Mush led Portman through the cold streets. He didn't recognize much of anything, a lot had changed in two years but he knew where he was going.
They walked for about an hour until they came to a small cemetary. Mush led Portman over to a small grave with a faded name.
"Do you know who's buried here?" Mush asked him.
"Mom..." Portman answered quietly.
"Who?" Mush asked again, poking Portman in the ribs.
"Mom!" Portman shouted, pushing Mush away from him.
"Do you think she died so her son could be a druggie and a fucking man whore?" Mush shouted pushing Portman.
"Fuck off!"
"Lemme guess! You havn't been here since you were 14 have you?" Mush shouted, he began wailing on Portman, not caring what happened, "If mom hadn't died, dad would have killed me... killed you! US!"
"Did you know that dad's dead to?" Portman shouted, grabbing Mush by the neck, "He died in jail last year, but I guess you didn't know that?"
"Shut up!" Mush kicked Portman where it hurts and jumped on him. He pounded at his face a few times before Portman grabed a brick from a grave foundation and hit him over the head with it.
Mush fell back, hardly breathing and bleeding. Portman sat, panting and watching his younger self slowly curl into a ball.
"Shit,"
Portman grabbed Mush's arm and pulled him to a standing position.It took a while butthey both made it back to the dorm. Mush imediatly climbed into bed and turned away from Portman.
Man life was fucked up.
Portman shut his now black eyes and slipped into an uneasy sleep. Although he never would have admitted it, he didn't like himself. He wasn't proud. But he had gotten into some really bad things and didn't have the will to get out of them. He was weak. He didn't think he could turn things around, but then again he never really 'thought' about much of anything.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Portman woke up the next day he was alone. His first thoughts were that he (being Mush) had run off, but then he noticed that it didn't look as if he'd ever been there. He looked up at his calender. It was July 5th. Two weeks ago. What the hell? He wasn't hung over. He couldn't be imagining things.
He sat up and looked around his room. After a minute he reached into his drawer for a cigarette but paused. He looked down at the creased blue package and then felt passed them for somthing else. He pulled out an old, slightly rusty picture frame. It was him and his mother, when he was very little.
"I'm sorry mom," he said quietly, "but I think I know I'm smarter then that now..."
...:The End:...
..:Please R&R:..