could I have helped if I was only a baby?
“The man, who kidnapped us, took us to the old house in the woods. He put me into the basement and you somewhere else. When Noah got to the basement, he was holding you. Noah ended up copping an attitude with the man, and got him mad, which made him take you to a table that had loads of knives on it, and if I remember correctly, it also had a cut of finger as well.
He was about to stab you with one of the knives when you took it upon yourself to stab him. Yes, even as a baby, you saved us, Kevin. If you wouldn’t have stabbed him, we’d probably be bones in that basement right now. Noah took you in his arms and ran back to the house. He called the police, and then they threw the man in jail. They told me that he wouldn’t be in there forever, but I hope it’s a long time though.”
Now all the nightmares make sense; they really did happen. Deep down, I remembered that day. I knew Noah was lying about it, but how was I to not believe him? He’s my big brother, and I expect him to always tell me truth, but I know the truth now.
“There is something else, Kevin,” mom says, knocking from my own little world, “something else I need to tell you.”
“What is it?” I ask anxiously.
She takes a long sip of her coffee, taking her time, but finally she says, “The man that kidnapped us….he….he….he is your father.”
Shock. Nothing but shock. I say it over and over again, ‘he is your father’ but it never quite sounds right. I ask if she is telling me the truth, and she tells me yes, but I just can’t believe it. I always knew that my father left when mom was pregnant with me, but I didn’t know that he came back. To add to the shock, he kidnapped me and mom, and wanted to kill us! Reality is starting to become a nightmare. Alas, reality hurts.
I tell mom that I’m going to go do some homework, but she knows I’m lying; it’s Saturday, and she’s knows that we don’t get homework on weekends, but she lets me go so I can think things over. I lay on my bed for hours, just thinking. Reality seems so much more real now that I know. I wish I had stayed true to Noah words; I should have never needed to know. I would have been better off clueless.
When I finally get over the initial shock, I decide to call Noah to see if he’s coming this weekend. I want to see him, but there’s another reason why I want him to come; I’m going to go to the old house in the woods tonight to check it out, but I want him to go with me. If he doesn’t come, that will not change my decision; I’m still going to the house with or without him.
“Hello?” Noah says into the phone.
“Hey Noah, its Kevin!” I greet him back, “Are you coming this weekend?”
“Umm….I have lots of homework, but I will if you want me to.”
“Of course, I want you to come!” I tell him with certainty.
“Okay. Then I’m coming. I’ll be there around four o’clock. I’ve got us a new game to play.”
“Yay! I’ll see you then! Bye!” I hang up.
I ask mom if I can sit outside and wait for Noah, and she is very resistant, but after a lot of persuading (telling her I’ll do the dishes for a week) she lets me, but she says she’ll check on me every so often.
I walk out the door, and take in the fresh air. I inherited the love of nature from Noah. He said he used to sit outside a lot, but stopped all the sudden. He told me he didn’t want anyone playing more tricks on him.
I sit on the steps of the porch, counting the cars that drive by to pass the time. I find it very entertaining till I see something out of the corner of my eye-a picture. It’s lying on the bottom step. I pick it up and look at it; it’s a picture of Noah sitting in the same exact place as I am, although a lot younger, but I can tell that it is him. There’s a lightning bug in the picture, and it looks like he is looking at it.
I think about going inside, and asking mom about it, but I decide not to. I don’t have a single picture of Noah for myself. When he moved out, mom put all the pictures of him in frames on the wall, as if to keep a part of him in the house, like he would never be gone.
So I stick it in my back pocket, and return to car watching. I count at least fifty cars when a blue Hummer pulls into the driveway. It’s Noah! He’s here! I wait till he gets out and then I rush to him and I give him the biggest bear hug of I’ve ever given him.
“Kevin, you’re squeezing my heart up through my throat!” he struggles to say.
I tell him I’m sorry, and then I open the door for him. He’s carrying a box, and I read what’s on it “Monopoly”. So that’s the game he brought.
“Noah, darling! So nice to see you!” Mom greets him with a hug almost like mine, except he doesn’t snap a retort at her; he may have moved out, but he’s in his momma’s house now, and rules are rules!
We all sit in the living room like we always do when Noah comes. We talk about his school work, and about how he has a new girlfriend. He tells us that he will bring her home one day, but I don’t think he will; mom doesn’t like anyone getting close to Noah.
I just sit there and listen to him until he asks me, “You want to play Monopoly? I thought you might like it.”
