[12:34 PM]
[Saturday] [ april 27, 2023]
{|×××ו××××|}
I walked through the living room and stopped in front of the kitchen door after returning home from school
The comforting scent of chicken soup filled the living room, wafting in from the kitchen.
I twisted the doorknob and gently pushed the door open, its hinges letting out a faint creak.
The kitchen was warm and vibrant. A cool breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying a refreshing chill that rustled the flowers on the windowsill and the leaves of the tall, healthy tree in our backyard. The colorful plates stacked on the table.
Steam rose from the metal pot simmering on the stove, curling upward before fading into the air.
My mom stood by the stove, apron tied neatly over her torso, stirring the chicken soup with a relaxed rhythm. Her movements were light and unhurried, as though she didn't have a care in the world.
Her warm smile caught my attention.
Her cheeks, free of stress lines, looked smooth and youthful, defying her age.
Her lively brown eyes were soft and calm as she focused on cooking.. a simple task, yet one that felt so comforting to witness.
"Mom… what are you cooking?" I asked, my voice quiet and timid as I let go of the doorknob.
"Hm?" She glanced at me over her shoulder. "Chicken soup, Kal," she replied, turning back to the pot. "How was school?"
"School?..." I trailed off, lowering my gaze and rubbing the back of my neck with a sigh. I hesitated, reluctant to answer.
They still stay away from me, I thought to myself, keeping the words inside.
"Kal?" she asked again, her focus still on the pot as she stood on her toes to stir it thoroughly.
Snapping out of my thoughts, I looked up at her. "It's… fine. The other kids were nice to me today, Mom," I said casually, my tone light-hearted. Then, taking a step back, I added, "I'm gonna take a quick shower. I'll be back down soon to help you with…" I motioned toward the stacked plates on the table.
"Okay," she said simply, her voice calm.
I gently closed the door behind me.
Ring... Ring... Ring... Ring...
{|×××ו××××|}
[12:00 AM]
[Tuesday] [December 15, 2024]
[In kal's room]
{|×××ו××××|}
The alarm rings, signaling the start of another day.
I lie there, still, on my mattress. My eyelid flickers open, and my vision of the ceiling above me feels hazy at the edges.
I let out a soft sigh, dragging a hand down my face before sitting up and silencing the alarm.
I scan the dark room, my gaze lingering on the scattered papers and schoolwork cluttering the table. The endless WhatsApp notifications flash on my screen.
Her words. Her warm smile. The tranquility we once shared still lingers in my mind, like the cold fading steam on the window of my room.
"Why... now of all times?" I murmur to myself, questioning the dream.
I flinch when the dry, flaky skin on my right fingers brushes uncomfortably against the mattress sheets.
Twisting my wrist, I examine the cracked skin on my fingers.
My ring finger is parched, the skin feeling almost dust-like. My index and middle fingers are swollen, patches of skin completely missing. And my thumb and pinky... the skin tears when I curl them.
The realization hits me, slow and heavy.
I frowns "Oh hell nah..." I slap my forehead with my left palm.
I scramble up groggily, stumbling over the papers on the table, searching for my antihistamine chloramine tablets.
Under a math textbook, I find them neatly tucked inside their prescription plastic bag.
I tear open the bag, pop a tablet, and swallow it dry.
The effects aren't immediate, but they'll work in time.
I let out a sigh of relief, gripping my swollen index and middle fingers, trying to force the itch and pain away.
I walk toward the door, carefully opening it with the thumb and index fingers of my feet.
The door creaks loudly, breaking the silence of the night.
I descend the stairs, each step slow and deliberate, until I finally reach the living room.
The house was dark. Melancholic. Cold. The low hum of the air conditioner drifted through the living room, filling the silence.
My mother and siblings lay asleep on a mattress spread across the floor, their breathing steady, undisturbed.
Outside, the fluorescent lamp above the front yard cast a dim glow through the sliding doors, stretching pale streaks of light across the room.
I looked down at my mother. She snored softly. The sound was oddly peaceful, a stark contrast to her troubled face from yesterday.
The image of her warm smile flickered in my mind. My brows softened—something meek, something sorrowful—as I slowly knelt beside her.
I let go of my index and middle fingers, resting them by my thighs despite the itch creeping through my skin. My hands trembled as I pulled the blue blanket higher over her shoulder. A small thing. Maybe meaningless.
"You gave birth to a fucking killing machine."
The words I spat at her yesterday echoed through my skull. The guilt I'd buried over the years clawed its way back up.
My breath came out ragged, cold. My throat was dry. My lips, cracked. I lowered my head, inhaling deeply. Exhaling.
"I… I shouldn't have said that." The words came out weak. Pathetic. My cold fingers reached for hers, pressing against her warmth.
The air conditioner hummed on. Louder than me.
I looked at her again. Still asleep. Still unaware.
"I do love you, Mom. But I don't care."
Another vile thing I told her. Another weight on my chest.
A quiet, reluctant laugh left me. I shook my head, my gaze drifting to our clasped hands.
"I love you, Mom. And I do care." My eyes flicked toward my siblings. "And I love y'all too."
Sorry for being too hard on myself.
And with that I pushed myself up, walked into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl from the dish rack, and filled it with cold water streaming from the Cuckoo machine.
....