I believe even from when I was little I've been able to realize that my life isn't what you'd call 'perfect'. I never saw it as all that bad- I knew my situation was different, but everyone's got their own problems. I grew up most of my life without a dad, and my mother was the type of woman who was always busy, not paying much attention to me, her only son. I was only ten, but I could realize when she wanted me around and when she didn't. But she was still my mother, and I still loved her.

Our house wasn't big, but the interior was nice. I always kept it very clean for her; she hated messes of any kind. I had about two hours after school to straighten up the house and do my homework before she would come home and cook dinner. The same thing happened every day for as long as I could remember- that lonely continuous cycle. I hated it, but I wouldn't tell Mom. I knew how hard she worked every day, and I didn't want to bother her with petty things like that.

Mom had her own problems she had to deal with, anyway. Occasionally I'd find her crying in her room, accidentally forgetting to close and lock her door. I'm sure it happened a lot more than I was aware of. One of the first times I saw her crying I ran up to her and hugged her as tight as I could, and she wouldn't let me go all night. I didn't have to go to school the next day either, and mom didn't go to work. She told me it was okay to take a break every once in a while.

We'd also never really keep pictures up on the walls, but the few that were positioned in frames were just of me and her. I kept a digital camera in my room, and in it I would take pictures of my friends, even though I didn't have many. I'd take the most pictures of my fish. I had tons of them in my aquarium—Cherry Barbs, Goldfish, Glass Catfish; I also had a Red Tailed Black Shark. I had others too, but those were some of my favorites. I loved biology and watching the ecosystem in my fish tank grow. Still to this day it fascinates me. Mom never understood my love for animals. She was allergic to dogs, and I was allergic to cats; she thought it might be nice if I took care of fish, though.

When the weather was nice out- I would never go outside in the winter, it was way too cold- I would sometimes sit on the swing in my backyard. The swing set had certainly seen better days; the metal was rusting and the wood didn't appear to be in all that great of condition either. I was thin and short for my age, so I didn't ever thing it would break. The swing set was connected to a tree house, but I never went inside it. I was actually afraid to. It never looked sturdy, and sometimes when the winds would blow hard I could see the tree house move, and I was afraid if I'd climb up inside it the whole place would come crashing down and kill me. I don't think it was ever finished being built.

Looking back now I don't' see why I liked my swing so much. I didn't really do anything on it besides sit there. I wouldn't let my friends go near it either. My friend Adam told me once that it looked like a 'pathetic broken piece of crap; and that seeing me sitting on the swing was just depressing. I didn't talk to him for a while after that. His comments made me think about the origin of the swing set and tree house. Since it looked so old, I thought maybe there was a family that lived here before I did and it was their swing set. FI that were true, then I was certain there were happy memories in the tree house. I asked my mother about it at dinner one day, figuring I wouldn't learn much else out on my own.

"That swing set's been here for years," she said. "And I didn't know the family who lived here before us, so I couldn't tell you if they had any children."

"But was the swing set here when we moved here?"

"Yes, it was."

But my mother was always a terrible liar. I didn't open my mouth to protest, though.

"I'll be working late tomorrow; Mrs. Blunt promised me she would bring over dinner for you."

"Are you going to be home before I go to bed?" I asked before taking a sip of my water.

"I don't know yet. Finish your dinner, Joshua. Are you eating right at school? You've lost weight."

I took a bite out of my food that was almost completely untouched. "I haven't been eating lunch," I said. "And my pants are getting a little big on me."

Her jade green eyes looked at me sternly. "Why haven't you been eating?"

"It hurts to, and when I eat I wanna throw up…"

She leaned over the table to feel my forehead. "Do you feel sick other than that? Maybe it's just the stomach flu. You don't have a fever."

"Nothing else really hurts," I said truthfully. "And I haven't actually thrown up yet…"

"I'll bring you to the doctor soon. You're still able to go to school?" I nodded. "Good. I'll take care of the dishes tonight. I want you to go upstairs and rest." She stood up, kissed my forehead, and took my plate. I stood up and walked upstairs into my small bedroom and changed my clothes to something more comfortable to sleep in. I didn't want to sleep, but I didn't have much I could do in my room.

My walls were painted dark blue and the whites on the baseboard stood out against the wall and there was a comforter tucked neatly on the bed. My dresser was wide and wasn't very tall, but was able to fit a mirror above it if I wanted it to. My aquarium was near the sliding doors of my closet. There wasn't much room for anything else in there.

My life may not have been perfect, but that was okay. IT was still ordinary, in a sense. I don't think I knew how lucky I was then. Compared to other things, daily life was almost nothing. That night I fell asleep early while listening to the various noises that were emitted from my fish tank. And I dreamt what life would be like if I were a fish. It was defiantly an odd dream.

Disclaimer
This fanfiction is not for profit. Trauma Team and Maximum Ride are property of ATLUS and James Patterson.