“Yeah, sure. Do you want to play, mom?” I ask her, but she refuses; says she has some cleaning to do, but I know the real reason. She knows that I love spending time with Noah, and she doesn’t think she should intrude, but I always ask if she wants to join in.
We sit on the floor, and set up the game. I decide to be the shoe, and Noah wants to be the car. He says he’ll run over me, but I tell him I’ll step on him! I put the cards in place, while Noah organizes the money. I ask him if I can be the banker, but he says he wants to; he wants all the power!
We crack jokes at each other as we play the game. I buy all the spots he wants, just to get him riled up. He threatens that he’ll drown my head in the toilet if I didn’t stop, but I know he’s only kidding. Well, at least I think he is.
“Noah, can I ask you a favor?” I ask as I take my turn.
“You bet!” He says as he buys Boardwalk.
“I want you to come with me to the old house in the woods,” I can tell that Noah is about to say something, but I cut him off, “If you don’t come with me, I’ll go by myself, but I do want you to come.”
His joking attitude disappeared like it was never there. Seriousness consumed his face. He looked at me to see if I was bluffing, but he all he sees is the truth. He makes it clear of his distaste of my decision by the way he sitting, but finally he slacks his shoulders, and give me the “I have no choice” look.
“Okay, I’ll go with you, but on one condition,” he says, looking at me sternly.
“And what is that?” I ask.
“That if we run into trouble, you will run when I tell you to. Most likely, the house will as it always is: stinky and humid, but I still want you to promise just in case we run into trouble. Do you promise?”
“Noah….” I trail off, but I soon realize that he will not come with me if I do not promise, “Okay, I promise, but on one condition.”
“And what is that?”
“That you run with me.”
Mercy Is So Hard To Come By
The day passes by with dull slowness. Noah and I lollygag around, waiting for night; which we decided would be the best time to go to the house. Mostly because mom will be asleep, therefore, we will be able to escape and return unnoticed by her ever-seeing eyes and wide open ears.
On the few occasions that Noah does spend the night, he usually sleeps on the couch, but tonight he will sleep in my room. All mom did was told us not to be too loud, and I assured her we weren’t going to be. How can be loud if we are not there?
Mom kisses us both good night, and tells us to brush our teeth. Noah complains that he forgot to bring his toothbrush, and I tell him that he has no other choice but to use his finger. He threatens that he will not come with me if I keep making fun of him, but I know he is only bluffing.
We go into my room, and play video games for hours to make time go by faster. We wait until we can hear mom snore before we even think about go outside the room.
“I think it’s time,” I tell Noah.
“I think your right,” he agrees.
We slip some shoes on, and sneak by mom’s room. Noah puts his ear to her door, and gives me a thumbs up; she’s sound asleep. I tell Noah that we should take a weapon of some kind, and he makes his way into the kitchen, and grabs a knife, and hands one to me, but then he grabs something else-chips.
I roll my eyes at him, and then he says, “What? A man has to eat!”
We were about to go out the backdoor, but it’s too squeaky, so we climb out a window into the backyard. I’m about to close it, when Noah stops me. We have those automatic locking windows, so he told not to close it, or we’d be stuck out here till mom get up, and neither one of us wants that!
Noah walks ahead of me, knife in hand. He’s looks left and right at every sound, and shushes me even when I don’t make any noise. I put my knife in my pocket so I won’t lose it, and then I notice that I have something else in my pocket; the picture I found. I take it out, and try to look at it, but, of course, I can’t see it since its pitch black out here.
Almost as if Noah had read my mind he curses about not bringing a flashlight, but says he could never forget where the house is, and he could find it blindfolded. Well, he gets to test that theory doesn’t he?
I start to think about that phone call I got as I follow Noah. I guess you could say that I was daydreaming at night while walking, but I quickly recovered cause I started to hear Noah crunch on his chips. I was about to put my hand in the bag when he stopped abruptly.
“We’re here,” He says almost timidly.
I couldn’t see the house, but I finally found the outline of it. It was a medium-sized house, and I could tell (even though it was dark) that a part of the roof was sunken in; a tree had fallen on it.
Noah found a door, and turned the knob. We jump out of the way, and the door comes completely off, and topples the ground. We look at each other, and then enter the hell-house.
