Why… I kept asking myself as we traveled down the bumpy dirt road.

I sat in the passenger seat, quietly contemplating my new sucky life. Everything was happening too fast. I couldn’t stand it. 

As I was cursing under my breath, my new life appeared within the distance. My mother drove silently, letting her skeletal hand swipe away a tear she tried to hide. She was doing everything she could to stay strong, but I despised it. Why lie to yourself when reality is slapping you in the face? 

Her long brown hair was naturally curled in loose lumps and a clip kept most of it out of her eyes. Her thin lips were wetted once or twice every few minutes and her speckled green eyes danced on the distant path. I focused on the freckles that dotted her face and I could tell that time had not been kind to her. So many canyons in her skin to be seen, but when she wiped another tear I pulled my gaze away from her.

Everything was going to be different now. Now and forever.

It had only been yesterday that a man in a fancy blue suit knocked on our door and stated that we were getting kicked out in a merciless tone.

 I remember our apartment and the whispering neighbors. They witnessed my mother’s screams of protest as the man dragged her out.

“This is my home!” She had cried. The man only itched his scruffy chin. I just stood there blankly seeming indifferent as my mother was clawing herself free from his prying hands. Once loose from his grip, she ran towards me and wrapped her frail arms around my stiff body. Whimpering, she let her tears fall into the dusty orange carpet as she clung to my waist.

“Where are we to go? This is our home! My home!” Her screams ripped through the air cutting into everyone's hearts. Everyones but mine.

Disgusting, I thought stepping away. I pushed my mother off, treating her no better than a roach. My mother’s constant stream of tears had begun to soak into the living room carpet and the man just sighed with frustration looking at us.

“You have until tonight to get out.” He grasped me by the shoulder and whispered into my ear.

“I’m sorry boy, I’m sorry…”  Turning, he walked out the door with a sort of empathy in his eyes. Pity seemed to hang in the air.

 I didn’t fully understand his words, but I never let other’s apologies bother me. I felt numb and my brain was blank, as if no emotion could wake me from the state I was in.

We spent the next four hours packing everything we could in the little amount of boxes we had. My mother never told me the reason as to why we were kicked out and I never cared enough to ask, although the rumors on the street were that my mother was slow with payments and tried to sell her body instead of paying the fee. This rumor wouldn’t have shocked me. After all, my dad didn’t return the night he promised...

As we made another turn I shifted in my seat. My blue jeans were uncomfortable and too long, and the sweatshirt I wore was old and ragged. The deep black it used to be had faded to an ugly charcoal grey. The single wide pocket on its front had a long rip that reached halfway across it and my hood was so big that when placed on my head it draped over my eyes. Inside my left back pocket of my jeans, I could feel my inhaler, and in the right was a lump of cash I had picked up on my way out the door. On top of my feet sat my backpack. It was a hideous thing with faded green and blue stripes. One of the straps was missing and the front pocket was ripped off completely. 

We hit a bump and all our luggage in the back seemed to jump and resettle in a different position. My ears perked as I heard a sniffle come from my mother.

Damn, here it comes… 

“So dear, after we unpack in our… new home... I’m going to head into town to find a job. I want you to stay inside. You hear me?”

I nodded silently but made sure my mother was aware of my understanding.

“Alright, because I don’t want you leaving the house. Last time… well… that doesn’t matter. I love you baby, so please don’t go.” Her rant continued but I ignored her words like always. She tried too hard and all it does is piss me off.

I sighed and continued to look out the window. My wandering eyes were met with the sight of the never-ending grassy hills around us. They were flooded with dancing dandelions and other colorful weeds.

It’s too bright… 

 I slouched into my seat further than I already was, blocking out the bursts of color. I listened to the low humming of the engine and the tapping of stones that clicked up against our van.

Arriving to our horrific destination, my mother stepped out of the car, observing our surroundings. She was talking quietly to herself as if it was helping. I heard some of her mumblings but distanced myself by walking up to the front door. 

She mumbled to herself quite often. She started doing it the night I left the house without warning. I think it’s so she doesn’t go more insane than she already is. I knew that her mutterings would lead to certain things, so distancing myself was the best option.

Stepping inside, I listened to the ghostly creak of the door as it swung open. Dust floated in the air as if without purpose and the smell of mold filled my nostrils.

 Looking to the left, I saw a green living room with a shattered window that let in a small summer breeze. Returning my gaze to what was in front of me, I saw a small hallway that led to the kitchen. Then, glancing to the right I noticed wooden stairs that had obviously been painted red, then brown, then an ugly chalk white. My mother's shuffles came from behind and I decided to go upstairs and avoid her meltdown. 

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Heading up the stairs, I began to notice three photos of a smiling child; a girl with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. In the first picture she was rolling around in fall leaves with a pure and wholehearted expression. Joy was present in the image as innocence melted from the frame. In another she was displayed her in her bedroom. She was looking out her window at trees without leaves. Her childish joy had disappeared and was replaced instead with a calm and mature expression. Though something lingered beneath her smile, as if to hide another emotion. Taking a closer look, her bright eyes seemed to have faded into a dusty grey. The last photo was a strange one. It was of a tombstone in winter, the simple word “Missing” was carved into the slab of concrete. 

