Nightshade

Chapter One:

I lie in my bedroom, recollecting, and reflecting on this past year, for it was only a year ago that the disappearance of my father had happened. Going back to that day, from the amount of clarity I remember, it was subtle. But the exact word I'm looking for doesn't quite come to mind, and I don't think it ever will anytime soon. Even with everything that's been happening I've been trying to figure out who I am, and what my purpose is. It's hard to do that though if I've lived in the same place for I don't know how long. And so, in the meantime, I feel pinned down to a place I can't get out of, with ambitions that can't be humored.

I'm presently in the small town of Gaberndy, Ohio near the natural forests, where it always seems so isolated as everyone moves on with their daily routines and activities. In a town like this it's near impossible to keep a private life, because news and secrets spread like wildfire. It grooms itself with every action of interest, and I would know this from recent experience.

When my father disappeared, it was like everyone was butting in, and showing overly expressed actions of sympathy that we didn't need. I didn't appreciate it, but my tolerance level was the only thing I was proud of at the time, so I kept calm.

It was humiliating, and I felt almost ashamed, as if we were never treated the same. Through everything though, I would think that my mom would need some of that local support. She hasn't recovered for some time, hoping and waiting for him to return. He is yet to come back, but I don't expect him anytime soon after all this time. It's almost tragic that she hasn't let go, especially saying that I'm his daughter, and I'm mostly at peace with it only after a year—but maybe that only says something about me.

After dwelling on this thought, I walked out to the porch, as the sun rest halfway down the sky. The environment felt light like early spring, but no flowers had emerged from their buds yet, as the grass grew full, lush, and healthy.

I saw my mother sitting, now in her late thirties; she seemed worn and tired from the distresses of the past of her life here. She stared, patiently at the horizon that ended in the view of the other houses of the neighborhood.

The houses here have screen doors, and wooden decks, with an old and rustic fashion. It's a nice and still place here for settling for a quiet life, despite some of the people. But I would say that it's nice most of the time.

By now my mom and I are sitting next to each other on the old worn and splintered wooden bench. It quietly rested under a small screen window, with rugged curtains showing from the kitchen.

"Why don't you come inside Mom?" I asked her, as I gently rested my hand on her shoulder. I looked at her, but all I could see was the tired and sad look in her eyes, still looking at the worn dirt roads that intertwined between the houses.

She sat there, until I eventually went back inside to make dinner. Later she would usually come in when the smell of the ready food spread it's aroma out to the deck. I set out the two plates and pairs of silverware on the small kitchen table. The table stood steadily in between the carpet of the living room and the cold tile of the kitchen. I couldn't stop thinking about my birthday though. I'm turning fifteen soon, but I'm not exactly counting on it, as the day inches near.

I'd have to try and get a job, to help with groceries and to buy new clothes. I'm going to try and save up for something like emergency funds for a rainy day. It's something I've thought about for awhile now, but I'm sure it's necessary. We're constantly in need of a trip to the local grocery store, and we barely make it in time before we run out of food. It wouldn't hurt.