Rose
That blasted wizard... It glared down at me every day with its gruesome, self-righteous stare. Why I had to be subject to such an embarrassing statue, one of many strewn about the house, to the point where I grew used to it the way a parent grows used to the relentless screeches of a newborn, was a mystery. It is no mystery however, why I steer clear of it every chance I get. Not only was the thing an eyesore, but it was an all-around obstacle when it came to getting around the house. Every day I fantasize about the space we could have if it weren't for that insipid sculpture.
Despite the euphoria one-upping me might give my mother, I do believe she would have that thing taken it away by now. However, her judgment has been jaded by that poison she insists on killing herself with. Because of this, I'm sure her logic will be reduced to plaguing the house with more wizard paintings and sculptures upon impulse as she has done since my infancy.
This time, I took the tremendous risk of leaving my bedroom to use the bathroom. As much as it irritated me, that hideous stack of white carved solidified concentrated mockery had to taint my eyes once again. What was actually concerning me was the fact that I might have to confront the drunken wench on my way there, since she was once again playing house-mom and making a half-baked attempt at cleaning the house. Whenever she would put on this façade, it would seem as if she was trying to seduce somebody, what with the way she bends over and playfully drops things; although, I can't tell whether or not if that's from her inebriation or her genuinely being a whore at heart. I know she is my mother and am… pretty sure she wants the best for me, but it felt like I was just living with a disrespectful stranger. I heard the vicious moan of the vacuum cleaner from down the hall as drew closer to the door. As I made out the footsteps along with it along with her miscellaneous mumbling, I swiftly made a dash into the bathroom.
When I tried to get out of the bathroom, I made the point clear to mtself that I had to get back to my room as swiftly as I did on the way here. Only this time around, I was not going to be as lucky. As I made my turn as soon as I climbed the stairs my mom was waiting there with an oblivious look on her face.
"Oofie, Rose!" laughed my mother as she reeled back from me accidentally charging at her.
I gave her a desperate looking smile as I walked back hurriedly to my room again. When I was looking at her, I could tell that she was, once again, hammered. As I walked back to my room, I grew a bit sad for her. What could possibly drive such a woman to a state of constant inebriation? What is she trying to run from? It can't be me; All I do is linger in my room, causing no trouble at all. I don't get bad grades, nor do I show any trace of wanting to pick up her dastardly habit of drinking. I would like to have a conversation with her so I could at least try to understand why she is like this, but it won't be easy finding her sober.
I gave a moment's thought on all of this, and found myself involuntarily wrapped up messily into one of my knitted blankets. The thought of having such a horrible mother crept up over me slowly, but grew more cumbersome as the seconds ticked away. Sure, there were times where we shared laughs, but she wasn't even coherent during those times and probably couldn't recall them to save her life. And then there is her constantly up-staging me at everything, even the most minimal of things. She does it to get my goat, and oh hell does it work… She even thrusts me back into my place by up-staging my efforts in an even more sophisticated yet underhanded manner. This cat and mouse game has been going on since I was able to walk, and since then I've found her efforts to grow unnecessarily persistent.
I tossed and turned in my jumble of kitted objects as I entertained the thought that she had something against me as I restrained any and all tears that were threatening to escape my eyes. Let's not jump into conclusions here, Rose. When is she sober? I thought to myself. If I could determine when she was actually not chugging her adult beverages, I can better determine what she is trying to escape from. I'm desperately hoping to find that it's not me.