AN ODE TO YOUR DREAMS

( 二十二 ) star's metamorphosis

star's metamorphosis.

YOU KNOW THAT THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG when you see your mother standing outside on your porch, arms wrapped around herself and frown playing on her lips. When her eyes spot your approaching figure, you see her eyes narrow downwards and her lips tug down even further that you think her face is going to break. Her sclera is reddish along with the skin of her nose as she opens her lips to breathe out before speaking.

"Where were you?! The school called me, telling me that you skipped class!" Her voice echoes out, bouncing through the surrounding trees with its loudness causing you to jolt. "Do you have any idea of the worry you caused me? I was minutes away from calling the police!"

You halt, now standing in front of your porch and right beside the wooden stairs. You sigh out, furrowing your brows as an ache suddenly surrounds your head. It spreads all around your temples, to the area between your eyes as if two fingers were forcefully pushing its way through your sockets.

You mutter tiredly. "Can we take this inside? We're disturbing the neighbors."

Apparently, your words come out uncaring because as soon as it slips past your lips, her eyes widen and her jaw clenches before an incredulous laugh escapes her mouth. It comes out ragged, filled with heavy, dense air rasping through her lungs and past her throat. It comes out strangled and choked. "You don't understand, do you? You don't understand how careless you've become."

You stare passively into her eyes before walking past her. The door knob is cold against your shaking palm as you twist it and immediately head inside. You hear your mother following right behind, her steps slapping against the wood before it comes in contact with the ceramic tiles. The door slams right behind you and you think the framing shakes a little while you allow your rapid steps to lead you to your room. Your palm strikes the light switch, turning it on with a flicker.

"(First Name)." Your name comes out as if your mother had trouble trying to spew it out. It's high pitched as if something is blocking at her throat. "I'm talking to you. Don't you disrespect me."

You drop your bag on the floor and turn around abruptly, your uniform swishing along with your movement. Your mother stands in your doorway, her brows furrowed but eyes still wide open.

"What?" Your tone is blank. You swallow at the saliva building at your throat as you stare into your mother's eyes coolly.

The right side of her lips twitch upwards, strained, and a laugh escapes her once more. "This— this is how you treat me now after all of the things I've done for you? E-Every single day, there is food ready to eat in our table. You're able to buy anything you want because we aren't poor. You're able to go to school. And now you're taking these things for granted by what? Ditching class? Hanging out with some boy and getting home late? What happened to you, (First Name)? You weren't like this before."

She spits out her words as if all of these things have been piling itself in the back of her mind. She takes each word out, firing them all at you as if they were burning; heated; something that she had to get rid of or else she'd die is she didn't. And she doesn't stop there, while you continue to stand and receive all of the fire she's trying to spew. With your hands balled up and shaking at your sides, and a tense electric feeling having your shoulders and spine in a chokehold.

"Everything I do," Her face is red and her breaths are heavy but her words come out loud amidst the silent home. "Everything I do is for you. All of these things—" She points at your room, "they're for you. I dedicate my whole life for you."

Dense air surrounds your room, and even if you feel as if it is drowning you with a bit too much of its heaviness, you still speak.

"Maybe that's it, Mom." You begin. "Maybe that's fucking it. You dedicate your whole life for me as if you don't have your own. When was the last time you've gone out with friends, Mom? Do you even have any friends? You don't have a job. You don't have anything. All you have is me and this fucking house. Why?"

You don't realize that you're yelling until your throat is suddenly dry and the air scrapes against its tissues. You hope it doesn't bleed.

You laugh loudly. "It's because of me, right? I'm the reason why you can't go and do anything for yourself. Everything you do has to be about me. Me, me, and me. And then you go around thinking that everything that I do has to revolve around myself as well. You don't like me having friends. You don't like me making time for other people that why you're so pissed whenever I go out. And you know why you're like this."

Her shoulders are shaking as sobs rack through her swollen lips and tears through her red pink eyes.

"You do all of these things because I'm going to die."

But you don't stop.

"I'm never gonna grow old. I'm never gonna accomplish my dreams. I'll never have children. I'll never travel the world. I'll—" You breathe in shakily. "I'll never be able to read all of the books that I want to read. I'll never finish that show because it's taking too long to update and I won't be around once it does. I'm not gonna be alive for anything significant, Mom. And every single time I go home and you act as if I'm going to disappear on you every damn day, I'm reminded of the fact that I'll die soon. I hate it. I hate it so much."

You fall to the floor, your knees hitting the ceramic tiles. Your nails dig against your cheeks and you know that they're marking crescents onto its surface due to the sting. It encourages tears to flow from behind your eyes.

"I'm going to die, Mom. I'm going to die and it's not fair."

"I'm— I'm sorry." You feel her arms cage you tightly, swaying your bodies from side to side. "I'm sorry, (First Name). Please forgive me. Please."

"I don't want to die, Mom."

note.
hope i did fine with projecting the emotions & that the pacing is okay.