The Color Ward

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She yelled at him frequently; usually it was because he either made silly mistakes like leaving his dishes in an empty sink, placing his clothing where it shouldn't be, or saying something she considered dense. In her mind, she raised him this way because she wanted the best for him, wanted him to be better prepared for his future; but in reality it was done this way to keep their name. An elegant wife and mother, a successful husband and father, and over the bar children; all necessary qualities of a "normal family." It's what she wanted and no matter the struggle, it's what she would get. This was challenged though when her husband left. Having no availability to create stability financially they began to fall through the cracks. As months when on the view from the neighbors showed not a picket white fence with a fresh coat of paint, but a crumbling residence gasping for air. It got so bad soon money was the only thing that she could think about. How to obtain it, spend it, and reproduce it once it was gone. Over the years, the effects of such stress began to take a toll on her physically and mentally. Holland, her only son, thus stepped up to the plate in his parents absence. On his sixteenth birthday, he got a job and began to create majority of their solid income. This made things easier between them, stopped the yelling too, but that was mostly because she lacked the energy after a while. She walked around their old town house stinking of wine, and god knows what. Holland left the house any chance he could get. When she asked where he had been, he would lie and say work. But the money he brought in never showed it. Once at dinner, he sat at the table picking at his dry bread and overcooked vegetables. There was no meat or anything, and the food she had cooked was, to say the least, tasteless. Holland looked up from his plate and pressed his eyes into his mother.. For a moment she seemed absent from her body, her form slumped over, her lip quivering. After a moment, she felt the intensity of his gaze and looked forward. For a full minute it felt as if they were omitting emotions with their eyes that spoke louder than their words would ever do. Holland was angry, and disgusted at what his mother had become. To others she maintained a fake representation of herself and her sanity and ignored what he had contributed for the past half a year in the house. Keeping them above water was all he thought about. It torn at him and strained what little adolescence he had left. She had no right to be so angry towards him when it was all in all her fault. His thoughts ran on for a moment until she cleared her throat and pulled his attention back to her. He realized he had broken sight first, he lost.

Suddenly Holland's phone rang. He looked at the screen and saw it was Vic. A smile instantly arose on his face, as out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother lean over the table in curiosity.

"Who is that?" She asked.

"Nobody, Just a friend." He said.

"You don't have any friends."

"Sure I do, everybody has at least one friend."

"Well, tell this one friend of yours not to contact you during dinner time."

"Oh come on, just let me finish this-

A sharp sound erupted from a crack in the air. Holland leaned back in his chair as the heat pushed to his cheeks and pain swelled on his left side. For moment he sat in awe, but then recollected himself and turned his head back to his mother. Holland stood and pressed all his weight to his left side. He touched his cheek and felt a hot sensation burning his finger tips. They stood in silence for a moment until Holland swung around, letting his body fade from the light of the kitchen and disappear outside the house.

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He waited for Elise on the property of a shell gas station. After a short while she appeared on the main road driving her red truck. She pulled into the station and in a matter of seconds was next to Holland.