Shadow of Memories - Ch.2
Bloody sunset
It would have been better if I had died that night, don't you think?
I can do nothing. I'm good for nothing. You don't need me. That's what you say. You want to throw me out of this house, you say. But you say so because you come back home tired, because you don't know what to do, because you feel stressed, today another customer refused to buy the house you were selling, today was just another day, another dreadful day for you. Today you wanted to die, too.
I listened to you crying in the dark, Mum. I was crying with you, you know? You were alone, back then. You're always alone, Mum.
Mum, Dad doesn't listen to you, you know well. You keep on shouting, but he doesn't listen to you at all. And now you're here, looking for a way to collect enough money, because you don't know if you'll be able to pay all the bills. Mum, don't you wish I would die? I know you do. Don't deny it. I saw the look on your face when you found me bleeding on the bathroom floor. There was hope in your eyes. It hurt more than the scars, the doors I had open on my skin. I wanted my soul to be free, Mum. Because you know, I'm caged in this Life. And inside I bleed ceaselessly.
You're shattered, Mum. And I saw the eyeholes under your puffy red eyes, today. You cried. We cried. Alone.
Sitting behind you, Dad wasn't driving to school today. I don't go to school any more. Thanks to my idiocy, you would add. You wanted me to see another of your doctors, those people who have studied, who know anything about the others, who don't listen a damn thing but want to judge you. And you believe them, don't you? Because your son is crazy, your son is mad, you son needs to have his head checked, your son is just unperfect, a disgrace and the friends that you don't have sit next to you only to say you're right and to pretend to comfort you, poor sweet innocent thing. They're lying, and you know it. But you prefer lies to silence, don't you?
You prefer their lies to my silence. Because my silence hurts. My silence is a plea for help.
Dad nodded to you, I remember now. That's right, I'm still a kid, but you have to choose: either a baby-sitter or a psychiatrist. That's right, a psychiatrist, one who gives you pills, you tells you're mad, who thinks you're worth less that the dirt under the trash bin at the end of the road. And of course, a baby-sitter would be in danger with someone like me and after all, what can she do? She's just a poor girl who has to take care of me while you're not at home. You almost started to cry when you said that. It hurts knowing you've never been with me, doesn't it? It hurt me even more back then. Being alone when we were in the same room, in the same car, even when sitting at the same table. I'm still alone, Mum. But Loneliness hurts me no more. In fact, it's the only pleasure I have left.
"We can't afford both of them, we don't have enough money" you said. We don't have enough money for nothing, Mum. And that look on Dad's face, he's thinking of our neighbours while driving to a sick maniac who will give me paradise in pills. But only for an hour or two, he can't let people be happy too much. He's a doctor, not a saint.
Mum, don't look so startled. He wasn't listening to you. He never does. He's never done it. Why so surprised, then?
I know you'd love if I never existed, Mum. No pregnancy, no babies, no lack of free-time, no baby-sitters asking for money, no bills, no school, no bad marks, no self-injury, no doctors, no.. problems. Am I a problem, Mum? Am I a mistake? Sometimes I feel so. Like I was a mistake. And I'm pretty sure I am, since you keep on repeating that I'm a complete failure.
You know what, Mum? I've never wanted to die. really. There is just no point in wishing for your own Death, when you're already dead.
--
You were watching us from the giant mirror behind me, weren't you, Mum? Dad was outside smoking, I could feel it in my bones. He'd never smoked, but for some reasons, he wanted to start. And now he can't stop, even though cigarettes are so high-priced that if he was addicted to alcool, probably he would squander less. You were behind me, Mum. I felt your trembling eyes on me, your eyes studying me, inch after inch. Please, turn. Turn, or I might... I might...
The man in front of me was smiling brightly. He wanted me to feel at ease. Poor idiot. I can't remember what he told me, Mum, but please, ask. Ask me, sometimes, how I feel, instead of asking the others to do this for you. Ask me what I want, tell me what you want from me, what you want for me. Because I feel like I'm walking this Earth like a dead man.
Were you watching when he took that little box out of his drawer? Those pills. He placed them near me, pushing them nearer and nearer. What did he expected me to do, to take them, to crave for them? I crave for nothing. He was smiling, you know? I wasn't. But of course, you were behind me. You didn't want to see my face, did you? Like I had no face. Puppets have no face, Mum. I'm not a puppet. I'm a corpse. Puppets have a owner. I have none. I belong to no-one.
I stared at those pills blankly. They were the colour of the rainbow. The rainbow. I remember seeing it. It was beautiful. You and Dad said that under the rainbow there was a leprachaun with a pot full of gold. Once I walked from the start to the end of a rainbow. I found nothing. You lied to me, Mum. But don't worry, I wasn't angry. Just mortified. Anti-Cosmo was by my side. He loves to meet humans. Our way of thinking amuses him.
