Kings Of Calamity

526 A.T Childhood

I watched her cradle herself on the couch.

She had a blanket covering her entire body; the shades closed so that no light came in. She made sounds that could make your heart break, the pain causing her to weep and moan. We were scared to get close to her, her mind unpredictable as her seizures.

Silas held me tightly, watching from the safety of our bedroom.

"Bubby I'm hungry." I cried, clinging on to his shirt.

We've locked ourselves in the bedroom for several days, never leaving unless to go to the bathroom. When the time came we traveled together, afraid to go out alone. The electricity had been turned off months ago, the water soon to follow. Silas had stopped going to school for several months in order to watch over me while our mother ailed. At the current age of twelve he took care of us, learned how to use money, how to get around and buy medicine, how to shop for groceries.

He made up lies to get by. He did his best to keep us healthy, and to keep us from getting caught. He told no one that my mother was sick, repeating that the doctors were bad men not to be trusted.

We had no one to call.

No one to go to.

My father had gone to aid in another country that was falling due to starvation and illness.

He never came back.

We didn't know why.

Silas knew we didn't have much time left.

Things would only get worse.

And worse...

"Shush Kiyo." He whispered, placing his hand on my head.

"Will she feed us?" I asked, tears falling from my eyes.

"I'll feed you. But we can't go near her. Let me go to the kitchen, alright?" He assured me, letting go of my fragile hand. We've both lost weight since the time my mother became immobile. His ribs lightly showed through his chest, his cheeks sinking in. It was only a matter of time until someone noticed he was underweight and draw attention.
I was no different, though I was slightly more full every night than he was. He made no hesitation to offer me more food, but as many times as he did, I attempted at least twice to turn it down.

"You're my baby brother," He'd say, "It's my responsibility to make sure you dont starve."

He'd take the down road for me, making sure I was provided for first. Every night when we'd bury ourselves together underneath our bed, I'd hear his stomach rumble and beg for food. At thar moment I wpuld sometimes cry, wishing I was old enough to help supply for our dwindling home.

But I wasn't.

I was a weak five year old boy then with nothing to give.

He stepped out into the hallway, and treaded past the door to the kitchen. The sound of our mother's wailing echoing throughout the apartment. Fear shivered down my spine each time I heard her.

She was hardly a person anymore.

I wish I could say otherwise.

But she was slowly leaving us. Only time working on our side.

Silas wouldn't let me see her face.

He wouldn't let me speak to her.

Hug her.

Feed her.

Everytime he did, he'd come back with tears in his eyes and bruises and scratches on his face, back, and arms. He said it was nothing, making up some sorry exscuse to keep me from crying with him.

It was his job to be the brave one.

But I knew where they were from, and that they hurt.

She didn't mean to.

She didn't know what she was doing.

"Silas." I whispered after him. He didn't look back, each journey like a possibility he may never return. Soon he was in the fridge, trying to find something, anything for us to eat.

I watched him carefully as he grabbed a pack of hot dogs from the fridge, the last piece of stale bread, and a bag of carrots.
My mind rushed with anxiety as he placed the items on the table, careful as to not catch the attention of our mother. He began rationing it, taking one hot dog and slicing it in half for the both of us. He made sure that my piece was bigger, as he always did. It made me feel upset when he did, but I didn't want to make him worry by arguing with him.

He began climbing the counter, quickly trying to grab a plate for the food.

Suddenly, the crashing of glass filled the apartment...

It echoed through the walls, peeling our skins like death had found us.

My mother screamed in agony..

And she screamed..

And screamed..