Without Opening My Eyes
I lay starring at my clock, the sun was beginning to make me sweat. I didn't
want to get out of bed, it was still too soon. I had a headache, I felt like
shit, I couldn't sleep last night. It seemed every time I fell asleep I'd wake
up again. That kind of in and out that left me like this, my eyes black and
puffy, my mind addled and lost, my body slow and edgy.
Twelve. I set my clock twenty minutes fast to scare me out of bed on weekdays. But I'd slept half the day away, half a Sunday. I'd gotten home at four in the morning, but I still felt like I'd wasted the last day of the weekend.
I pulled myself out of bed, rubbing the shit out of my eyes. I stunk of cigarettes, even though I'd given up. A fleeting craving filled me and left when memories of what I used to cough up filled my head.
My hair was all greasy and knotted. Sticking up where ever it wanted to. It had gone a darker shade of brown sometime during the night, my pale complexion and early morning good looks piling together to make me look half dead. My face looked fat and bloated, the skin sagging over my eyes, my cheeks curving out, folds under my neck that would only disappear if I looked up.
A shower would help. I stood up, my legs sore from something I did last night. Leaving me to stagger to the door, grab my towel and wrap it around me. Tucking it a little higher to try and hide my growing gut.
I unlocked my door and stepped out, the tiles were cold, even now, halfway through the day. I hobbled to the bathroom, only to find it closed and locked. I tried the handle and my sister's voice came from the other side.
"Go away. I don't want to speak to you", what an odd thing to say.
"Alright", I turned around, the express intent of getting dressed and getting some food into me filling my mind. But as I took the first step someone stepped in front of me. I jumped, too twitchy from too much caffeine mixed with too much beam from last nights escapades. My brother stood in front of me, starring at me His face blank, his eyes dead, he was stoned again.
"Where were you last night?", he crossed his arms on his chest, his body picking up but his face remaining unchanged.
"Adam's, getting drunk", he scoffed, turning around.
"Typical", he started to wander back to his room.
"What's your problem", he opened his door and looked at me.
"Oh nothing, just wondering when you're gonna move out. Fat cunt", he slammed the door, what was up his arse. He was three years older than me, had no job and paid no board and he was telling me to move out. Fuck him.
I stalked back to my room, pulling on last night's clothes, not wanting to get anything smelling like two day old me. I could belt that weedy little prick some times. Mum and dad always fucking cut him slack. Let him smoke in the house, let his mates get stoned with him. What'd they do when they found speed in my pocket.
My dad hasn't spoken to me since. Fucking apologised when they put his ecstasy through the wash. I pulled on some socks and wandered back out, stalking past my brothers room and sighing as the bathroom door remain shut, my sister no doubt on the other side, doing some thing that would take longer than it's worth.
The kitchen was clean, nothing sat out. Mum must've gotten to it after my sister and dad had gotten up. I looked at the clock, I wonder if I could hold off till lunch. I looked at the clock again and swallowed, feeling the hunger pangs rise in my stomach. I opened the fridge, trying to find some eggs and bacon. Adam wouldn't shut up about eggs and bacon last night and he'd left me with a craving that would rival a pregnant woman.
Nothing, no eggs, no bacon. I checked the freezer, hoping I could salvage something from this rapidly sliding scenario, but nothing. Fuck it. I went to the cupboard and pulled out a box of Coco Pops. I looked at the brown sugar bombed puffs of rice and put it back, better stick with toast before I get any wider.
A single slice lay in the clear plastic wrap. Typical, no one ever got out bread but me. I wandered back to the freezer, getting the impression that this was going to be a bad day. I opened the door, the cold not seeming to be that bad at the moment. Taking out a loaf of white bread and dumping it on the stove. A cold breeze from the freezer ran itself past my neck.
"Stanley", I turned around groggily to see my mum, all sickly and pale.
"Morning", she stared at me, she looked sad. I'd done something and dad was giving her the hard end of it again I'll bet.
"You alright?", she shook her head sitting down at the table, "what's up?"
"Just tired. You know", I pulled the toaster out of the cupboard, my flab bunching up uncomfortably on my stomach. I hated that feeling.