I heard faint scurrying, and through the darkness, I saw mice running all over the place. Humidity started to sink its way into my clothes, making me start to sweat. Noah edged along the wall to find a switch. I doubt that even if he found one that it would work, but to my surprise, when I hear the little click, the room filled with light.
“How can a house like this still have working elect-” I start to say, but Noah puts a finger to his mouth.
“I know. That’s why I think someone has been here recently to turn it back on,” he whispers to me.
I start to get scared, and think that we should leave, but Noah goes through another door, and I follow him silently. I take out my knife, and hold it tightly in hand, ready to strike, although I know that if something happened, Noah would want me to run. But I won’t run. I won’t.
Noah flipped another light switch, and we found ourselves in a hallway. There was a hole in the floor, and now that we were further into the house, the odor of it stunk so bad that I had to breathe out of my mouth. It was a moldy, sweaty, and dirty clothes like smell.
The hallway had blue-stripped wallpaper that’s ripped in some places. It had lots of writing on it. There were four rooms in it, but one was missing a door, and another room had a door hanging on by a hinge. I looked over at Noah, and saw him standing straight up like he was frozen. He looked so scared.
“Noah,” I said as I waved my hand in front of his face, but he never blinked.
I was about to give up hope, but then Noah raises his right hand, and points to the room with door hanging by one hinge, and said, “That’s where I found you.”
I started to get butterflies in my stomach as I walked toward the room. Noah walked behind me, but very slowly. I walked into the room, and saw that it was empty except for one thing-a stuffed animal that looked like a dog.
“You were playing with that when I found you,” Noah says dreamily.
I went to it, and picked it up. It knew Noah was telling me the truth because when I held it in my hands, I remembered it with insane clarity. I remember playing with it, and then Noah coming in to pick me up and I started to play with his hair.
I wanted to keep it, but Noah told me to put it back, just in case someone had been here, and noticed that it was gone. I reluctantly put it back, and followed Noah back into the hallway. We rounded a corner and ended up in another hallway, but we quickly walked through it.
Noah seemed determined to get to one place in the house, but he wouldn’t tell me where. He just power walked till he came to a door that was slightly cracked. I kept hearing the mice scurry their way around the house, but when Noah and I went into the room, he closed it, and every sound that we were hearing stopped immediately when the door clicked shut. Noah told me that this room was completely soundproof.
Noah didn’t find a switch to turn on, but he quickly found a lamp. The faint glow from it lit the room just enough to see it.
There were shackles on the ground that seemed to have been blown off. There were several gun shells on the ground, and then I noticed something in the corner of the room-a bed.
I was horrified by what I saw. There were hundreds of pictures of Noah, Mom, and a baby. Noah was also staring at the bed, then he looked at the wall and the ceiling and I, too, looked. There were more pictures. I took the picture out of my pocket, and took one off the bed that had Noah in it, and compared them. Noah looked exactly alike in them. Both of these pictures were taken at the same time, but how did this picture get on my front porch?
Noah came over to me, and saw the picture, and then asked, “Where did you get that?”
“I found it on the porch earlier when I was waiting for you,” I tell him.
“Oh no! Why didn’t you tell me earlier about the picture! Do you know what this means? It means he’s back!” Noah says beginning to cry, “We need to get out of here!” Panicking, Noah runs out of the room, and I run as fast as I can to keep up.
I keep running until I hear a scream. It’s Noah! I run up to see that he had fallen into the hole in the middle of the hallway. I start crying. Noah’s screaming in pain as I help get him out. When he’s completely out of the hole, I almost vomit. His leg is broken. A bone is popped out, and blood is running down his leg. He tries to say something to me, but I don’t hear him; my full attention is on his leg.
That is, until I notice a shadow coming from around the corner of the hallway, and before Noah can say anything, I start to drag him through a door, and to my surprise, I find stairs leading down to a basement of some sort. So I slump him down them, Noah trying not to yelp in pain every time we go down a step. The stairs creaked every time when went down one, but I still went on.
When we get to the ground, I laid down Noah softly, and rushed back up the stairs to close the door. Before I close it, I see a foot round the corner. I sit down, and put my ear to the door to check and see if I can hear footsteps as they pass by. I look under the door and see boots facing the me, as ig they are about to come in here. I get so scared that I stand up, and jump over the handrail, landing right beside Noah.
The person opens the door, and a faint strip of light shines through. A foot appears on the first step, but soon it retracts, and closes the door. Noah and I are safe….for now.
“Whoo...That was a close one,” I say, listening to Noah whimper.
