The Heir

5 years ago today, was the last time I ever saw my mother. An honest woman, a kind woman, a missing woman. She left me. She left my brother and I, alone to fend for ourselves. Now our current residence is an appalling Home for Boys, on the corner of Elm Street. It's horrible here, my younger brother Jason seems to enjoy the attention, but I hate it. Privacy is limited and I no longer have the time to organize my thoughts. The memory of my mother fades. I was 9, when she left, Jason was 2. He doesn't remember her, at all, she's just a shadow from the past. A faint memory, a ghost if you will. I'm Shawn, by the way, Shawn Carlson. This is my life-changing story of honor, loyalty, betrayal, and destiny.

Before she left, life was phenomenal. I had a treehouse, I know it's random to say that, but I did. The treehouse was a metaphor, for the loving home that I once knew. The treehouse was mine, my prized possession. Then the wood began to rot along with my family. My father died and my mother became distant. The house grew cold and the warmth was lost.

The closest I'd ever felt to my mother was one night, a couple of days before she left. Jason was put to bed and I was preparing for bed, when my mother grabbed my arm. She pulled me down the hall and into her bedroom. After sitting me down, she rushed over to a bookshelf on an adjacent wall. In one swift motion, she swiped the books off the top shelf. A safe stood out now, mounted into the wall. She opened the safe after multiple codes were cracked. A book was slowly and intensely removed. It's dusty ancient appearance, gave away the fact that it was legendary. The title read 'The Heir.' She started to read this story of a young prince, who inherits extraordinary powers on the eve of his 15th year. As, my mother continued to read she became hesitant at her decision. She stopped, she soon realized her wrong-doing. She shut the book with anger and returned it to it's place in the safe. As fast as she possibly could she arranged the books to block the visibility of the safe. She then turned to me with a frightened look her in eyes, and lunged for me. She cradled me like an infant and hustled to my bedroom.

As she did this she muttered words and phrases such as, "I'm sorry, so sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

At this point I was a bit frightened because she never seemed so, frantic. She laid me down softly in my cozy bed, got really close, and whispered faintly in my ear, "Goodnight and Good Luck, my Prince."

That was the last real conversation I had with my mother before she left. The day she left I went in search of the mysterious safe behind the books. I pulled over a stool to stand on and hoisted my leg up onto the second shelf. When I finally made my way to the top, I brushed the books aside. My mouth dropped in shock, and I fell to the ground. I was knocked unconscious. The safe was gone.

That's how I was found. Lying on the floor of my missing mother's room. Blood seeping from my nostrils, and bruises covering my arms and legs. Books coated the floor. The top shelf was completely empty, and a mysteriously hollow cube opening in the wall was now visible. I read the report written about our situation, after sneaking into the office of the Boys Home and confiscating it.