These Scribbled Notes

Vanilla

The dog's gone.

You can see it in its eyes, the bottomless black pits of an animal gone mad.

Humans got it too these days, the sickness that's got the dog.

The dog bites now. It never did before.

That's good, Ma says.

At least we know it's got a mean streak. We won't have nobody trespassin' now.

No one trespasses now anyways, they're all hidin' from the sickness. Ma told me Pa got it as well, that's why he stopped comin' home.

I don't believe her.

She's changed since he left. The crows' feet 'round her eyes look like wrinkles from age 'stead of the smile marks they once were. I don't remember the last time she smiled. Her face would probably crack now if she did, like paper crinklin'. It's a side effect of the sickness, 'cept she don't have it yet. This is more of a side effect on the whole world. It's a sadness that eats away at your heart 'til there's nothin' left but the part that keeps you alive. The rest of it goes: the love, compassion and care. Ma has lost all of it now. She used to be full of it, the love. I would hear her every night, tellin' Pa how much she loved him.

He never said it back.

She never liked me, let alone loved me. I was a waste of space, accordin' to her. An accident that was never meant to grace the surface of our world.

I guess you keep Pa 'round though, she'd say, her cheeks flushed red and her words slurred.

He'd be outa' here in no time if it weren't for you.

She'll get the sickness soon. We all will, but she'll get it before us. Ma's old now, probably about thirty, and soon she'll be dead. I'm still young, only 'bout seven years old last time we counted. Still got at least another twenty- five years before I kick the bucket. Pa used to be good at that: maths. He used to help me with my sums whenever I couldn't do them. He always knew how to explain them just right.

Ma could never do that.

All her love started goin' when Pa was still around. He'd come home early in the mornin', smellin' of roses or lavender or one time vanilla. Ma got real annoyed that last time. She almost kicked him out. She didn't need to worry though; he went himself a week later, still smellin' of vanilla.

The sickness gets most people these days. First your eyes go funny, crossed and bloodied, 'til you can't see anythin'. Then you start to forget. You forget where you live, who your family are and who your friends are and even who you are. This can last for ten seconds or ten minutes, it all depends on the stuff inside your body, genes or somethin'. Sometimes people get real mean too, just like the dog.

Then you die.

Simple as that.

There's no cure and no treatment for it. If you've got it, you're as good as dead.

The gov'ment used to tell you to stay away from the sick 'cos the sickness was contagis', but it still got around. People are reckless now, the phrase 'I'm gonna die anyway' said more than 'hello'. That's probably why Pa left, he was gonna die anyway. He took nothin' 'cept himself and his pride. We got left the dog, the house and every last cent of the money, but that wasn't much anyway.

Ma and me live in one of the commission houses, given out by the gov'ment. Well, they were. There's no gov'ment no more, most of them are sick or dead, and the ones remainin' have no power over the people, but we've still got the house. It's small with one big room and one little room comin' off it. The big room has the kitchen and all that stuff and the little room's just a bed. There's a public bathroom used by all the commission house owners at the end of our street.

I used to sleep with Ma and Pa sometimes in the bed, but when Pa stopped comin' home Ma said I should have the couch out in the big room. I didn't mind, not with all the shoutin' that went on in the bedroom. In a way it was a blessin' from God or Jesus, whoever they said looked after this stuff.

***

Ma's eyes are goin' funny now, just like I knew they would. She doesn't let me leave the house no more, and she can't even read the newspaper or see the pictures on the community television. She's forgotten her parents and where the door is, but she hasn't forgotten Pa yet. It'll be a relief when she does and she'll stop cryin' every night and takin' the knife into her room. She just can't seem to let him go.

***

Ma's dead.

The last thin' she said was 'he shoulda' stayed'.

I couldn't understand anythin' after that 'cos she'd forgotten how to say what she wanted.

It was a relief but I still miss her. It's just me in the house now. Me and the dog. I went outside yesterday for the first time in about a week. The kids I used to play with aren't on the street anymore, most likely they're locked up like I was. A car came past to pick Ma up. Two people in fancy suits and masks on their faces grabbed her body and chucked her into the back of a big trailer they were drivin' around. They tried to make me stay inside but I saw anyway. I saw Old Mr. Cooper from down the road and one of the ladies Pa had gone to see to help with her gardenin'.

I started screamin' then, and my eyes started cryin' and I was kickin' the man who was about to close the back of the truck. He picked me up under his arm and set me down on our front porch.

We could take him in with the other kids, the lady in the suit said.

They wouldn't notice, there's so many of them getting treated that one addition wouldn't make a difference.

The man said nothin'.

It's not as if it's unfair, she continued.

He's the only kid left in his neighbourhood. No one would rebel or anything. People might see it as kind. It'd be a good move for our side.

The man still said nothin', but he turned, flashin' me one last icy look before he did so, sendin' chills down my spine.

The lady sighed with defeat and headed back toward the car.

The man followed, but not before I caught the scent of him.

vanilla...

Short story written for Literature around March 2015, of a high standard and fairly well proof read.