A/N: This story is
still not completed. So you're informed, I'm planning
on two more after this one. Oh, yeah, I was restricted from the computer for a
month, yet I blame my beta-reader for taking so long to update. grins
Darqz: Yes, we are…laughs maniacally
I never really knew my mom. I had only a few years to spend with her; unfortunately, those years were the ones when I was just discovering the world and finished learning a supposedly incredible "talent" called speech.
I do remember that she had a dark shade of purple hair and brown eyes. She was a pale and thin woman who did not have much self esteem. Her low self esteem turned to none at all, thus deciding her fate. She was very timid and sensitive. Dib told me she wasn't very comfortable with herself. We never knew her past, but I'm pretty sure her Mom's parents weren't supportive of her character.
When she was alive, she felt as if she wasn't good enough for Dad, Dib, and I. Dad never had any time to spend with his family, considering he was at the start of his "life changing" career.
I don't see how she couldn't feel "good enough" for me and Dib. Dib loved talking to Mom. He would rant on and on about his interests in the mysteries of the world. He would tell her about ghosts, Bigfoot, aliens, and other supernatural creatures that he couldn't help but believe in. Mom never ever ridiculed him or tried to redirect his mind to "real science" like Dad did. She accepted him for who he was, even though he was quite odd at the time (and was for the rest of his short life). She had faith in him when no one else did. This faith enabled him to press forward to his goals.
I was a quiet child. I didn't talk if I didn't have to. Mom never made me talk. She'd talk to me instead. I always responded with a nod or shake of my head, and she understood. She seemed to take an interest in my drawings, as dark as they were. Maybe it was because I was so unskilled then that what I tried to draw looked like something else entirely. Either way, I loved her through the four years that I knew her.
Mom always put herself below others. She never wanted to cause pain or suffering. She decided that getting rid of herself was the key.
At this time, Mom was feeling used by Dad. It seemed he only wanted two children that he could leave up to her to take care of and soon to be left alone. She expected him to be as he appeared in high skool: amazing and wonderful. She thought she knew who he was on the inside, and it turned out that she was wrong. Instead, he was an extremely busy scientist whose invention's made him famous. When he was interviewed, he never mentioned his family once. No one knew he had a wife and two kids who he had left alone ninety-eight percent of the time.
Mom was not receiving the love she deserved from him. Dad was too sucked up into his work. He was obsessed with science, even more so than Dib with the paranormal. Science enslaved his body so much that everything in his life didn't matter so much anymore-- including his family.
He thought I was cute and he paid more attention to me than anyone else; that lasted about five minutes each day. He seemed annoyed that Dib was so interested in the paranormal and preferred Dib was more like him. (That would be a nightmare)
Mom soon caught on to Dad's intentions. She came to the conclusion that Dad didn't really love her at all, and he married her just because she was the first woman who ever had interest in him. Dib and I never found out if this was true or not. When Mom decided that was the truth, she became very upset and depressed. Dib and I could not tell why she was so down at the time. We tried to cheer her up, but she only forced a weak smile and hugged us. Nothing seemed to change how she was feeling.
Dib told me he used to hear Mom cry at night. He never had the chance to ask her why when she was alive. I never heard her, though, most likely because I was such a heavy sleeper. Not even a bomb could wake me up then.
One night, I woke up feeling dehydrated. I jumped out of my bed and headed out of my room. It was around two o'clock PM, almost time for Dad to come home from work. I went downstairs quietly and slipped into the kitchen. I regretted this immediately.
As I looked ahead of me, I saw my mother holding a steak knife disturbingly close to her stomach. My mind was racing and wondering what she was planning to do with what she told me was dangerous. I froze, not knowing what to do or say. I remember her shaking and sweating. She looked up and down, but never to the side where I stood in shock, not able to take my eyes off her.
"For you, Membrane," she spoke as she closed her eyes and pressed the knife into her slender body. I watched in horror as she turned and opened her eyes. There, she saw me; eyes wide open in shock and fear. Tears rolled down her face as she whispered hoarsely, "I'm sorry…" Blood seeped through her shirt.
Before she breathed her last, she said to me a jumble of nonsensical words: "Br-igh-and-ec-nd-oar." And with that she fell and closed her eyes.
I knew I would never see my Mom alive again. I knew I'd never be able to hear her sweet, soothing voice one more time. I'd never have someone to talk to, to openly express myself to.
I started crying.