You know what he said when the doctor gave me those pills, Mum? He laughed. He looked at me with those gentle green eyes and whispered softly. "If you took them, you would be dead."
I took them in my hand with much delight of the old man and scattered them on the desk with much delight of my godparent. I sat quietly, waiting for his reaction. He did nothing, but just smiled.
"What a pity. I'd have payed to see the angry face of this muddy pig." I laughed. Anti-Cosmo was so random, sometimes. He knew he was driving me mad. He knew he was killing me. He knew I wanted to die so badly. He knew this all, and just didn't care. He knew this all, and still stayed by my side. As I saw him walking off, I stood up and followed him like a good kitty. The doctor tried to stop me, but my blank expression made him lose every hope. I have no hope.
Mum, why didn't you want to look at me when I came out from the studio? I'm your son, your child, your baby. Fine, I cut myself, but I'm still a part of you. Am I not, Mum? Don't you want me to be yours any more? My pillow is so cold and wet with tears, but it's the only comfort I have.
--
Mum, you're making dinner, now. You know you're pretty? But Dad's coworker is prettier than you. That's why he isn't dining with us tonight.
"Dad is having an important meeting. He will be home soon. He's a busy man, he always works." Why do you keep on telling you lies, Mum? You know you'll regret it. But for now, those lies help you not to burst out in tears in front of me. I don't care if you cry, Mum. I would do nothing, but tender you a napkin. And wait for your reaction, while Anti-Cosmo laughs.
Dinner is ready now, Mum. What did you cook? I stare at you as you dance around. You look like a ballerina, you know, Mum? But you move uneasy, like the orchestra was out of tune and your partner wasn't in place.
"Mum."
You look at me shocked. When was the last time I begged for your attention? Mum, why don't you answer? Are you scared this may be a dream?
"Mum. There is Death in my plate"
I can see you turning pale like a porcelain doll, Mum. But you served me a corpse. May I ask you why?
"It's meat, Timmy. You need it." You reply. Everyone says so, so why don't saying it, too? Everyone agrees with this staement, then it might be right. It might be wrong.
"Why?" I need no other words. I see him smiling slightly, hiding in the dark shadow in the corner, a few steps away from us. He doesn't need to come closer. He likes seeing his victims writhe. It makes him feel powerful. Dizzy. Light-headed.
"I... You need it to grow up. It'll make you strong and.. healthy and..." You manage to say. You're not so convincing, Mum. You should try harder. Maybe Dad would appreciate it. Or just decide to ask for divorce. He hates when you complain about your headache, you know?
"It's a corpse." I state. I see the red liquid slowly mixing with the frying oil. And the smell, it penetrates my nose and goes directly to my brain. And my mind, I can hear a cry in my head. And tears would start forming, if only I had tears left.
You look at me with watery eyes. Are you asking for help, Mum? I'm sorry. I'm a failure. I can't even help myself. "Timmy, I... if you don't want it, I can cook something else or-..."
I cut a small piece of it with the knife and pierce the cooked flesh with the fork. I raise it fast, I don't want any thought to stop me. It's Death, I'm going to eat Death, there will be Death inside of me and it will make me die a bit more. It's in my mouth now and I start to munch. Slowly, with my eyes shut, because I don't want to see the truth. But then, I taste that flavour. That same bittersweet flavour that flooded into my mouth that night. The taste of my own blood. Of my own Life.
I spit it on the spot. I am shaking. I don't want to shake, but I feel so cold and numb, please Mum, hold me in your arms, please don't let me be alone, please, look at me, I'm your son, don't stare at the floor, don't... I sigh, but you can't hear it. Otherwise, you would be here with me, saying it will all be ok, lying to me, but sweetly. And I do prefer sweer lies to this silence. Because my silence is a constant whisper. I know what it says. And it hurts.
I keep silent, now, Mum. I keep silent while you don't say a thing. We're like sad statues, Mum, sad statues in an abandoned garden. And no-one will ever find us, no-one will make us pretty again. There is no-one for us, Mum. They're all gone.
I stand up, Mum. But don't worry, I'm not leaving. I just hate to see that there's Death in my place, Death in your eyes, Death inside of me, Death all around me. I'm walking out of the kitchen, Mum, so please, do cry, now. But don't stay there in the kitchen, Mum. There are knives in the drawer and I won't be there to tell you you're doing wrong. Because I wouldn't tell you anything. I have nothing to say. Or probably, I have so much to say, that I'm sure you would be soon bored to listen.
I'm steeping to my bedroom, Mum. I'm not coming back. There is no smile on my face, Mum. Because tonight he wants to eat me.