Seeking Smiles//Slow Updates

two

Home.

My eyes are closed. The light dances on my eyelids in different patterns. When you stare at the sun for too long and close your eyes, dots of green and purple run on fields of yellow and orange. Sometimes even red. It's just interesting. I probably shouldn't look into the lights.

After sneaking back into my room I left my window open. I leave my window open everyday anyways. No matter if it's the dead of winter when snow lines my window sill in crystallized flakes or if it's the middle of July where the sun beats down and the humid air finds its way into every gap in space that might be cool. It's sort of an escape or a comfort thing. If I ever need to get out, I can. All I have to do is slip through the window. I hate to sneak out, however. Leaving my brother and sisters is kind of an evil thing to do.

I'm kind of glad that I'm back just laying in my bed. I'm not glad that my bed is sitting in this particular house with this specific family, but at least I'm alive. I never thought I would think that. At least I'm alive. I'm not sure if I believe that statement quite yet.

I didn't always have this poor excuse for a bed. My bed used to be nice, with a big brown comforter covered in pine trees and birds. It had a wooden frame and was positioned in the center of my room. I used to have painted paw prints of bears and foxes and racoons on my walls. It was to look as if animals had climbed the walls painted green to match my bed covers. I used to have dark colored dressers and nightstands with handles carved with patterns of suns and moons. In the evening, my room would glow a soft yellow with the lanterns positioned on various places around my room. The constant breeze blowing through my room would keep me cool while I played with cars on the soft rug in the middle of my room. I used to pretend I was racing in those cars while I flung them in circles. The way my small body sunk into the mattress as I leaned back against my mother as she read me books about pancakes and llamas and mothers. She'd touch my nose with a delicate finger always covered in a bright green polish I'd giggle with joy. My eyes crossed and I'd stare at her finger when it came close and pretended I was going to bite it with a huge grin plastered on my face.

I wish it was still more than just a memory.

I hear the slight creaking of my door opening and the release of the doorknob popping back up. My eyes flash open as a hard something lands on my stomach.

"Oof!" I cry out with pain and unexpected surprise.

"Logan, it's just me," The thing moves around on my chest, little hands positioned on my shoulders. "Just Maggie." My sister giggles and something bony lands in the center of my stomach. Most likely a knee.

I look up at her, trying to find her eyes behind the scraggly brown hair that hangs over her face.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask her. "It's too early."

Maggie laughs, her gapped baby teeth showing. Her hair is thrown back for a second. "It's nine thirty, Logan! Donut day!"

Oh, nine thirty. Guess I never really looked at the exact location of the sun.

"Okay. I guess I forgot." I try not to lean away from her obvious touch. Just for her I try tugging on the corners of my mouth, like puppets on string, trying to give her a small smile. If it's forced, she won't tell the difference. "Alright, how about you get off my stomach so I can get up? Then we'll go eat those donuts."

"Okay!" Maggie jumps off of me causing me to wince again. She's not the smallest kid. "I call sprinkles!" She runs out of my room, leaving my door open, heading to the kitchen.

I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes. I don't know who brings the donuts, but every second Sunday of the month for almost a year and a half, a box of a dozen donuts gets dropped off at our doorstep. A slip of paper is always tucked neatly inside the box written on with loopy lettering, Mrs. O. I've never seen this Mrs. O and neither has any of my siblings, but if I ever saw her, I'd have to thank her for the occasional breakfast and joy she brings to Maggie.