I threw myself on the ground and started pounding on the floor, screaming wildly. My mother was gone forever. Why had she done this to me? Why did she leave me? Didn't she know how much I needed and cared about her? I heard footsteps running down the stairs.
Dib ran into the kitchen, frantically asked me what was wrong, and tried to understand my words lost in the sound of my weeping. I pointed to the kitchen. Dib hesitantly walked inside and as he nervously directed his eyes towards the refrigerator and saw the bloody mess that was the remains of our mother, he backed up and fell over. He was weighed down by his own screams.
He gathered the strength to reach the phone and dialed the number Mom had always told us to call when there was an emergency: 9-1-1. He tried his best to tell the operator everything needed for them to get to our house as soon as possible.
As we waited, he hugged me and told me that somehow, everything would be okay. I kept crying and yelling, but he kept holding me. We cried together for about five minutes until they reached our house. A half an hour later, the media swarmed our house. The police wouldn't let them reach the sidewalk so they wouldn't ruin evidence and disturb Dib and me.
An investigator politely interrogated us about the situation. He was kind to us, and didn't force us to say anything we didn't want to. I didn't speak at all, no matter what he asked me. I didn't even look him in the eye. I was too troubled about the previous disaster that I couldn't concentrate on anything else.
Dad soon reached our house and was shocked at how many people were surrounding our house. As he tried to step into our driveway, a cop stopped him. "Sorry, Professor, but no science is required, needed, or involved in this situation. You can go home; we have it all taken care of."
"But this is my house!" Dad argued, infuriated that he could not easily get into his own home.
"Wow, it is?"
"Yes!"
"Well, then, we'll just bring the children outside to see if you really live here, just for confirmation," the policeman said. "Richard, could you bring the kids outside for a second?"
The investigator brought us outside to see our father. "Is this your dad?" the cop asked. Dib nodded his head and spoke a quiet, "Yes." I remained silent and kept my head down.
"This one here is in quite a lot of shock," Richard informed my dad as he gestured to me. "According to what little Dib, here, says, she just witnessed her mother's suicide."
Dad gasped.
The next day, Dad told us he would take a few weeks off and try to be a better parent to us during this hard time. Yet when he said he would take a few weeks off, he wasn't that literal. He actually worked from home, which meant he would be in his basement lab most of the time.
The bad thing was that Dad wasn't around enough to notice that I wasn't eating. I didn't feel like eating after I saw my mom kill herself. I felt nauseated and threw up what acids remained in my body. Dib tried to get me to eat, but I would refuse and kick him. He told me that I could end up like Mom if I didn't have enough food in my body.
Dib told Dad, and he FINALLY noticed how skinny I was for a four year old. For once, he actually freaked out about his kid. Dad and Dib tried to coax me to eat. It took awhile, but finally I started eating little by little and regained my normal weight.
Dad left for normal work again soon and left us to take care of the house and each other. We were too young to take care of a house and cook food. Dad didn't notice this until Dib almost burned the house down while trying to cook beans. From then on, Dad made sure there were pre-made foods in the pantry and refrigerator. He also made sure there were clean clothes in our closets and drawers everyday so we wouldn't have to worry about laundry. Something he invented took care of that.
When I just turned six and Dib was seven, I began to wonder about what Mom meant when she spoke her last phrase. I tried so hard to put the sounds together, but nothing made sense. I was about to consider giving up when I asked Dib if he could help. He was really smart for his age, so smart people teased him about it. Dib spent about a month and a half trying to decipher what Mom said until he finally figured it out.
"It's either brown light in Ecuador or brown nightstand second drawer," Dib told me. "I think it's the latter, though."
Suddenly it hit me. In Mom and Dad's room there was a brown nightstand with three drawers. I ran upstairs and jerked open the second drawer. Inside was a skull necklace. I picked it up and stroked it carefully. I put it around my neck and never took it off except when I slept.
As the years passed, I became angrier with everyone I passed and knew. I even became mean to my own brother, not sibling-cat-fights-mean, but violent mean. Yeah, I kicked him and punched him when he ticked me off. When you have to learn to survive on your own with your brother because your mother killed herself, it does something to you.
I never did like people, and I never wanted them near me either. The human race annoys me. I dressed dark and "gothic" as some call it so no one would mess with me. Of course they stare sometimes, but I can make the darkest expressions that drive people insane. It never worked on Dib very well, for some reason.
But to say that Mom's death didn't affect Dib at all would be a big fat lie.
I never thought I'd say this, but….
Boy, do I miss him…
