Fleetwood Mac - Storms
IX - XII
30 minutes after Jack's bedtime
...
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff...
Damnit. I can't believe it... Sniff!
Of all the boys of Burmecia, I am the only one who got a cold. I can't even sniff or taste food like before, and constantly, my nose keeps getting stuck with this warm muck that keeps falling, and falling, unless I... SN-NI-IF!
…Unless I pull it back, or if I blow it over a cloth. It is still early to blow it away from my nose, since it is still flowing as a liquid, so whenever I need to pull it back, I just sniff with the force of a hundred men. I doubt those men ever had gotten a cold, in the first place. Runny nose sure sucks. As if I was drowning man, it keeps running me out of the air. Well, for what else do I have a mouth? If only the air that came in and out of my mouth was as warm as the one that used to go in and out of my nose, then I would give it a chance, but they are over by now.
To think I dirtied my both hands with mud, alike Dan does with its fingers... sniff... Gappys, huh? He touched that nose with that finger so many times, and still hadn't he got an infection already, but me, who stood on his side... It can't be. I can't believe it. Damn you, Dan. You lucky moron. You, and that finger of yours! A-CH-OOO! sniff...
I can't punch Dan, so this pillow tastes my fists. How soft it is, but Dan isn't soft, because he got bones that shall be broken. If I see Dan once again, another tooth shall be taken from that dirty mouth of his, I can say for sure. Wait, am I sure of how I got this... SNIFF!... cold? Sob... Why? Why am I crying? Why am I crying, for Dan? Is it because he is... innocent? So, am I guilty? Wait... this ain't a tear. Snif-f-f... That's only muck, that felt like tears, from my nose, the same place I was thinking to punch Dan tomorrow.
Forget it, Jack. I was so careless, then and now. Oh, how could I think of hurting Dan with such stupid matter. Idiot. Idiot! Id-Hey! Calm down... Sob. What will you got by hurting yourself instead of Dan, who isn't even there? Choo!... sniff. At least, it does seem that Fratley is okay. Sniff!... Though he stood with us all this time, he seemed to have gotten nothing bad from us, just good reception. Then, Why don't you try to do the same, Jack?
Sniff... Okay? Okay. Good, let's see... Lennie for sure made a delicious soup with the vegetables she took from the kailyard. Well, I had to take them, because she couldn't on her own, as much as I couldn't make that soup by myself, but, at least, taste it.
I recall I raised that same basket to her own hands, as if that was the the maximum I could reach, approach near that face, that smile, though she didn't grabbed that basket, either because it was too heavy for her, which I disagree with, because sure it was heavy for me, but Lennie is taller, alike tha tail.
To end up catching a cold only because of the rain is a silly thing, however I still have a handful of fingers, and suspicions as well. Those didn't, and don't seem to matter, unlike a back who's hurt enough by the weight of that chest. Lennie couldn't even turn her back to hold that same basket, because of how small I am, and how tall she is, and how painful that back was.
Sniff... not even this cold is enough to compare with that pain. Not even a smile was given to me, or a thanks frankly said. I said frankly, because Lennie knew how to gratefully congratulate me, besides that soup. Unfortunately, I couldn't feel its taste, because of this nose, who got stuck on this yucky muck. Because of this cold, I had been ordered to rest on this same bed, by the same Lennie, who somehow knew that I had gotten a cold even before I knew it.
Sniff. That's why she boiled some onions, whom I also took from that garden, without knowing that they would be my treatment, instead of another ingredient belonging to that soup, who I wished to my tongue to have tasted it, seeing how much Lennie had been enduring of that pain, and how much care she brought to me, and that soup, and the way she found to bring me of same comfort, like the texture, or surface, or whatever my tongue forgot to taste, of that soup... Sniii... sniff!
Yet, look at me. I never offered a breakfast, lunch or dinner for Lennie, or ever said to her, right at that face, that she needs to rest for awhile, even after all she had done for my sake, and her own as well. Not even a 'good morning' to be delivered whenever she wakes up, because Lennie always wakes up, still wakes up, before I do.
When morning comes, I just want to keep laying on this same bed, unless I want to pee, on the toilet, or on this bed. Sniff. I used to do it so, but seeing how Lennie is trying hard, I guess I just stopped doing it on bed because it was either too childish, for someone grown up like this, or because that was another excuse to put myself out of commission, to put Lennie out of her rest, whom she deserves, after all, yet I always seems to be taking that same rest and comfort belonging to her to be replaced to my own comfort, as I throw away my grief to her shoulders, or her back as well.
I can't say sorry, or anything that sounds like an apology, for Lennie, so I hug this pillow. Sni-i-i-if... I don't know if Dan is the type that agrees to apologies with hugs, but this pillow seems to agree with me. So soft it is, yet there are no bones to tell if this hug is enough. I think I have never given a hug to someone, besides my mother. She used to hold those arms into me, as I do with this pillow, and never let me fall, well, only on sleep she would let me fall into.
Daddy kept doing the same when she was gone, this until she come back, or so do happen with all families. Dan's, Fratley's... the same for all. In the beginning, they hold us, they feed us, they teach us how to walk, on a same way how are we supposed to talk; then as we grown up, we hold on ourselves, we feed on our own, we walk with our feet, and talk with our mouth, thought I can talk with myself without moving those lips... Knit...
