Death Has Wings

The Truth Hurts

I took a deep breath and figured out what I was going to say to mother. Should I break it to her gently or just say it with full force? Should I try to calm her down first or should I just say it whilst she's ruined? So much planning, so little energy.

Why did this happen to me? Why me? Why not some other person? Why does this sort of thing always happen to me? I couldn't think straight. I needed to tell mother. I needed to get this over with. I just needed to plan my words. I needed to test whether they sounded right.

"Mother, I have something to say...I know this may sound a bit...strange...but I-" I cleared my throat and tried to think of what to say next. I heard someone walk into the kitchen. I froze.

"What may sound strange, Clark?" My mother's voice was barley above a whisper. I didn't turn round; I couldn't face her. "Clark? Why won't you look at me?" She shuffled to the front of me. Her eyes were puffy and her lips were dry. She looked the picture of pure sorrow.

I looked at the floor and bit my lip. She raised my head with her hand. I couldn't look her in the eyes. "Clark, look at me. I'm your mum, you can tell me anything and everything. Now, what do you want to tell me?" She sounded so calm but I could still sense the hurt. It made me uncomfortable. She lowered her hand and sighed. "If you're not going to tell me then-"

"I knew the John would leave you. I saw it. I saw it before it happened. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, I just...I couldn't bring myself to do it..." I blurted the words out. I studied her face, every line seemed to be more visible. I felt sorry for her, having to go through all of this. Having to go through me. She looked heartbroken. I didn't like to see her like this.

"What...do you mean by you saw it happen?" She sounded like she was going to cry again. I took another deep breath and went to speak, but a knock at the door stopped me. Mother walked past me, muttering under her breath. She opened the door, stood there for a few seconds in silence then she slowly closed the door. She just stood facing the door, her hands by her sides. I was worried. Really worried. I cautiously stepped towards her.

"Mother, are you..." I swallowed hard. She wasn't moving. "Mo-" She turned around, a slight smile on her face.

"Of course I'm alright, Clark, just a bit confused, that's all. Now," She stared at me and lowered her voice slightly. "What do you mean by you saw it happen?" My stomach dropped. I thought I didn't have to tell her. I shuffled from one foot to the other, my hands curled into fists.

"Well...I saw John leave you...when I was coming back home I...it..." I closed my eyes and sighed. "I don't know how to explain it, it's to...to...complicated to put into words...it's just..." I couldn't say anymore. I was stumbling over my words and I found it hard to take a breath. Mother furrowed her brow, as if I had said something that she didn't understand. She walked past me into the kitchen. I sighed again and turned round, my eyes starting to sting as if I was going to cry. I didn't though. Crying is a sign of weakness.

I heard mother open a drawer and start to rustle around in it, the cutlery clashing against itself. I opened my eyes to see mother holding the carving knife to her wrist, tears streaming down her face. Fear knotted in my stomach as I took a step towards her.

"Don't come closer. I don't want you to get hurt." Her voice was shaky and broken. "I don't want my little boy to get hurt..." My heart leaped to my throat. What was she doing? She was never like this. Never. I didn't want her to hurt herself. She was the only family I had left. I took another step towards her and she pressed the blade into her skin a bit harder. I was frantic at this point. I found it hard to swallow and my mouth was dry. I had to convince her to put the knife down.

"M-mother, put t-the knife d-d-down, please." I spoke in the softest tone I could but my stutter had come back. She stared at me with an enormous intensity. She was shaking all over, her knuckles white from gripping so tightly. She shook her head, still staring at me. Tears had stained her face.I took another step towards her. She tightened her grip on the knife's handle, and her eyes burned with the ferociousness of a thousand fires. My head began to hurt really bad and I had to scrunch up my eyes. Images of my mother lying on the kitchen floor with her wrists slit flooded my mind. I opened my eyes to rid myself of the thoughts but they just lingered there. They taunted me, mocked me, urged me.

You won't save her, Clark. She's going to die whether you like it or not!

I ran my fingers through my hair and gritted my teeth. She wasn't going to die. I wouldn't let that happen. I looked at her and noticed that she had begun to shake. She was breathing calmly though. That worried me even more than her having a knife to her wrist. She just wasn't behaving right for the situation. I mean, neither was I, but I was trying to be calm. She was trying to commit suicide. I didn't have the energy to deal with all of this. I decided to give it another chance.

"M-mother, please...p-please put the knife d-d-d-down. Y-you don't..." I struggled to get the words out. "You don't w-w-want to do s-s-...anything you'll re-regret." I swallowed and tried to compose myself.

Stop trying to stop her. It won't work. Just let her do it. Just let her.

I attempted to block out the thoughts that were haunting me. They just kept creeping through. I couldn't stop them. I didn't want to listen to them. I looked at my mother. My fragile, suddenly suicidal mother. The woman that turned a blind eye to all those bruises and broken bones I had gotten from John. The woman that pretended that everything was fine. The woman that was meant to care for me. She can't take back her past. No-one can.

Mother just stood there, her face becoming calmer by the second. She shouldn't be calm. She should be crying and screaming. This wasn't my mother. This wasn't her. I tried to take one more step towards her but her eyes became daggers. She smiled a smile that no mother should even posses the ability to think about. It scared me.

"Oh, Clark, when will you learn?" It wasn't her voice. It was barely human. Her pupils expanded to take over her eyes. I couldn't believe it.

It was just how Grandma had described possession.