firefly 𑁋 salvis.

VI

︶ ♫ ˚ ̟

The moment does not last. How could it ever? Despite the pride, despite the first hug the two have shared in years, the moment does not last. The cloudy, childish feeling in Travis' mind remains, though, as he gets escorted back down the basement stairs and into the closet under the stairs. The man who was more of a father to him than his actual father stares down at him from his place on the wall. Jesus watches as Travis goes down without a fight. Travis doesn't have it in him to fight, his mind is fuzzy and babyish. He couldn't imagine he'd even be able to verbally fight if he were to need to. Flashes of childhood weigh on him, and his heart aches with the memories. Why can't it be like that again?

It's as though Travis got stuck in time. He's left in his backyard, on the swings, while his mother has gotten up from her place on the back porch, never to return. His father got up from his place beside his mother, as well, and began using his fists instead of his words to lecture. While Travis remained on the swing set, knees aching from scrapes. Even still, his knees sting from scrapes. Only now, the scrapes are from rough landings on the basement concrete as he's pushed down stairs, rather than falling off his bike. Can he even remember how to ride a bike? His old one is faded and rusty, forever encapsulated in memories, much like Travis.

Travis has nothing better to do in this basement except curl up in a ball and remember, which is exactly what he does. Typically, Travis runs from the past. He uses everything in him to forget what once was. There's no point in remembering unless he just wants to hurt worse. However, once in a blue moon, Travis will suddenly become babyish and his mind will suffocate him with memories of playing with trains and coloring. Today appears to be one of those rare times, where all Travis wants is to be held and be told everything is okay.

He makes himself as small as possible, humming a tune that was fuzzy in his memories. The sound was attached to a vision of his mother, hands clasped on her lap as she sat on his bed. Back then, his bedspread held trains, his room filled with toys, walls cluttered with little-boy drawings and animal paintings. His house was still a home, and he was not yet a stranger in it.

Travis looked just like her, Elizabeth Phelps, and he wondered if that was why Kenneth hated him so much. Was it because they shared dark skin, hair, and eyes? Was it because Travis was lanky like his mother had been? Many commented she had always appeared sickly. Kenneth Phelps, on the other hand, was strong and masculine. Blonde-haired, light-skinned, green-eyed. The two contrasted perfectly, so was that why Travis was so hated by the man who was supposed to love him unconditionally?