"Where's dad?", I knew where he'd be, out drinking with his mates, having partially recovered from Friday and now ready to go again.
"He's out", no surprise there, "stop for a second luv. I've got something I need to tell you", I turned around immediately suspicious, her eyes seemed swollen. Thought's of my dad hitting her flew through my head. I'd kill the cunt if I knew it wouldn't hurt her. I swallowed and sat down, not wanting to make things worse.
"What's wrong?", she smiled at me, I began to get scared.
"I love you", I grinned stupidly, a warm tingling feeling welling up inside of me.
"I love you too mum", she smiled again, her skin seemed to glow, the sun light up the room. I turned to look, a small gap in the clouds flooded everything with a warm light.
I turned back to say something and she was gone. The words left my head as I got up, looking around for her. My mind lost and confused. The room seemed dead, dust floated about in the light, on the breeze. Her chair was in, and she was gone.
"Mum", I looked under the table, feeling dumb when I found she wasn't there. I stepped cautiously looking around corners, trying to find where she'd gone. My heart began to pick up in my chest and I felt cold, all the fresh warmth leaving me as I stepped out of the kitchen.
I looked down the passage, every door was closed except mine. The bathroom, my brothers, my sisters, the laundry, even my parents room. They never closed their door. It didn't look real, like simply having every door closed somehow defied the laws of all things natural. I walked to my parents door slowly, my feet hurting as they hit the tiled ground.
"Mum", no words came back at me, no sound, nothing. I knocked on the cheap door. Nothing. I knocked again. Feeling sick, I reached for the handle. Gripping it more tightly than I needed, as if it'd slip away from me and refuse to turn if I didn't crush it.
A knock on the front door stopped me before I could turn it any further. I looked up feeling out of place and alone. The doors textured glass revealed nothing more than the fact that someone was there. I practically ran to it, hoping that it might be mum.
I opened it to four coppers, who starred at me, all their faces angry and uncaring, any thoughts of my mum left my head. One grabbed me and pushed me inside, pinning me to the wall, twisting my arm around awkwardly.
"What the fuck", two quickly paced past me. Another stood behind me and my new friend snapped cold handcuffs on my wrists.
"Shut up", I wanted to belt that little fuck right there.
"What's going on?"
"Two in here", I looked down the passageway to see one of the cops at my parents door.
"There's another one down here", I would've looked around confused if my head wasn't mushed up against the wall.
"What's going on?"
"You're under arrest for the suspected murder of", I pushed back off the wall, slamming him into the other guy behind him. The words rung in my head as I got up awkwardly and ploughed down the passageway. The cop reached for his gun, but I hit him, picked him up with my shoulders and fell with him. My hands behind me, my balance gone.
I fell flat on my face, outside my parents door. The cop was scrambling off me, I was trying to get up, pushing off my chest. But in it all I looked up, to see an arm, a single arm draped over the side of the bed, a wedding band on a long dainty finger. I knew who that hand belonged to. I got those fingers from her side of the family.
The cops pulled me up and I saw them both before they spun me around and slammed me back into the wall. Laying there, my dad's face was in agony, he was curled up against mum. The blood covering his stomach heavier than anywhere else. Mum, looked peaceful, as if she was asleep when it happened. But her eye's were open in that sad half closed way.
Her throat was covered in dry blood, cracking and pealing in the cold air. I felt sick. I began to cry. I heard the cops read me my rights, but I couldn't stand, I nodded dumbly when they yelled at me, the question forgotten before they'd finished asking it.
They held me up, in rough hands. They thought I'd killed them. I hadn't, I didn't even know. Did my brother and sister know.
I looked at the bathroom, the door now open. The cop, had said. I felt my face curl into tears again. What happened. They began to pull me outside, dragged me on feet that shuffled along and fell out from under me. They pulled me back onto my feet roughly and I looked at the cop next to me, his face ready to spit on me in disgust.
I liked the initial idea behind this, the every day continuation talking to his now dead family without realising they've died. But it doesn't work as well I'd hoped when shortened as it is. It needs more focus on the people, and the atmosphere in general. Not alot was done to estabilish mood. But let's hope I learn from my mistakes. - Wayfaerer