kitsune
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Joined 6 years ago
kitsune
Posted thirty-three pieces
Thinks of IF1
Follows
Silence. Always the silence, at night. Sometimes I put on music, something to distract me, anything to fill the night with something besides the emptiness. Darkness was natural. Even cold was natural. But this, this was not, this loneliness was not a natural thing, and I hated it. Loathed it. Just wished it would go away, and leave me be. But it never did, ever…I suppose it could be called insomnia. That seemed likely. But saying that to myself felt weird, like there was something wrong with me, something I could not fix. But it crept into my head if I thought, always there.
I tried not to think much at night.
I covered the window. The moonlight creeping in to splay itself across my floor was a beautiful thing, and it was wrong. Lots of things are beautiful to me. Ice is beautiful. Roses are beautiful. Smiles are beautiful. Love is beautiful. There was no beauty in my world, not at night, when I was alone to think of all the ugly things that distracted me during the day. Like the way my mother smiled; there was no beauty in this. It was fake, and I knew it, and she knew that I knew it. But pretended I didn’t. She seemed pathetic to me, as did my father. Slaves to something they could control, that evil substance that tainted our lives, and yet, they did nothing. I often didn’t eat, so that they could have it.
“It’s the only thing we do. That’s not so bad. It could be worse. We need this. Why are you so selfish?”
It always ended in guilt, always on my end. They never felt guilty. Why should they? It was just…one…thing. One thing that often left me without, but they didn’t care, so why should I? It was life. It was how things had always been. I knew it was wrong, or at the very least, wasn’t right, but what could I do? It was how things had always been. How could I expect them to change now?
I didn’t care anymore. There wasn’t much to care about. Brother was always with his friends, real friends. My friends were no friends of mine. What did they care was happening? I had invited more than one of them over. I hadn’t had to say anything. Any period of time spent in my house easily revealed all there was to tell. But they didn’t do anything. My parents didn’t care. My friends didn’t care. There was no point for me to care either.
My stomach growled. Again. And then, the movement downstairs, the little scufflings, the soft squeak that meant my wandering sibling had found his way home. Not for long, I knew, never for long, but long enough. I listened to them, two of them, down there, below me, and stared at the darkness of the unreachable, unfathomably close-far ceiling. Maybe I would sleep now. Maybe now, knowing that someone was home—I heard the fridge door open.
Nope. No reason to look in there. Sorry, Brother. There’s nothing to find.
Was that outrage in his voice? The words were indistinct, unclear. The other obviously was not happy as well, but I could barely even discern his voice, so quiet…Why would they be upset? It had always been this way. Always.
Footsteps up the stairs. Be quiet, quiet. Don’t wake Mother. Don’t wake Father. Are they even home? I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
Closer. Perhaps to see Mother. She did so miss Brother.
Maybe to see Father, who would never admit to missing anyone.
And then the knob turned, and I realized.
To see me.
My eyes shot closed as the door opened and as the light clicked on, I must have looked truly asleep. Uncertainty in the movement. He did not wish to wake me. I was silent. I loved my Brother, but the other was a stranger, one I was sure I would recognize, but a stranger all the same. I don’t like strangers.
And then my stomach growled. The uncertainty turned to anger as I casually shifted in my ‘sleep,’ trying to convince it to quiet, at least until they left. But it was too late, and the damage was done.
“Wake up.” Growled, but gentle. He cared for me, despite his anger at them. But wasn’t it my fault too? Couldn’t I have told them no, that I wanted to eat? But I had remained silent, as I always did. Didn’t that place me at fault as well?
He didn’t think so. I could tell in the gentle way he tried to wake me. But I would not. Not this time. The stranger did not try. Did not come close to me. But he was watching me, I knew. I could feel it, feel his eyes on me. He knew I was awake. And yet he said nothing. I wonder why. But his eyes remained on me as I ‘slept’ on, despite my Brother’s soft pleas. When Brother ceased and left the room, I could still feel his eyes. I blushed, and he hesitated, and then followed. The light went out. The door closed.
I waited, listened. The door downstairs opened, closed. A vehicle started, and faded into the distance.
Alone. Again. Perhaps I was at fault. I could have opened my eyes for him. I could have said, yes, yes, hello, I missed you, please don’t leave, I’m so alone, I’m hungry, I’m helpless. My stomach growled an affirmative.
But I had not.
My eyes closed. I wasn’t asleep. I wasn’t awake. I existed, and even that seemed too much. I let the thoughts recede, because I didn’t want to think now. The warmth faded from my cheeks.