Red August.

Since the world developed, it’s been man’s long lost dream to have a sense of purpose in life. I’ve never had that. Never had a longing in life; not anymore, anyway. My beliefs were drained away in just one simple act. Death; Death had cloaked my life ever since the horrible twisted and warped ever since that car crashed in malicious ways I can hardly describe. It was truly a merciful death for an unseeingly kind person. Her name was Holly, by the way; my best friend in the whole wide world. In many ways, I wished I could’ve told her that, but I was acting stupid, too wrapped up in my own petty problems.
On that unfaithful day, when the news of her death was so abruptly delivered to me, it was like I had washed up upon the shore of a new land; unsure of what to do, unsure of how to take it all in. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do what any normal being do with grief, cry. Instead I curled up into a ball, in an enclosed corner, and cowered there. I topped, so I wouldn’t let anyone in; no one in. Not even me.
The cycle began right there. I became a nothing, a no one; except a mind drained zombie. Saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to everyone to friends and family, even to people I sat next to in class. Everyone knew it, but nobody did anything about it, I wasn’t okay, yet no one helped. I kept going to school reluctantly, and kept going to the school counsellor reluctantly.
“I’m thinking of doing again.” I said to her, as she scanned my face for any physiological damage.
The frail old counsellor placed a strand of red her behind her hair and immediately adjusted the length of her thick glasses and from her blue eyes, as a smile curled upon her face.
“Think about what a burden that will put on your parents.” She said, as if contemplating suicide was a good thing.
“I’m already a burden to my parents.” I snapped bluntly.
Her smile was more faker than before, perhaps because it was wider than the last one.
“I’m sure you aren’t a burden to your parents, you just think—“I cut her off, so I wouldn’t have to tolerate the physiological bullshit.
I scoffed, not believing her audacity.
“Are you even listening to yourself?!” I exclaimed, replacing the eerie silence with my cries of anger.
“Well—“she tried desperately.
I put my hand up, putting my limbs together.
“No!” I roared barely, bouncing an echo between those poorly coded walls “You obviously don’t know who you’re talking about!” I shouted, trying to keep the words from pouring out.
The long awaited sounded bell sounded, and its echo wafted across the school. For the first time in my life, I was happy go to school.
The flood of students emerged out once a swang the door wildly, unable to tolerate the presence of Doctor Bitch lingering over my shoulder. I felt the brand of her blue eyes burning into my back as I literally bolted out the door. My attempt at blending in the know-it-all crowd seemed fruitless as thousands of condolences came crashing down on me. I gave them what the custom instructed, a few meaningless words.
Luckily I had no friends to do the same, not like I would contain any ideal of friendships with these dammed snobs, anyway. Holly was my one and only, just like I was HER one and only. Holly remained aloof from the rest since our friendship began, we didn’t care; we just needed each other. Now, I have no one, I never realised how empty my world would be without her. It’s never been this hollow before, never been this lonely.
After a few classes that I practically slept through because each teacher had a droll voice, I strode through the busy streets to the thing I had dreaded all day; Home. I took the long way home, because it kept me from hell few minutes in. The sky turned a vibrant orange by the time I arrived on my front porch. Shatters of glass lay sitting on my porch, all brown, all shapes and sizes all scattered around my feet. My nose scrunched up in disgust as the words ‘drunk again’ came to surpass in my mind in a number of various ways.
Stepping gingerly on the floor, as if a small sign of entrance would be my life; I made half my way to my room before a heavy force abruptly bruised the back of head.
“Ow!” I yelped painfully, “Son of a –“I cursed.
“Bitch!” A husky deep voice scowled at me from the darkest part of the room.
The voice was bitter, ice cold, and undeniably slurred. It was somewhat recognizable; I had heard it 50 times a day in that same drunk tone. It was Ross Coleman – my dad. Ross’ business crashed down on him 4 years ago, which spiralled him into a brink of despair along with a bottle of whiskey. I stopped calling him ‘Dad’ a long time ago, he twisted and warped into someone unidentifiable, and I couldn’t bring myself into doing it again.
“You little b!tch!” He spat bitterly, as his attempted to regain his balance had failed “Up all night seducing boys!”
My nose cringed in complete utter disgust at his stupidity.
“It’s twilight, you fucking moron!” I practically shouted.
He grinned at me mischievously.
What’s he up to? I thought.
For only a fraction for a second, before a slap hit me across the face. Catching me off guard, he grabbed my hair, pulling it upwards before he sent me flying backwards. I let out a whimper of surprise before I collapsed on my spine. I groaned in a mix of emotion; anger, fear, sadness and somehow a new emotion surfaced: Envy. Envy of his sudden strength, something he possessed that I just didn’t.
His face had turned into a darkened manically mask of torture. His smile dripped in terrorising metaphoric blood. His smile curled ear to ear, sending unwanted fear to cloak my body.
“Don’t cross me again.” He warned.