Shrugging off my newfound chills, I turned the corner after reaching to the top of the stairs. A smelly bathroom was to the right and a bedroom with the door half open was on the left.  Peering inside, it seemed to be the same bedroom the girl I saw earlier was sitting in. 

I stepped in and threw my bag into the corner, breathing in the harsh odor of mold. The room was cramped, with broken walls and a heavy window. Newspaper articles of “The Missing” were scattered chaotically on the floor. I trudged across the room and dodged the broken floor boards before sinking down into the cot that was pressed against the right wall. I tried to keep myself from gagging on the air and instead focused on the bigger picture. 

Closing my eyes, I let thoughts enter my mind. Thoughts of new people and a new lifestyle. Thoughts of judgment and self-doubt. I opened my eyes and sighed. In a random mood I stated to the deathlike room, “I want my normal life back.”

The words floated in the air like snowflakes in the winter. Cold and lifeless.

My mother’s moans emitted drearily through the floorboards and I rolled my eyes in disgust. I listened to her quick inhales and quivering exhales.

 Crying…

“Damn, isn’t she good for anything?” I clasped my hands tightly and took in another breath becoming use to the sickly fumes.

Fun, I should find something fun… Maybe a cat is nearby…

“Timothy!” My mother’s words snapped me away from my intriguing thoughts. “Come down please dear, I need to talk to you.”

Unwillingly, I sat up from the screeching cot and fumbled downstairs. My mother sat at the small granite countertop that was in our kitchen. It was layered with dust and a cockroach roamed safely from my mother's ghostly presence. I leaned against the broken fridge and crossed my arms, waiting for her seemingly delicate voice to speak.

“Tim, honey, I’m going out. Now remember, I want you to stay inside.”

I nodded politely and shifted my gaze to the sink. 

“Do you hear me?” Her voice raised slightly, I could tell she was irritated.

“Yes, I heard you.” I said, sounding more annoyed than I meant.

“Hey! Don’t you dare back talk to me.” I winced, hearing her voice break into a wave of sadness. 

Dammit.

“I won’t leave,” I replied sighing. I made sure to control my tone, not wanting to push her any further.

Her heavy breathing carried itself through my hollowed feelings. I shifted my weight and waited for her to leave. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

After she collected herself, she straightened and left the house on a mission for any potential source of income. Knowing she was out of the house, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I shook away my mother’s actions from my mind and followed my new promise.

 I began busying myself with cleaning. Using the products my mother had packed in a blue bin, I started in the kitchen. The counters were wiped and polished, the sink scrubbed, the floors swept, and the windows washed to perfection. I then moved into the living room, in which I vacuumed the green carpet and shifted the furniture. I had delicately picked up the glass and thrown the shards away responsibly. 

 Washing the walls made me queasy. After all, I originally thought that they were a pale green, but they had turned out to be a bright mustard yellow giving the room an outdated 90’s look. 

Making my way upstairs, I started in the bathroom. I won’t deny that I had to bring my inhaler to breathe properly. The toilet was transformed from a charcoal black to a plastic white. The sink was once again a baby blue and the shower that had been layered with mold and moss was now a pale green. The first floor had taken four hours and the small bathroom took me about three. After just previously being 2:00, it was now bordering 9 pm. 

My plan was to tackle my bedroom as my final project, but my chance was taken away by my mother stepping through the front door. 

Her heavy footsteps dragged into the kitchen and her murmurs carried themselves through the walls eerily. 

I gulped, trying to make myself dissolve into the atmosphere.

Her emotionally heavy figure sat down at the counter and her frail hands fidgeted on a small yellow bottle while she continued to mumble. 

I stepped to my door quietly, not wanting to make a sound. She shifted in her seat, letting her groans slip out louder. They were ghastly and murderous. 

After successfully opening the bottle with her hand, she popped a small white pill in her mouth, then another and another.

 I reached forward, feeling my fingers grip the doorknob. Desperately not wanting it to creak while closing, I pushed it in and moved it towards its broken frame.

“Tim...” My mother spoke quietly. Her raspy voice hovering near the fridge. I stopped, listening for any movement. I held my breath and could hear my heartbeat echoing inside my head, making it seemingly impossible for me to hear what I wanted.

“Tim… Mommy’s home” she sang.

No no no no.

My mind raced as I heard her coming up the stairs.

No. stop it.

“Timmy,” She called my name calmly but everything about it was off. I couldn’t stand it. 

Close the door!

Bringing the door to its destined position, I clicked the lock into its proper place. Her heavy footsteps rustled near the other side as she made inhuman noises… I stepped back cautiously and waited for the next part of her meltdown. 

Her breathing became irregular and I imagined a beast crawling out of my mother's skin. She screamed irrational things and called out my name in panic. I heard as she crumpled to the floor in a wave of grief. I imagined her sitting on her claves scratching at my door in an animalistic way. Her words sharpened as if trying to stab through me until I gave into her cruel obsession.

“Why? Why did you leave us? You killed this family.” 

Not wanting to hear more of her words, I crept into the bed and ignored the rest of my mother’s screams and ramblings.  

Damn, I should’ve left.