Lips... sniff. Mother used to kiss me, I know she do. While in bed, I had to drink some chai, which was kinda good, and then later smell some onions boiled in water by Lennie. Another of those grandma's stuff, who seems to be alive as she is. Lennie somehow felt bad, as much as mother would be for me.
Mother... Sniff. I had the opportunity to say that word, didn't I? I could have said that, but would Lennie ever had perceived such a word, in that state, my state? Sniff... I guess she wouldn't, but I also said that I could, not that I can't. 'Be my mother, and I'll be your fool', that's what it would sound like, but I don't want to sound like that. I do not. No more that I want that... SNIFF! No more... Knit...
Lennie always seems to always wake up, even after she tells me to sleep, with a good night spoken by her, to me, and only me. I know a child like me needs a good night of sleep, but what about Lennie? Knit...She may be an adult, but wasn't she a child before? Well, she has a child inside her, inside that chest. Besides me, Lennie is also taking care of my little brother, who hadn't been born yet, thought I can hear a familiar sound. The sound of two wooden objects hitting each other... Knit Knit...
The rain has its sound, but as soon as I spent an entire life underneath it, I can't even perceive such a sound, the same for its smell, that becomes a daily thing. Damn! SPLAT! Mosquitos... they bother me as well. The rain may be pleasant, but the sound of those mosquitos isn't. Good thing is that they are easy to be spotted, just by this irritating melody, and the bad thing is that the blood they usually left on your hands might be yours. Knit Knit... A sort of reckoning aside, I still can hear those wooden sticks colliding, emitting a sound, somehow pleasant as this rain. Unlike the rain, they come from inside the house, inside that room, above the orange floor, into mother's room...Knit... Knit Knit... Sniff... ...Knit... Knit Knit... Knit…
...
...Knit... Knit Knit... ...Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit... I wish I could see the moon from the window. All I can see are the clouds, and the rain pouring from beneath them, as usual. It's a calm rain, to be appreciated with the same silence, or less than. Storms used to run over these lands, and still do, but this night, they sound different, or do not have a sound either...
…Knit Knit Knit… Knit Knit… The lightning brought by the thunder, as the sound that used to force myself to put my head under the blanket, vanished, unlike the sound of these sticks made for knit, and the light coming out of a gap in the middle of the clouds, a light that resembles the same brought by the sun in daylight, the light of what they call by moon in a distance, yet so close…
...Knit... Knit... Knit... ...Knit Knit... Knit... ...Knit... Knit... Knit... ...Knit. Full of holes as a cheese, or craters like the face of the old, they say there are two moons, so which one should I choose? While one is red, the other is blue. Nobody knows who the real one is, yet they still remain called the moon, for both sides. Red or blue, the moon is gray, as we, and its pieces that keep falling down, like every one of us, like the leaves of the same trees that were raised from the same soil. I won't fall yet, as much as I won't let you fall... Never I'll do…
...Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit... ...Knit... Knit... Knit Knit... I can see Jack from behind the door. I can't see the moon, but I can see from the window what seems to be a picture of Jack, and the pieces of his. He insists to be kept hidden by the door, whom I used to keep close from his eyes, and curiosity. And energy…
…Knit Knit Knit… Jack used to move around this entire house ever since he learned to walk, and run by consequence. And how he used to run... He couldn't even sleep because of the energy carried on by his, unless Bart told him of a lullaby, like he used to do when holding the same toddler in his arms…
…Knit Knit… Knit Knit… Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit… Even before he learned to walk, Jack used to be awake in the crib, still standing in the corner of this room; not a single termite had eaten the wooden legs for this day, you see. Well, his eyes gazed upon us, me and Bart, and we felt rather awkward at such times…
...Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit... Soon as Jack had gotten a room of his own, and a room to share with Bart, and only. But now you'll also share this room, of this same crib, and of this same piece of cloth I'm knitting. I had not have that much time as Bart had to take care of Jack, or even be with him before the sleep, and be there to tell him to have good dreams. I couldn't even hold him in my arms when I went home with a wounded limb…
…Knit… So, with a broken arm, came the broken promises, and the lies that used to fix what still is broken. Like a child hiding below the pillow, afraid of listening to the storms, I keep telling lies, and still I do, due to how I feel when they are told...
Knit... Knit... Knit... ...Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit... Knit. A sense of relief, to be fair. Unlike the sense of security, I only do this relief for my sake. It's a selfish relief, attained by each lie I told, for your father, for your brother, for myself, and maybe you too. Lies can become the truth at some point, as a man also becomes a Burmecian. They may not share the same tail, or claws, but they also share of same head, same intelligence, different skins…
…Knit Knit… We all share a kind of skin, so our flesh and bones remain hid from others, because they do need, by nature. But that nature isn't the same for the lies we kept, or what we insist to keep close…
..Knit Knit Knit... Knit Knit Knit... ...Knit... Knit... Knit... For those who are hidden, or remain so, there is at least one who seeks. I can't tell which one, if me or Jack, is the seeker, and who is in hiding. Maybe we are seeking and hiding from each other at the same time…
...Knit Knit... Knit... Knit... However, you can't be everything at the same time, as much as I couldn't be a Dragoon Knight, or a mother figure at same time, space, and world. There is one who seeks, and hids, with a physical barrier, and another invisible for both eyes. We both share barriers, walls, all created by ourselves to protect us from others, and others from us. But we all end up hurting ourselves, and the others by result. Yet, I do feel fine, as they do feel well too... Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit... ...Knit... Knit…