Hey mom!

Little feet pattered on the floor like heavy raindrops.

Look! Look!

Mother's face twisted down to face him, golden light curving around her jaw and filling her sunk cheeks. He'd make sure she ate this time! She'd be so happy he was sure she'd finish the whole thing! He got hungry when he was happy too.

Paper wrung out from his balled hands, a drawing of Mother holding him when his ear had the ouchies, her arms tight around him. A smile on his face in spite of tears. He did his best with the crayons but could still hear his friends' ghostly laughter. The sound annoyed him.

His eyes stared up, eyes sparking and hopeful. A small smile split his cheeks, pudgy with baby fat, even as a rippling pain tore through his tummy.

Mommy was most important, mommy didn't like herself already so he shouldn't make it worse.

Her eyes were hazy, they met his for a second before ripping themsleves downwards. Her expression was green and made him feel sour. Gooseflesh prickled on his skin as the emotion soaked into him. A pounding pain like cold draft struck the space where Valentine said his heart was. He didn't move. Surely, mommy would find some joy, he did his lettering and everything! He was smart, mommies liked smart boys, right? Or was that girls?

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A memory of three angry welts on his cheek almost made him flinch. He did not, it wasn't his. The world rose to greet him and folded, he felt as if invisible arms had shot out the earth and were dragging him into the earth.

His small eyes fluttered gently. 

The drawing slid to the floor, his body followed shortly after.

He couldn't move, everything was spinning and spinning. His limbs felt like mountains rooted to the earth. Panic choked him like a wave crashing into his open mouth. He'd not felt it ever before and his eyes prickled with tears, wide and fearful. His chest seized from shallow breaths. His head thrashed roughly on the wood, a trembling hand extended towards a blurry shape beside him, mouthing a single word at no one in particular, please, anyone, 

"help"

_____

She looked at it. Eyes deep as a well one minute green, the other yellow. Two arms longer than they were a second ago holding up a crayon-stained paper. Even now it didn't stop twitching. Some days she thought this thing was her son. From birth he'd been an odd child, eyes too sharp, too quiet and too fast.

She watched him collapse bonelessly, flopping around on the floor like a dying fish. A small paw reached out towards her. Her hand stretched downwards. 

And hooked two fingers around her heels. 

She rose, stood up and walked to her home office, an ugly sheet of paper crunching under her heel.