“Listen, Kevin, I need you to go get mom. She’ll know what to do,” He instructs me.
“No, I’m not leaving you here. What if that person comes back? What are you going to do? Throw that bone at him!” I tell him desperately, but he doesn’t listen.
“Kevin, this is serious. You made a promise to run when I told you to, and now is the time to honor that.”
“Yes, but you made a promise too. You we’re to run with me!”
“I know, but obviously I can’t do that,” he says as he points to his foot.
I plead with him more, but I soon give up. I feel bad about leaving him, but I know that’s the only way he’ll get out of here.
I sneak up the stairs, but I don’t know what good it does because of all the creaking. I open the door slightly, and looking to see if anyone is there. Once I decide that the coast is clear, I run, but as soon as I round the corner, arms wrap around me, and I feel duct tape being put on my lips. I try to mutter a scream, but nothing comes out.
I fight, but I’m not strong enough. The person holding me drags me by my hair with ease down the hallway, and slams my head against the wall. I remember that I have a knife in my pocket, but when I reach for it, it isn’t there. It must have fallen out.
I look up at the person to see that it is a man. When he turns to look at me, I saw that he looked amazingly like Noah, but his face was a lot more structured. His eyes were a bright green, and his hair was so misshapen that he looked like he hadn’t washed it in years. And even in this moment of complete horror, I knew who the man was: my father.
I started to cry when he picked me up by my throat, and pinned me to the wall. I looked down and saw that he has a knife and a mirror.
He puts the mirror right up to my face and says, “Who are you!” Then he rips the duct tape off my face, making my lips bleed only a little.
I don’t know why, but I think of the weird phone call I got and said, “Me!”
He dropped me so fast, that I hardly had time to protect myself from the fall. He looked down at me with astonishment. He must have been very surprised by what I said because he forgot the he wanted to kill me for second because he kneeled down and looked me straight in the face.
Before I have time to scream for help, he re-tapes my mouth. “Kevin,” He said simply, “You’re all grown up.”
This time, he takes me by my collar, and drags me into a room, and closes the door. He shoves me a few feet, and shackles my arms and legs to the floor. He comes right up to me, and lifts my head so he can see me.
“You’ll be the first to go,” He says.
When he looks away, I look around to see where I am. I notice a lamp, and a bed with hundreds of pictures on it; I’m back in the soundproof room, but I get confused because I remember the shackles were blown apart. He must have put new ones in place, which means he’s been in the house the whole time. I try to shake myself loose of the shackles, but no such luck. I try faking a seizure to try to hoodwink the man, but he doesn’t fall for it. He just sits down on the bed, not trying to not sit on the pictures.
He rolls up his sleeve, and I see a tattoo on his arm. When I focus my eyes on it, I see that the tattoo is but one simple word: “ME”. The man gets his knife, and to my horror, I see him start to cut around the skin of the tattoo. Blood gushes out of the laceration, but he makes no sign of discomfort.
“So if you’re “Me”, then you won’t mind it saying it on your arm,” He says while he cuts the last part of it. He arm now has a place with no skin where the tattoo used to be.
I try to say something, but the duct tape stops me. The man notices this, and comes and rips it off my mouth, making it start to bleed again. I yell in pain, but the man tells me to do it all I want, but no one will hear me.
“What are you talking about?” I ask him once swallow a mouth full of blood.
“You said that you were, “Me”, so I’m going to make that permanent,” and with that, he picks up a needle and thread, and walks over to me with his cut out skin.
He puts the skin on my arm, and looks at it and says, “That will look perfect.” He takes a second to rub it smoothly onto mine. Then he pokes the needle on his finger, and I see that he drew blood.
He cackles wildly as he pushes the needle through my arm. I scream in pain as I realize what he’s going to do; He’s going to sow his cut out tattoo into my skin. He continually sticks the needle in and out, making me bleed some much that my arm starts to look like the inside of a tomato.
When he’s finally done, he makes one last effort to hurt me. He stabs me in the leg with the needle, and slowly pushes it deeper. He laughs even wilder, but he stops abruptly. His head spins toward the door, and I, too see what he seeing. A woman is standing in the doorway, but not just any woman; my mother. Chapter 4
Never Underestimate A Mother’s Love For Her Children
As soon as my mother and the man meet eyes, they run for each other. When they reach each other, they struggle, but somehow, my mother starts to push the man back. I see some other movement out of the corner of my eyes, and look out the door to find Noah crawling slowing on the floor, leaving blood trailing as he does so from his broken leg.
