Family Business

[Some say that the pen is mightier than the sword. This is definitely a more peaceful way of revenge. :)]

He hated it when they yell at each other. The things they say to each other were so precisely crafted, they hurt like a slow knife, carving deep into the heart. Of course they would always call a truce few days later, but he often wonders how they can look each other in the eyes and accepts each other’s overused “I didn't mean it”. He knows that they meant it in some ways. He is certain that they know that they meant it too. Moreover the truces they've ever called were just rest spites during which they rearm themselves with even more cruel statements and the setting of moral traps for each other.

The fights are not easy for him to endure. When hostility commences, sooner or later, he would be dragged into it, assuming the position of a judge. He dreads the job, dreads to have to pick a side that is in the right. How can he? He loves his parents way too much to do anything to harm either one. Not to mention the fact that they both have very valid arguments that are, in their own ways, right.

He knew, of course, that if he is just brave enough to talk to his parents about it. Just by telling them how much their fighting upsets him, the ordeals would stop. He knew, also, that they both love him as much as he loves them. He knew that they would do whatever for him. Whatever that pleases him. He knew if nothing else, he can stop the arguments before they are passed the point of no return. Oh he knew, he is just not brave enough to take action, and he hates himself very much for it.

One night his worst nightmare came true. It was the war to end all wars. The most vicious one he has experienced by far from his parents. The volume of their voices stunned him. Not sure what to do, if anything at all, he locked himself in his room and crouched in a corner, and started shaking.

His mind was grasped by a sudden urge to run downstairs to stop them from going any further. It took a while, but he ultimately had picked himself up and dragged his body to the door. He cracked the door open, but slammed it shut almost as quickly as he had it opened. The sound of shattering glassware had hit him like a sledgehammer. He was knocked right back to the same corner where he was too slow to act.

“Coward!” he called himself as he plugs a pair of ear buds in. Feeling lost and not giving a fuck, he irrationally slides the volume bar all the way up.

His ears were pulsating with pain, but he could've cared less. A question drifted into his consciousness, he wonders if they are really oblivious to the fact that whatever they are doing hurts him. But he was too tired to think any longer. He soon fell asleep.

He woke up early next morning with a stream of blood running out of his ears. He laid there for awhile until he noticed the familiar sound of his mother making breakfast was missing. He repeated the phrase “hopefully it’s just my ears” as he dresses to check on his parents.

It was a cold February morning, quite beautiful too. A snowstorm came through just the night before, leaving the neighborhood a smooth white complexion. Outside the children awoke early building snowmen and making snow angels. Everything looked so serene and harmless, but if one was to look closer, he or she would've noticed the two freshly made tire tracks in place of the usually late waking Haldemans' van and a hint of red was splattered on the windows of the master bedroom. And perhaps one would've also noticed the emptiness of the house from which a faint but definitely audible scream came.

But the children were busy having fun and the adults even busier preparing for the long day ahead of them.

Autumn

A cold breeze had picked up, carrying away with it the last of the leaves from the almost bare branch.  In the corner a twister had spun into existence. Twisting all alone, like a dancer without the appreciation of its partner. And up in the sky the clouds hang lowly, shutting out the much loved golden rays originated from some 93 million miles away. For days it would linger, dampening everyone’s spirit and creates a depressing but fitting mood. And the tide is also turned against day on the eternal battle between it and night. Autumn came with force, even the strongest of the weeds are now bending under its wrath.

Out here in the suburb, the temperature would differ significantly from the forecasted one; colder, most of the time. The lively sidewalks once filled with screaming children and horrified squirrels are now cold and desolated. The once lush and soft lawn where the same children and their pets loved to play on is now stiff and colorless from the cold. Off to the side, the dried fallen leaves and its rotten versions are now making a disgusting but yet flowery smell. Autumn is a quiet season, even the anomaly Halloween causes this year was suppressed by its cold.

However autumn will soon come to past, replacing it will be winter. Soon the smell of wood smoke will perfume the neighborhood and permeates into everyone’s house, uncovering the defects in the claimed to be perfect insulation. Soon the first snow fall will come, covering everything in an innocent white. The imperfections we all possess will be hidden. And just for a while, we’ll all drop our cloaks and be our real selves. Naked and clean.

Soon, everything will change. Decisions made hundreds of miles away will arrive and my dreams will either come true, or stay as ridiculous wishes and left to be forgotten.

Soon, I will find out.

April Snow

April showers bring May flowers, but what about April snow?

I woke up this morning to an empty feeling. The house was quiet, cold, and the weekend sunlight that usually saturates my room wasn't there. The feeling made me shivered. I hurriedly put on my neon green jacket I got last year from a robotics team and stumbled out of my room and downstairs.

All the blinds in the house was shut and everything looked very still and peaceful. A strange feeling began to percolate within me, a feeling that hadn't bothered with me for a long time. Though the sudden emergence of a feeling so strange, yet so familiar had given me a mini heart attack. I gasped for air, but I welcomed it, for it had reminded me my first forbidden close encounter with a girl.

I sat down on a corner of the sofa, the same spot my mom noticed an imprint of my butt on, and savored the feeling. I sat there motionless with my eyes closed, and had let the feeling take me on a trip down my memory lane. All those careless, worry free and reckless days had all surfaced from deep underneath. Sometimes sad, sometimes happy and sometimes life changing. It all came back.

I felt relaxed, truly relaxed, like when I was sitting in that rusting chair in the back of the ferry. Not a muscles in my body twitched, not a nerve tensed, not a single thought troubled my mind. I wondered what had became of that chair, what had became of me. I opened my eyes and scanned the living room. The frog, the calender, the new speakers. And then I saw my guitar, covered by a layer of dust. I walked over and wiped the dust off with my sleeves and carried it back to where I was sitting.

A Fender Strat. It has a smooth blood red colored body with plain white tone knobs aligned in a diagonal fashion. Cheaply made, it was meant to be a starter guitar, but so badly made that the ends of the metal frets had once opened up a wound on my index finger. I strummed a few chords, not quite out of tune, but the feeling of metal strings cutting into my fingers had made me stop. I sighed, every time when I have the layer of callus on my fingers built up, I would lose it because Mr. School would come and devour all my free times.

I put my guitar down and prepared a hot cup of tea for myself. I opened up the blinds and noticed the strangest thing falling from the sky. Snow. Snow in April? The entire pass Winter was almost without snow, something we always have an abundant amount of when Winter comes around. But this year, no snow. No snow, no rain, the weather pattern was all but familiar (when I come to think of it now, maybe it's just a reflection on my life).

For a long while I just stood there, by the window, sipping my tea.