Am I Evil?

Mother's Lesson

     Mason and his mother made their way out of Bakersfield High. Her old, beat up Blue Ford Taurus sat running in the fire lane right outside the main entrance to the building. Mason kept his head down and did not dare put in his earbuds; his mother hated them because Mason "wouldn't be listening to her." Ms. Anderson stormed around the front of her car. She stopped and huffed before opening the driver's side door. The passenger's side door did not open at all so Mason climbed through the open window and tossed his backpack in the back seats, which were covered in bottles and cans. Mason quickly sat in his seat and buckled his seatbelt. It was going to be a bumpy ride...in more ways than one. He sighed heavily and rested his arm against the door, waiting for his mother to grab enough beers out of the cooler in the back seat, which he hadn't noticed, for the ride home. Something was definitely on her mind, but Mason did not dare say a word. Mason sat quietly as the sound of ice sloshing and rattling cans echoed in the torn-up car. His mother hopped in the car sloppily, make the car rock violently as she tested the suspension. Mason's limp body rocked along with the car as his mother settled in and cracked a can of beer, setting it inside a styrofoam cup from a gas station near their house. She stuck the straw into the opening of the can and secured the lid. The deception was complete. She took a big sip and exhaled deeply as she set the cup in the center console. Mason did not move a muscle nor make any sound. He was paralyzed in fear and continued to wait in suspense for what was coming. From the way his mother looked, he knew it was not going to be good, but he had no clue of how bad it was about to get.
     The car made a hideous screeching sound as Mason's mother put it into drive and began to slowly roll forward. She stepped on the gas pedal and the car screamed as it lurched forward. Mason cringed as the car screamed louder. They were on their way home. Mason felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as his mother's drunken driving worsened his helpless feeling of eminent doom deep inside him. Although they were his feelings, he truly was helpless. He made his decisions and he is facing the consequences. He had no control anymore. All he could do was hold on to the door frame and brace himself while his mother drove him straight to hell.
Not a word was spoken during the car ride. His mother grumbled and moaned as she swerved side to side. It's surprising and unfortunate that she did not get pulled over. The cops might have been able to save Mason, but they didn't. No one did. No one cared enough to help Mason. The school, his mother, and everyone else he's ever come into contact with never cared enough and always turned their backs to him when he needed them. It never seemed like he wanted their help, but that was his most desperate cry for help. He could not help the way he was. He was a product of a poor environment and a traumatic series of events. None of it was his fault, but he was always treated and punished like it was. Today was not going to be any different. The vicious cycle was going to continue. Nothing was going to change, not now and not ever. The final nail in Mason's coffin was the sound of the brakes squealing.
     The old Ford struggled to stay together as it plowed into the Anderson's gravel driveway. The gravel crunched beneath the ground down tires. The car made a sudden screech and stop. Mason and his mother jolted forward as she promptly put the car in park and pulled the rusted keys from the ignition. Mason unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for his bag. There were about a half dozen more cans back there than before. Mason rolled his eyes slightly and shook his head a little before grabbing his backpack and setting it in his lap. His mom slowly got out of the car. The car shook and rose a couple inches as her heavy body almost fell out. Mason chuckled to himself as he cranked the window down and tossed his backpack in the driveway. He still had a tiny glimmer of hope, but for the events AFTER his consequences.
     Mason slowly climbed out of the car and fell on the driveway. He nonchalantly got up, grabbed his backpack and made his way to the house. Within his first couple steps towards the Anderson house, the aura around the sour house instantly dampened the mood.
The house was always in poor condition, they bought it that way. The house only deteriorated. The house's frame was old and rickety, the curtains, blinds, and even some windows were non-existent, the whole complex reeked of stale beer and shame, they never had food in the house, there was trash everywhere, and his mother never threw anything out and he did not know why. Mason heard a low growl from in front of him and snapped out of his daydream. It could only be one monster. "Hurry the hell up and get your stupid ass inside. Don't even bother going to your room. We need to chat." Mason sighed as his mother's hissing subsided. His mother stumbled into the house and went out of sight for a few seconds. Mason took this time to take a deep breath and prepare for what was to come...too bad it was all in vein. With backpack in hand, he crept up the rest of the driveway towards the front door. He approached the front door and slowly grabbed the rusted handle. He felt the rough metal against his clammy palm as he slowly turned it. He had a chance. A chance to go away forever. He could run, hide, live, and be free. He could turn away right now and never see that demon again. Where would he go? What would he do? He did not know. He did not care. He wanted it. Mason bit his lip and turned away from their door, doorknob still in hand. He blinked slowly, holding his eyes shut for a second or two before sighing heavily. "It will all be over soon. It can't get much worse than this" Mason said to himself. He slowly twisted the door knob and passed through the gate to hell. "Here we go." The door shut behind Mason. There was no turning back.
