The Beginning of Nothing

After the Bus

Owen:

3 more seconds. The bus ignorantly swept around the corner, unaware of the troubles that lay ahead. 2 more. Just wait 2 more seconds. The vehicle lazily slowed down, shuddering as it halted - it's wheels, screeching. 1 more. Wait, Owen. Wait 1 more.

It stopped.

Go.

I propelled the bus doors open and ran out. Go, go, go!

Sprinting up the colossal slope in front of me, I gasped for air. I wasn't prepared. Oxygen abandoned my lungs quicker than I could take it in. I'm losing air. Blood drove through my arms as my only source of energy. I can't breathe. My legs tripped and slammed against the cement sidewalk, enraging a bolt of pain that sliced through my ankle. The venture doesn't get any easier, no matter how many times I do it.

Don't stop.

Jeers of disgust mocked my maladroit behavior behind me; urging me to speed up. Begging me to speed up.

Run.

I dumped my massive bookbag on the street and charged towards the death box. The house of horrors. Residence of rumors....

My home.

Run like your life depends on it!

My legs moaned - the extra strain attacking my long-dead ankle. Sweat oozed down my scalp and spread throughout my body.

No. Run, because her life depends on it.

I slammed the front door open. Mom was shaking in the corner, screaming her name. What is she doing here? She should be at work! When she finally realized my presence, she broke down and begged me to look for her.

Oh no.

Bolting up a fleet of stairs, I barged into her bedroom. My heart plunged into my stomach. She wasn't there.

I examined the obscure bedroom. Children sized clothing and towels were haphazardly laying around - almost as if she was looking for something.

Then it clicked.

The bathroom.

I raced down the barren hallway. A stinge of concern reeked all around. Anxiously, I attacked the plagued bathroom door.

Locked.

I rammed the opening. Chips of wood flew off with every crack. Bursts of pain unfurled throughout my shoulder as I repeated the bulky motion.

OPEN UP!

On the 9th shove, it budged.

And I saw her. Her pale complexion blended in with the backdrop of the bathroom, invisible to the eye. She was withering away near the toilet - gasps and sobs escaping her throat. Her eyes were red and puffy, swollen from the hidden tears that traced her skin. Crap. I looked around and immediately observed the open cabinets - and the padlock that was not far from it.

"What...did...you do?" I hissed, barging through the door, making sure mom couldn't hear. Don't tell me she... I snatched the padlock and held onto it for dear life as I repeated myself, "What. Did. You. Do. Rowan?"

She can't do this. Not anymore. Not again.

Her frail figure disobediently weighed into the shower door as I picked her up, keeping her eyes in level with mine. But of course, I could see nothing of her eyes; only her bulging eyelids. She started to whimper and shake, like an innocent baby squirrel left in the freezing snow. Only, she wasn't innocent. And we both knew that. "Please..." she pleaded. "Please...just let me...."