tainted ink

f i v e

"Childhood should be carefree, playing in the sun; not living a nightmare in the darkness of the soul" -Dave Pelzer

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l e i g h t o n

His fingers flip it up in the air. Floating momentarily, then falling, the grape tumbles home as it rests on his tongue. Sweet flavor bursts through his mouth as his teeth pop through the surface.

A pair of feet tap on the tile and his little brother appears, sporting a Star Wars t-shirt and a thick pretzel tucked between his teeth. His brown, curly hair flops on his head as he nears the counter and snaps the stick in half.

"Hey," Leighton greets, plopping another lumpy, purple grape in his mouth. Raising his fingers to his mouth, Lewis removes the pretzel.

"Hi." He takes another munch then fixes himself a glass of water from the sink.

The fluorescent light pours down from the ceiling, illuminating the little kitchen in the back of the apartment. The sky is streaked with charcoal and clouds, painting a picture in the translucent glass. The two trees in their pinch-sized backyard, a circle of pavement jutting out from the back door. Leaves form a carpet on the dulling grass, growing brown in the chilled day-to-day temperature.

He grabs a mug, brewing a cup of steaming coffee, the brown swirled with white froth. Spirals of fog drift from the cup as he pads his way to his room.

Sipping the rich liquid before setting it down, he crouches beside his bookcase, running a finger over the spines. He plucks his notebook from the others, running his fingers along the leather cover tinted dark, forest green. His grandfather gave it to him, making it shine above all things he has ever owned. He grabs his coat and rummages for a pen before heading out the door.

q u i n n

Her eyes are glued to the screen as Tangled plays on its surface. Hugging the knitted blanket tighter around her, she tucks her legs beneath it and curls into a tighter ball to trap the warmth.

It's dark in the little room, shadows lurking in every crevice. The light from the movie dances over the ground and every surface.

Quinn's mind is unmoving from the events of the animated film, keeping her head from spinning of torturous thoughts.

Winnie fidgets beside her, tucking his nose deeper within his paws. She drapes the excess blanket over the shivering dog's body as her dark brown eyes scan the screen.

The pitter patter of footsteps reach her ears as her mother's figure appears in the doorway. Guilt scratches at her heart like it always seems to do, but she pushes it away and runs her fingers through Winnie's fur, the curls entwining around her hand.

"I'm going to bed, sweetie. You should too. Get some rest." Another knife to her heart.

She pinches her eyes shut as her hand continues to comfort her puppy.

"Just finishing the movie," she replies simply. But that's another lie. She feels as if she's lying through her teeth with every word, though not just to her mother.

Another claw of regret.

Her mother doesn't respond, just leaves the room. Why does she do this? Why can't she be like everyone else? Make her mother's life easier, lift the weight from her shoulders that frequently gets heavier? The 'what-ifs' tear holes through her as she buries her face in a pillow. She screams and screams and screams, her throat drying to sandpaper and her voice left hoarse. Tears drench the fabric as the pierce through her eyelids and catch in the pillow, rippling down her face. Why?