Hello my lovely cat people!
I do apologise yet again for lack of posts, really wasn’t in the mood for it.
It came to my attention that 1 year ago I started this blog… Wow! There are already 88 of you! I couldn’t be happier, honestly! Let’s just hope our little audience will keep growing into something bigger and better and that I will actually have an uploading schedule for you guys! Won’t that be a surprise 😉
Anyway, here’s post #1 of the day, and this is a short story that I was going to put in for a competition at my school, but at the time I had a different idea and decided not to enter at all… And frankly, wasn’t planning on posting this today, but because this is such a special occasion for me in the blogging community, decided to do it. 🙂
But, I do hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think!
I love you all~! ❤
It was dark…
I don’t remember much, but the one thing that kept me going was the warmth, the warmth that I felt whilst I was inside was… nice. It wasn’t just any warmth though; it was the warmth you feel when you’re close to someone.
I don’t remember much, but the warmth that I felt was that of my mother. Her soothing voice that she had every morning when she would wake up and walked to, what I assumed, was the bathroom.
I don’t remember much, but there was the sound of water constantly running – little droplets would be running down her body and being slowly sucked into the shower drain, making an insignificant whirlpool; a little too insignificant for anyone else to notice. How do I know this, you ask? All in good time.
I don’t remember much, but I do remember the way my mother ate when she kept me warm. She ate so many salads, yoghurts, and just anything healthy in general. She really cared about her diet when she looked after me. She read every single book about how to stay healthy, she really wanted me to have a good life. I remember how I could taste what she ate… It was a really strange feeling, almost a sensation. It was a little too insignificant for anyone else to notice… But not me.
I don’t remember much, but I do remember the way that my mother used to shout at someone. Angrily, she would shout across the room to a stranger; he seemed so familiar and close to me but I was too young to remember. Every time my mother would raise her voice at this man, it was as if I could feel her physically tearing her hair out, wishing for it all to go away and forget about it. She wanted to hide in the darkness and seal herself away from the world, like me. She wanted nothing whatever to do with this man; at that age, I was too young to understand why. Frankly, I didn’t care. I just wanted my mother safe…
I don’t remember much, but I do remember the long walks my mother used to take me out on. I remember the birds tweeting outside. Whenever we were outside, it would always be sunny, because I would feel even more warmth on me, not just my mother’s.
I don’t remember much, but I do remember the way my mother cried at night. It was as if something big had been torn out of her. I feel like that is how she would cry if I was torn away from her. For some reason, I kept thinking that she was crying about that stranger. But then I thought to myself, “Why would mummy be crying about someone who has caused her so much pain?” I assumed this, you see, from the way she was shouting at him. I think that is how other people show hate towards someone. Mother says that hate is a strong word to use, but I think she’s just making excuses, just so that she can stop feeling. Sometimes, I feel like she wants to be enveloped in the darkness, so that it surrounds her completely and seals her off from the rest of the world; so that she can then be sent away with the help of someone or something, just like a real letter. Everyday, I felt like she was writing a letter to her friend who was so far away from her, that she would never be able to reach him. In some ways, I thought it was good, because it’s not always healthy to be wrapped in darkness. (I should know, since my mother kept reading the advice on how to stay healthy out loud) But at other times, I think it makes my mother really sad… Sad that she can never touch the darkness and make it all go away. She told me that “life” can be really tough. But I didn’t really understand what she meant by “life”. It was as if she heard me, because right after that she added, “You’ll understand soon, Henry…”
Henry? What is that? She has never called me like that before, so I thought that mother was talking about that stranger that she yelled at in the morning and cried about at night when no one could see her tears or hear her screams. No one, except for me…
I don’t remember much, but I do remember how one night, mother woke up and started screaming. I was listening out for the stranger, but he wasn’t around, mother wasn’t screaming at anyone but herself. I thought it was strange how she did that. So I thought that maybe she’s really upset about her friend not writing to her, not sending her letters. I thought that was the reason for her sadness. But then, suddenly, I felt this push, as if something wanted me to come out of the darkness. I refused! I didn’t want to leave the warmth! I wanted to be able to listen to the sounds and assume things! I wanted my mother to talk to me all day and cry to me at night, I wanted to be able to listen to her problems… But I realized that if I were to be pulled away, I would never be able to do that. I thought that my mother would be sad for me to be pulled away, which is why she was crying and screaming. So I fought, I fought to stay close to her, to stay in the darkness…
I don’t remember much, but I do remember a lot of bright lights… I remember opening my eyes for the first time and seeing a lot of people who were looking down at me. They looked happy – they were laughing a lot. But I really wasn’t that sure… I felt sad that the first “face” I saw wasn’t my mother’s – I wanted to be able to see the woman who had taken so much time and put in so much effort into caring for me. That made me sad, so I started crying, crying and screaming and kicking. The people who were staring at me looked happy again and thought it was a good sign. How can they look happy when I am clearly in a state of agony? Do they take pleasure in watching me suffer?
I don’t remember much, but I do remember being carried over to what seemed like a place that my mother was crying on at night. Then, I saw her… Her beautiful dark strands of… something, and her eyes… So green… Almost like the trees that mother told me about. Her nose and mouth were so finely shaped, almost like she was made perfect just for me. As soon as those people put me down into her arms, I relaxed and looked up at the woman who has given “life” to me. Henry, she cried.
She said I would understand… I think I finally did.
This is a whole new world… A world without darkness, only filled with light and happiness. At least, that is what I thought during my young years. There is always darkness, inside every one of us, lurking in the deepest corners of our minds… But it is our choice to either write to them as a friend, or shout at them like at a stranger.
Personally? I choose the last option.