X-Marks: Stealing Shadows

At the Source

I dragged my hand against the broken wall and counted the cracks in the concrete. There wasn't a chip, hole or stain I hadn't seen before. But still, I counted and waited for something new. Anything new.

A towering figure walked from the corner. It was my mother. She walked into my bedroom, but I knew she wasn't looking for me. She never wanted to see me.

A pair of laughs came from the door of my room. I walked closer to the door and cupped my hand against the outside wall to peek through its hole.

"Did you submit the papers?" my mother asked.

"Of course," my father said, "I submitted them this morning and spoke with -"

"Well, when are they coming," my mother interrupted.

"They said to be ready at any time."

Their strange words burned more questions in me than my imagination had answers, so I moved my eye to a deeper crack in the wall.

From here I could see my mother was on my father's lap. They were embraced on the frameless bed of my empty room. My mother's lanky arms wrapped around my father's bearded neck. She swirled his auburn curls between her fingers.

"This is it," my mother said and caressed her swollen stomach, "We can finally leave. We can finally have our family, together."

"And just in time," my father said and put his hands on top of hers.

We were leaving? But where? When?

"I can't wait to get my hands on chocolate again," my mother said, with eyes so wide and hungry it made me want to try chocolate someday.

My mother unwrapped her grip from my father and stood from the bed.

"If they're not here by tonight, I'm going to go to the officials myself first thing tomorrow," she said with fist at her sides.

"If we made it this long," my father said and stood to kiss her on the forehead, "Certainly, we can make it a few more nights. Couldn't we?"

My mother leaned away from his affection, and without another word she treaded out the door towards me.

My heart quickened. Its rhythm raced through my ears, deafening me. I flattened myself against the wall as my father trailed behind my mother. Neither saw me below.

They never saw me.

I followed them to the kitchen as I knew I was expected to.

The old wooden table of the kitchen was piled with more food than I've ever seen in one place. Cobs of corn, a bowl of mash potatoes, and rolls of bread. There was even butter. It had been months since I had seen butter.

My mother stood above our bucket of drinking water and held a plate that spilled with food.

"What are you just standing there? Set the table," she said and rolled her eyes away from me.

I tucked my chin into my chest and walked towards the counter where we kept our only three plates. Even on the tips of my toes, it was hard to reach for the plates far above my head.

At the table, I lowered the plates next to the pile of stained forks and chipped cups. I placed a cup and fork around each plate then sat in one of the chairs, its wooden legs buckled under me.

My mother and father sat across from each other at the heads of the table. My eager stomach churned at the sight of so much food.

"Is it my birthday?" I asked.

My mother wiped her grease shined face with the sleeve of her dress.

"Of course not," she said, "We needed to use the rations before they went bad. Now stop asking such stupid questions and eat."

I took my cup for a sip of water and said nothing more.

My father raised his cup to his rounded cheeks.

"To family!" my father cheered and raised his cup higher.

My mother matched her cup to meet his at the center of the table. I stretched my cup across the table, but it could not reach. They had finished without me.

Though the table was full, it was the same meager rations we always had. The corn was so brown it had to be eaten around. The potatoes were filling, but bland and the rolls were like brittle rocks. Although the butter did help soften them a bit.

I ate until I felt sick. The thought of wasted food made me sicker. When a ground-shaking knock came from the door.