Boy of Sorrow

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Chapter 9

Outside was dark and cloudy as both Axel and I walked down the streets. I didn't like to be followed home even with someone I knew because I feared that they might follow me to my house and wanted to be invited inside. However what surprised me was that the moment we were on my street, Axel tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention. Once he got it he said, “In case you were wondering, I live in that big house at the end of this street right over there.” He pointed at the tall ominous house that was conveniently located almost near my house across the streets. To be honest, I never knew anyone ever lived in that house considering that it was not very well kept and that I never seen anyone enter or exit that house until now that is.

“Well I suppose I should be getting going.” He said uncomfortable, “See you tomorrow.”

He said before walking towards the house, with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low to the ground.

I guess he wasn't good with good byes, as I walked towards my own house. The faint pain in my back side started to illicit pain once more as I walked more and more towards my home. The house gave out a more sinister feeling compared to Axel's home, but that was because of what happened last night. I bit my hands once more, all of the happiness I felt with Axel earlier that day was completely gone. Vanished out of thin air without a trace as I walked my way onto the grassy terrain that laid infront of my house. I faintly heard a door open and closed across the street behind me, signaling that Axel must have went inside his house for the night. Sighing, I went inside of my house only to be greeted with no one in the living room Feeling a bit uneasy, I closed the door behind me and made my way to the kitchen, thinking that my father might be in there. The kitchen was bare of any human presence at the moment.

I ignored the bottles that littered the ground, and the glass that pricked the sensitive skin underneath my foot as I made my way out of the kitchen and up the stairs, thinking that he must be on the top of the stairs in his room. Didn't he call his boss and say that he was sick and couldn't come to work today? Hoping that he was home and safe, I stopped right in front of his room. Memories of him beating on me about entering in his room uninvited filled my young mind once more, but I had to know if he was home and no where else that might be exponentially dangerous. After sucking it up, I very slowly and gently opened the door to his room only to be greeted with the smell of old weed and the stench of alcohol that was so poignant that I had to pinch my nose in order to get that smell to not defile my senses. I looked inside the room only to witness a catastrophe of a mess, it was a bigger mess compared to the living room and kitchen combined. Paint on the walls were peeling off, more and more bottles littered the floor and the bed and drawers. I tentatively walked inside, feeling as I if I was invading on someones own turf which in all honesty, I am.

From the looks of this place as well, there was no human presence. But that didn't stop me from walking further and further into the room as carefully as I could. For some strange reason I was attracted to the old dresser that was stationed right below the windowsill in front of me. I ignored the more growing pain in my body as I walked closer at it and closer still. My heart beat became more and more erratic as I did this, all the air felt as if it was becoming more and more heavier, weighing down my body, preventing me from going to that dresser. The dresser was nothing extraordinary, it was very simple. The light outside came from the streetlight that filtered through the window and glinted a red color off of the dresser, making it look like a beacon for danger. Once I finally got close enough to it, I noticed two other things that stood out from it compared to the other furniture in here. On top of the dresser laid a small picture frame that was similar to those at the hallway but this one was different. It was a picture of my mother in the hospital looking extremely tired to the bone but smiled nonetheless and was carrying a baby that I presumed it was me. My father wasn't in the picture at all, it was just her and I in there. On the bottom of the picture was some words that I knew it wasn't my mothers hand writing because hers was very eloquent and cursive while this one was chicken scratch.

It read, this is the day were my family became whole.

After I read that, carefully set it down back where it came from and decided to open one of the drawers in it. Normally I wouldn't be doing something like this but I just had to know what was in this dresser, so I did it. The drawer was surprisingly easy to open, so there was no difficulty with that. I peered inside inspecting that there might be just some clothes but I was wrong, inside was a bunch of art supplies and sketchbooks. I reach inside, feeling one of the tips of the brushes with my bandaged fingers. The bristles on the brush were very soft to touch and also very comforting. I remembered these brushes, these were my mothers. Whatever feelings or force pushed me to go forward lead me here for some reason so I decided to grab all of my mothers art supplies, thinking that my father never knew that all this stuff was here or he did at one point but forgot. After I grabbed everything, I ran back towards my room and hid them in my closet in case my father discovers them there. It didn't take long for me to hear that familiar sound of feet walk somewhere in the house for me to know that my father is somewhere in the house. I just hope that he doesn't find out what I just did.

Twelve o'clock went by... then one... then two... it was almost three o'clock in the morning and I still laid restless in my bed after tossing and turning in my “sleep” or should I say. After the whole event that had happened that night, I contemplated of telling my father what had happened to me. But I feared the worst. What if he thought that I was gay? Or thought that I was a pansy for not left hooking the bastard? Something swelled inside of my chest that begged to be let out, and when it did, I let out a sob and started crying once more.

This pain, not the physical but the emotional pain, felt very very hard on me. If my father found me crying like I am now, he would start hitting me ten times harder and tell me not to cry. That I should be a man already and suck it up. After wiping my snot nosed face, I slowly got up and went towards the closet and pulled out my mothers art supplies.

Once in my grasp I sat back down on the bed and opened one of the sketchbooks I was dumb founded by the beautiful drawing that laid on my lap. The drawing depicted a small little girl sitting in a meadow, her pale skin glinted in the golden sun light that hovered over her, making her look like a porcelain doll. She was sitting with her back towards me, as she gazed at something that I could not see in the drawing that stood out although I suspected it was the sky it self that the girl was in awe with. Her purple dress and long blond hair was the only colors that stood out the most though, between the pale blues, yellows and greens that mixed together to make a hazy look. I squinted a little bit to see what was on the girls lap. It looked to be a sketch book as well. The girl in the painting was painting something that was the landscape itself.

The painting itself, gave an aura of both awe and fascination, something that only my mother was capable of drawing. Something that I wished that inherited as well. That's why when Axel complimented me about my drawing I didn't take him seriously because I don't have that ability that my mother had to make other people feel what she was feeling at the moment by using specific details in a drawing, no words just pictures. As I continued to flip through my mothers art work, I noticed that at the middle of the sketchbook it was blank all the way to the end. I placed the book down gently right next to me on the bed. There was a great need of wanting to draw in her book but I ignored it, I didn't want to ruin the beautiful drawings that she made with my ugly ones mixed in there. I didn't want to tarnish her memories.

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