Ross used my emotions as some sort of game play; he had been doing this for years. If I dare whimper, cry or yelp, I was immediately would be sealed off as weak. If I protested against him, he would pull a cowardice move and tattle to my mother and make out HE was the poor targeted victim. My mother; terrified of any abuse on her part, would punish me .I had made those same mistakes over and over again in my younger days, but by this time I had learnt my lesson. So what was that a few minutes ago? If I learnt my part, why did I bother?; Perhaps a relapse from the past memories flooding out of my mouth without pause.
I found myself nodding to his well needed advice. To my surprise, he was smiling; as if praising a new puppy who accomplished going to the bathroom. He took a swig of beer from a can before I ran off scurrying off to the kitchen like a pathetic mouse. I walked into see my mother crouched to floor attempting to clean off the dragged in mud off the baby blue tiles with a sponge. Sensing something had changed; my mother looked up and startled a jump at my unannounced appearance.
I stifled a yelp of horror as I examined the white eye patch on her right blue eye. Just underneath the eye patch was a big bruise was forcibly branded on her cheek. Anger had flourished in me. I felt a tense grouchy frown come along on my face.
“Did he do this to you?” I said in an amazingly calmer voice from which I intended.
“Oh, honey.” She said softly “No, honey, no!” her voice had risen into a fabricated happy one.
It was a lie, of course. But pointing this out would only make things worse, not better. My mother took her time before speaking again to me.
“I walked into a door, honey.” She told me, arising from the floor.
I allowed my mouth to gape for less than a second.
“You walked into a door..?” I said slowly, somewhat expecting her to cave and tell me the truth.
I must admit she ‘walked into a door’ too many times to count. I told the teachers about my mother’s habit of walking into doors, and yet the bastard just brushed it away with a smile, it was heinous how he pulled my mother’s strings.
I found my mother casting out a stare out the window and growing vastly each second. Her free eye; vacant, dull and dim. Her mouth lay unhinged, untouched as if there; but not there, between the lines of invisible and viewable. Ever since Ross had lost the ability to stabilize his business, her vibrancy along with her care free personality was drained from her. My mother was now washing dirty dishes in the rusty sink; her hands processed crusted covered plate which she was washing in a circular motion.
“Mom?” I said, calling out to her well-being.
The centre of the room became eerie and worrying. The longer I stared at her, the more I could feel it; the emptiness seeping deeper into my mother’s mind, and I began to worry for her. She was fading away into nothingness. And as I watched my mother’s arms sink deeper below the surface of the water; the suds evaporating, I knew something was wrong.
As if my mother’s name was echoed back to her, she turned her head slowly and acknowledged me.
“Yes?” She said breathlessly.
I aligned my face in confusion, completely lost on what to say next; as if my voice was removed. I open my mouth, and then closed it again.
“Are you alright?” I heard myself say.
I could see her taking my question into account, as if it took in great value. She slowly nodded her head and her mind began to linger again. Only noticing when exiting the room; she was humming a low quiet tune I had not been sung to since I was 7.
When I was 7 I was scared of the dark When I had trouble drifting off to sleep Sometimes, my father would hush me to sleep with a story, though after my father launched his business he was hardly ever around anymore, I had to rely on my mother. So on the nights when sleep eluded me, I’d creep into my mother’s room, undetected and fashion a place for me underneath my mother’s bed and crawl into my manmade sanctuary. I think she knew this, because she would almost immediately softly hum the lyrics.
My little girl, so good and strong,
Her big happy Mommy gleefully singing this song,
They cross the paths so happily, for their eyes are the only things they see.
And it went like that, hushing me, silently to sleep.
I was lost in those days where Ross was still dad, no eye damaged mom and lullabies were sung above me. Now those days were gone.
I found myself wondering if Ross’ beatings had grown either so terrified that she was feared if mentioning something that displeased him it could be her life; or his fighting technique had grown so fierce over the years, it caused severe damage to her brain – the head was his favourite target spot after all. I realised using stroking my chin, in curiosity may look strange – even to her. I decided to take these hypotheses upstairs where it would’ve been a lot less likely to provoke people’s curiosity.
I however didn’t want to think about these worrying things; fearing my mother would be dragged, however mercilessly to a mental hospital, leaving me to defend for myself. These painful possibilities were forcing me to edge off the brink of despair; I didn’t want to think about these things, but honestly – what choice did I have? She was my mother, after all.
Upstairs, not surprisingly; I saw clearly dragged in mud moulded to the purple carpet in my room, my desk was literally upside down causing posters to fall on the floor. My wardrobe was left open by the intruder – the intruder erased any order I left my clothes in by throwing and tearing my clothes. My bed sheets were creased badly. I took all the details in and automatically knew what happened. Ross must’ve seen that pissed him off and knowing him – blamed me in turn. He then assumed that I deserved this.
It was like struggling against the strong tide how I quite practically dragged my led like legs through of the whatever scattered remains of my bedroom I had left, and collapsed however freely on my now creased sanctuary; my bed. I slowly began to hum the soulful song of my mother. The buzzing vibrant tune soon burst into lyric and song as drops of tears strode down my face.