The blood curling scream jolted me awake, I threw the covers back and dashed out of the room. My mother was on the livingroom floor, her eyes bugged and bloodshot. The orange rubber band wrapped tightly on her left arm just above her elbow and a needle in the other. I kneeled down beside her, knocking the needle out of her hand and took the band off her arm. "Mama, Mama it's me" I muttered, slapping her face gently, "It's Quinton, Mama". She gasped, sitting up and coughing. I patted her back, standing up and went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. I brought the bottle back to her, opening it and holding it to her lips as she took a sip. I twisted the bottle cap tight, sitting it on the coffee table and helped her up as I stood.
It was the life I've grown accustomed to it, being 10 years old felt like a burden and running away got harder when we barely had places to stay.
At some point I thought she was trying her best but seeing and hearing all different kind of men coming in at night. I changed my mind about her efforts, she was too stoned and wasted to try anything. There wasn't room for me, she hated me but I loved her with my soul. She was the only family I knew, I didn't have nowhere else to go so even if she hated me, I'd find a way to be useful to her. I suppose I was missing a mother's love but I didn't know what that feeling was like to being with because my mother never loved me. I struggled to carry her to her bedroom, she mumbled and stumbled. Knocking me off balance, we both fell to the floor with a loud thud and she fell on to of me with dead weight. I squirmed under her, pushing her off of me and kneeled beside her, "Mama please get up so I can put you to bed". She continued to mumble to herself, I placed my arms under her arms and tried to pull her up. "O-One day...we'll have a big house" She muttered, laughing slightly. Her words didn't phase me, she didn't mean it anyway and I knew it. I dragged her into her room, pushing her onto the bed and taking her shoes off. I didn't allow her to fool me, she'd have me thinking she cared about me and believe she loves me.
She didn't, I could see it in her eyes even when she mumbled her intoxicated words and see she didn't mean it.
Whenever she saw me, she saw the man that hurt her and destroyed her life. No one could love someone like that, I was a constant painful reminder of that man and I watched her wither away in my hands. It was out of my control, I wasn't sure what I could do for her and I didn't think I could do anything. I pulled the covers over her, she grabbed my hand and pulled me to stay by her side. "Quinton, don't look at me like that" Mumbled Mother, half lidded eyes, "So impudent". I scoffed, snatching my hand from her's and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. I couldn't respect her, I wasn't even sure how I was suppose to respect anything that she did or said. "Goodnight" I uttered, walking into my room. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring out the window at the velvet night sky and sighed. I wanted to fly, wish I could jump off the roof and flap my arms to meet with the sky. But whenever they opened I was still in the same place, sitting in my room on the edge of my bed and the sky would be a violet-orange. Morning had come, I laid back in my bed and curled in a ball. The tears fell on their own, I didn't have a choice and I couldn't stop it. I just let the tears go much like they always have when I come to the realization that I was just dreaming. I stared up at the ceiling with tears still falling from my eyes, the sticker glow-in the dark stars glowed in the darkness of my room and it was almost like I could see through the roof.
I laughed, drying my tears with my shirt and sniffled. Yes, the night is my only friend.
YOU ARE READING
Dreamland Dimensions
AcakQuinton J. Watson use to be a dreamer before his grandmother passed away and he was left in the custody of his estranged mother. He's always had an infatuation with the night sky, using it to escape the nightmare he felt his life was becoming. As he...
