(A/N Hey guys, I don't do a lot of authors notes, but when I do, I consider them quite important so don't worry! This is my first story on this website so, please, no hate if it ain't that good because I'm not all that special. OK! Thanks guys! Also, it's not really PG because you don't have to read it with your ma, but there will be a bit of mild language so I can't really make it G... So for now let's just say PG stands for Pop Gazzugle because hopefully that's what you think of my story...? Anyway, thanks! Enjoy!
-Scar)
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I didn’t remember most of my childhood, except that it had gone by like a blur. I remembered the street I lived on- it was never one of the most eventful ones. It’s vine covered houses and rose bush gardens gave it more a vineyard look, though I lived in the small town of Jarredsville, Kentucky. Maybe one or two other people lived down our humdrum lane, but our family wasn’t known to be very social. We kept to ourselves; I never saw a problem with it, either, being the fact one of my brothers always had wild dreams that led him to do daft stunts that often led to the police being called. I remember how much we sang, and boy, did we sing a lot. We sang when the family came over; we sang when cooking; we sang when cleaning; we even sang when out riding.
Under the circumstances, I felt I had a good childhood, with our two dogs that liked to bring in injured animals so I could heal them in secret; 5 brothers and 6 sisters, me being the oldest of the dozen, meaning I was expected babysit while our parents went out in search for work.
I loved them, though, because family is family whether big or small, odd or simply mediocre.
The day our home was hit with the news that our father had died at work- an explosion in the factory, no one had spoken a word for weeks. We couldn't comprehend the idea that someone that took care of and supported us; loved us almost as much as we loved him, had so easily slipped through our fingertips like water from your palm.
Ma had known. She had known all along that that place was a no good, rat's ass sellout that would never last. She told us that she hated his boss, who couldn't seem to be able to eat anymore than he already did, or he would explode- yet he did. I used to think he was the reason father died, but really, who was I to tell my theory? Maybe he was- he had died alongside his workers.
Rest aside from the tragedy, life went on, and we were hit with the hardship that came with having only one mother and 12 kids. Ma knew she had to remarry- she just couldn't wrap her head around the idea of loving another soul after she had lost the one she had known was the only one for her. She was getting old- her skin was wrinkling, her smile sagging, bags forming below her eyes in dark circles. Her hair had gone from being the beautiful red color it was, to a light grey that she hated with every fiber of her weakening being. Her once rosy cheeks were pale and sad, and she cried so often... She had become skinny and so very fragile; when she came home from work every evening, she could barely walk up the porch steps to get into the house.
Of course I had known what was coming- yet I never expected it for a woman who had loved everything in life so much. The very few times she had gotten angry, were with father's work, and that made plenty of sense being as though he told her so many of his dangerous adventures.
Ma was hit was lung cancer in 1999, and has had it ever since. I was years old, not a day over; not a day younger. It was my birthday when mother dropped, the cake falling from her arms and onto our new rug we had gotten her for Christmas. She fell so quickly that it was a blur, and we all watched in terror as our mother lay, unconscious on dining room floor. I knew I had to be brave, but I couldn't find the strength in my body to move. I couldn't breathe as I looked at my mother's pale face lying there, unmoving and her heart barely beating. That was the worst day of my life.