When he reaches me he says, “When I was in these shackles, I had a gun to blow them away, but the only way to get you out is to have the key.”
As almost God was looking down on us, Mom tears the key from the man’s belt and slings it at us while she struggles to keep him away. Noah gets the key, and gets me out of the shackles.
“Kevin! I need you to carry Noah so both of you can get away! Don’t worry about me!” Mom yells dodging the man’s punches meanwhile pushing him away from us.
I don’t argue. I pick Noah up with great struggle, and put him on my back. It is tremendously hard to carry your eighteen year brother, but in dire times, it’s amazing what you can do. We make it out of the room, and into the hallway. I dodge the hole in the floor, and round the many maze like corners until I come to the door that we came in.
As soon as I run outside, rain drops on my head, and I hear thunder booming in my ear. It must have started storming while I was in the house. Nevertheless, I run with renewed energy toward my house. Noah starts crying even more because the rain hurts his broken leg, not to mention the constant up and down of my running.
We reach the backyard of my house in about ten minutes, and start to run into the house, but I think about how unwise it would be. So instead I turn to the road, and start to run toward our neighbor’s house, Mr. Fillmore’s.
Lightning strikes the sky, and lights it up for only a second, and then I turn the corner and see Mr. Fillmore’s house. With one last run in me, I rush to his front door with Noah firmly on my back.
“Open up! Please! It’s Kevin!” I plead.
When a few seconds had passed, I hear the door unlock, and Mr. Fillmore’s wrinkled face appears in the doorway, smiling, but as soon as he sees Noah’s leg, and my bloody arm, he swoops open the door and lets us in, but forgets to shut the door in his panic to reach the phone to call the police.
“Yes, this is Wesley Fillmore at 4067 Treefall Dr. I need an ambulance here immediately!” He says to the police.
He hangs up the phone, and runs into the kitchen. When he returns, he has a wet rag, and a towel. He wraps the towel around Noah’s leg, not even blinking when Noah starts to scream. The he takes the rag, and starts to wipe my arm.
“Children….” A faint cry comes from the door.
I look over at the door, and see no one, until I look down and see something shocking: my mother. She crawled up the front porch, and into the doorway. When she lifted herself onto her knees, I saw at least four stab marks. She was bleeding everywhere, and two of her fingers were cut off. Some of her hair and been pulled out, and when I looked at her right arm, I saw a bone sticking straight out of her elbow. She should have been dead, but here she lay, still trying to get to me and Noah.
“Children…” She said again, reaching her hand out with only three fingers pointed at us. She looked so desperately at us. Her strength failed her then, and she slumped to the floor, but then tried to get up again.
But she never took her eyes off of Noah and me. She was about to say something to us when I yelled, “Mom!” and pointed out the door to the street.
There was somebody running toward the house. Mom turned her head around and saw the person too. When lightning hit the sky once again, I saw a pair of green eyes staring intently into mine: it was my dad. He was running to get us. I thought we’re safe, but we’re not.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Mom yells, and to my astonishment, she gets up to feet, and stands straight up, blooding dripping off of her, her broken arm dangling helplessly. Then when I see her back, I notice a huge bloody gash that goes all the way down her back, blood flowing like a stream.
And even with the terrible condition she’s in, she runs toward our dad with incredible speed. I can tell she’s crying. She’s on the brink of death, but she won’t give up. She kept running until her and our dad met. She rammed him with her head, and stumbled. Then out of nowhere, lightning hit a little tree beside them, and then it started to fall.
I saw my mom look up at the tree, as it fell, but she just went on fighting the man.
“YOU WON’T GET MY CHILDRE-” she started to say, but before she could finish the tree fell on her, and in turn, knocking our dad down below her, however, softening his fall. With one last desperate attempt, she looked back at me, eyes crying her last tears, and with her last breath she said, “Marco…”
Then her eyes were lifeless. Her body went limp under the tree that trapped her.
I went outside, and kneeled beside my mother, and my tears, along with the rain, fell on her face. I leaned against the tree, and started to think of all the times my mother had saved me, and told me she would do anything for me, even dying. I looked into her lifeless eyes, and whispered, “Polo.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
Tears are like memories. They come and go, but they are always ready to appear at a moment’s notice. However, tears are also like death. You know it’s coming, and there is no way to stop it. I know this to be true. The memory of my mother is a comforting one, but whenever I think of her, tears drop to my cheeks.