Mason was inside the belly of the beast. This is where all memories, good or bad, thrived. There was no escaping anything once one was trapped in between these old, worn walls. Paint chips, trash, unread newspapers, empty beer bottles and cans, and the past laid about the Anderson's home. It was barely a home. The dark streaks along the walls and floors of the home reminded them of how poor and dirty they were. None of it could be helped. The Anderson's became accustomed to these living conditions and rarely batted an eye to their situation. They stopped caring about six years ago, when they were doomed with the fate they now suffer through. Mason sighed heavily as he quietly meandered down the dark hallway inside the dreary walls of the past. The hallway seemed to go on forever. He was approaching his doom and he just wanted it to be over, but he was being tormented and tortured. The past was never far; it lived and breathed in this godforsaken house, like the monster under your bed; you knew it was there, but you could only imagine what it looked like and what it would do to you when you felt your safest.
To stay sane, Mason slowly crept an earbud in his ear, playing "In The End" by Likin Park, as he continued down the endless hallway. He heard his mother slamming around in the living room. She was pissed and Mason was about to feel the unbridled rage of his drunken mother. He knew this was coming, but he had no idea how to handle it this time. Like a bull waiting for it's matador, Mason's mother paced back and forth, grunting and foaming at the mouth with her head bowed down as her eyes stared dead ahead. She looked like an animal driven mad by rabies. Mason's jaw dropped and earbud fell out as he soaked up the gruesome image of his stalking mother before him. Mason was frozen in place as his mothered stared him down like a hungry lioness hunting for her cubs. She let out a blood curdling scream and launched her rather large body at Mason's. Mason stood in place and let it happen. He was scared out of his mind, but he was helpless. He stood there and waited for his mother's body to make contact with his. He was ready to face the oncoming attack, or so he thought.
His mother's body knocked into him and laid him flat on the ground. She raised her right fist in the air, holding him down with her left and looked in Mason's eyes, ready to pummel and destroy the enemy before her. The first punch landed square on Mason's fairly broad nose. He heard a crunch of the bone and screams from his furious mother as his nose turned sideways. When his mother pulled back the fist to hit him again, his nose stayed sideways. He slowly felt his nose dripping what he could only assume was blood. He did not move a muscle. He stayed perfectly still and let the evil take place. One punch after another, Mason was hit harder and harder. His nose, now pouring blood, was the least of his problems. He struggled to see as his mother repeatedly punched his eyes, making them swell up, turn purple, and shut. Mason could see no more, from here on out, he felt. A punch landed in his ribs. He heard and felt a crack. It hurt almost as much as his face. It was not an actual pain, more like a discomfort; a sense that his body was not in the shape it was supposed to be. His body slowly began to ache as more blows were taken to his abdomen. Everything ached and swelled. Suddenly, his body shifted. He was no longer pinned on the floor, he was still pinned, but he felt a hand around his neck and heard his mother scream loudly. "IS THIS HOW I TAUGHT YOU, MASON? BEING A SNARKY, SARCASTIC ASSHOLE IS NOT HOW I RAISED YOU. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? IM DOING ALL I CAN AND YOU ARE FAILING ME!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. Mason winced as her voice shattered his eardrums; even her voice was deadly when she was angry. He swore he could smell her alcoholic breath, but that was impossible because his nose was completely imploded into his skull. Mason struggled, gasped, and choked as his mother tightened her grip. Mason realized that his mouth was puffed up like a marshmallow, he could not close his lips together; they were busted, torn open, and bleeding heavily. He coughed heavily as his mother continued to scream. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD THIS IS? NO, YOU DON'T! EVERY DAY FOR THE PAST 6 YEARS HAS BEEN A LIVING HELL. I COULDN'T HELP OR SAVE YOU. WHY DID YOU LEAVE US, HAROLD?!" His mother cried out. His mother let out a loud gasp as her eyes widened and mouth gaped open. She released Mason instantly, dropping his broken, beaten, and battered body to the floor. Mason heard faint crying and rapidly fading footsteps as she ran away. He heard the pain in her screams. She was angry. She was STILL angry.
     Mason laid damn-near lifeless on the ground, coughing and wheezing as he heard a door slam shut. She was upstairs in her room. He survived. Mason was in as much shock as she was. He stayed on the floor; he could not move at all. His mother's words stuck in him like a knife... and it hurt worse than the brutal attack he just endured. Without the music to keep them away, the memories and past came back and hit him like a freight train. Mason was finally weakened enough. His repressed memories emerged with a vengeance. Out of pure exhaustion and mental strain, Mason blacked out.