The Light That Shines From Above

Chapter 1

Heather

The cold air freezes my exposed face as it blows by me. The rest of my body was the complete opposite temperature as the air around me. I was covered nearly head to toe in my winter gear, my glove enclosed hands moving the blue tarp out of the way so I could see the firewood.

Snow silently plops to the ground beside me as I flip the material back. Beneath it lies five feet of stack logs, ones I cut before the snow began to fall. I gathered several pieces in my arms, pressing them tight against my body so they wouldn't slip out as I put the tarp back on.

I sped walk back up the small slope that led to my mother's home. The snow was hardly enough to reach my ankle though I knew it would only build as the winter days set in.

My mother's home wasn't very large, just big enough for the two of us. It was painted a bright white, even the roof was white, though that fact would have been true with or without the snow on it now. Every shutter was closed, small flakes of brown peeking through the peeling paint.

I stepped under the white overhang, taking a moment to shake off some of the snow on my jacket and stuck in my red hair. My breath blew out visible in front of me, swirling up before fanning out. As I reached the small white stairs of the back door I knocked the tips of my boots against them to make the snow clinging to them fall.

With one hand balancing all the wood I used the other to pull open the patchy white door, sliding in and letting it slam behind me. The warmth of the house flooded me immediately, making my face tingle and body heat up. I quickly moved the logs into our wood box by the door then shrugged off my coat, hat, scarf, and gloves.

Beneath the layers I wore a simple green long sleeve shirt with my jeans. I pulled off my snow boots, kicking them to the side of the door and leaving my fuzzy socks on.

"I got it mom!" I called out.

The living room was also our kitchen, the small open floor plan hiding nothing. Despite the entirely white outside the inside of the home was warmer. There was dark paneling on the walls with framed pictures of her and I. That was the only decoration though, well that and the art drawing I did when I was six. There was a small TV next to the roaring wood burning stove, a couch in front of that.

Our kitchen had wooden cabinets that were painted an odd cream color topped with fake marble. Wood floors covered the entire floor plan though the living room had a rug laid out. Passed the kitchen was four doors. My room, a storage closet, the bathroom, then my mother's room. Her door was closed but not long after I spoke it opened.

"That's wonderful dear." Her voice was breathless like normal. She always was riled up or rushing. This time it was both.

She pulled out her luggage with her, the edge banging against the doorframe.

My mother looked like me in a few ways but her madness had ruined her appearance. She had cut her bright red locks short to her scalp and had hardly figured out how to manage it. Dark half circles stained the underneath of her brown eyes, more purple than a few days ago. Her lips were nearly white. Her skin had a yellow tone to it and she was thinner than she ever had been before. I could see her bones as they bulged under her frail skin. It was a miracle she functioned most days.

I knew why she looked this way. She had let herself become this way. I had tried, for a long time, to get her help. Going as far as admitting her when I was of legal age. She fought me at every turn. She never took the meds the doctors told her to and refused to seek more help on her own.

I'm not crazy Heather, she would swear, I am not crazy.

It was easy to believe that when I was younger. To believe she was simply sick and needed my help. Which was still true in a way. But I knew it was more mentally sick than physical. Still, as a child, I believed her. It wasn't until I was older and had seen one too many breakdowns that I realized what was really wrong.