I have gotten used to crying many a tear over the past few weeks. From my mother’s funeral to simply sulking in my older brother, Noah’s, apartment. I live with him now. I couldn’t bear to live in my mother’s house any longer. Too many memories.
Even when you wish for life to stop even just for a moment, life is stubborn, and it continues relentlessly. So I must continue with it. I do the basics: eat, drink, and sleep, but I’m nothing but a zombie. Doing things without a soul, without passion. I have come to learn that when people said, “You never know how much you’ll miss it until it’s gone”, that they know what they are saying is very true.
“Kevin, get up! It’d already twelve!” Noah complains as he rips the covers off my bed for the fourth day in row. I never want to wake up, but Noah seems to want to keep me up as long as he can.
When I refused to get up, he went out of the room, and came back with a bucket of water. He threatened to pour it on me, but he’s only joking….right?
I was wrong.
A felt a rush of cold go down by back, and felt the water drip off my hair. I jumped off the bed, and tried to shake the water off like a dog. Noah raised his brow in a “this is my house, my rules” way, and then walked out of the room. He may have broken his leg a few months ago, but having a cast on his leg never stopped him from being the usual bossy Noah.
With no other choice, I put some clothes, not caring if they matched, and walked into the kitchen to find Noah cooking breakfast. I found it peculiar that he was taking mom’s death so lightly. He seemed exceptionally chipper to have just experienced a death such as that, but I thought he was just trying to be a good role model, and that inside, he was just as broken down as I was.
“Bacon or ham?” he asked me.
“The works,” I reply.
We ate breakfast in silence. Noah and I really didn’t talk much even though I lived with him. I found his apartment to be very crowded. Don’t get me wrong, it was a large apartment, but compared to my mother’s house, it was incomparably small. It has two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a small kitchen. Noah was very content, but it will take some getting used to for me.
After watching TV for an hour or so (I didn’t pay attention to time much anymore) Noah got up, and said that he was going out. He told me that he was expecting mail, so to watch out for it. I told him I would, but I was only half listening.
I turned the TV off, and laid down on the couch, happy to have some quiet time without Noah around. I used to love to have Noah in my company, but now that I lived with him, he has become a nuisance.
I close my eyes, and listen to the simple tick tick of the clock that was on the wall. Slowly, my brain went into sleep mode, and my breathing slowed. This is a peaceful moment for me. So peaceful…
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Could you get any louder?!” I yell sarcastically. Someone was banging on the door. I got up, angry about losing my peaceful moment, and went to the door.
Once I opened it, and the dull brown eyes, and bald spot on his head, I knew who it was; the cranky, old mailman who hated children. He has been the town’s mailman for at least ten years, so every knew of crabby Mr. Lawson.
“Here’s your stinking mail, punk!” he said as he thrusts a heavy package into my arms.
“Ouch!” I said. Normally, something as that wouldn’t hurt me, but my arm was so sore from having a cut out piece of skin sowed into it. I’m going to go have it removed it a couple of days, but Noah says there will always be a scar there. The fact that another person’s skin was sowed into mine was gross enough, but the worst part of it all is that it was done by my very own father who cut it out of his arm.
I had to sign a piece of paper, and then Mr. Lawson left. I set the package down on the kitchen table, and then I felt a strong urge to open it. I knew that it would get me into loads of trouble with Noah, but who cares? My life couldn’t get any worse.
I took a knife, and cleanly cut the package around the edge. When I peered inside, I saw only a stack of papers. I pulled them out, and started to read them. I wish I hadn’t for this is what the first letter said:
Markus Miller, father of Noah and Kevin Miller, was persecuted for kidnapping, 3 accounts of attempted murder, and harassment. His release is scheduled for July of 2055. Sentenced to 47 years in the state prison. Markus Miller has a bail set at $545,000.
But that was not the most shocking part of the letter. As I read on, this part scared me the most:
This is a notice to NOAH MILLER who had agreed to bail out MARKUS MILLER at the said amount ($545,000) on March 23, 2008.
I could not believe it. It said that my brother was going to go bail out our dad on March 23, 2008. That’s only two days away! I don’t what Noah is thinking, but surely he is not thinking right!
After all that man had done to us! After he was the cause our mother died, he is going to go bail out that man. I needed to know what was going on, and I am going to find out.
I glance out the window of the kitche