Simply and Utterly Yours

Chapter 2: The Cat that Caught the Canary

Chapter 2: The Cat That Caught The Canary

The thought of dying was a moot thought and one I always pictured to be kind of annoying and unnecessary. Why think about something that isn't going to really further you along in life? I always was the kid who sat in the front of the class, answered all the questions, and just tried to get through life. Why, thinking about dying was like thinking about breathing. It was going to happen anyways so why should I think about it. Being human makes me want to be something else. For some people it was immortality. But for me it was about wanting to feel alive.

I opened the door and slipped off my shoes.

I looked around the room. Purple. Lots and lots of purple. Purple flowing silk and purple washrags, wrung from stained dishes. Heavy drapes masked the dirty living room and kitchen. Once, beautiful, blankets thrown askew on the couch and chair. All in different shades of purple. The living room carpet had stains and the room was dark, hiding the ugly walls. The TV emitted dull static noises and a blank shape was lying on the couch. Smoke hung heavily in the air. I coughed.

“Oh, stop being such a big baby. It's just a little smoke,” a voice bellowed from the couch. A puff of white, with tiny wisps of black drifted toward the ceiling. I start to walk toward my bedroom.

“Hey,” I uttered as I threw my backpack on my bed and walked back out to the kitchen.

“How was school?” The raspy voice rings.

“Fine,” I answered, simply before I opened the fridge, closed it, and opened the cupboards.

A sigh came from the couch. “You know your teacher called me today.”

I made an affirmative sound before picking the, most likely, stale chips from the back of the cupboard. I was starving. Already snacking, I looked to see if there was anything to drink in the fridge. I opened it up and saw...nothing. Shocker, I should have known. I glanced toward the couch in the living room, where my mother was laying, taking a long puff from her cigarette. I wiggled my nose and carried the stale chips up to my room.

“Hey, sit down, we need to talk,” My mother's raspy voice drifted through my mind. I stopped and turned around. “Sit,” she commanded. I slowly exhaled, wondering if I could somehow escape without her pale blue, almost white, following me down the hall. They were burning into my head, watching me. I walked to the single chair, ratted and tearing at the edges, and sat.

“How's school?” I looked toward her. She lay on her side, curled up but yet not, as if she's given up trying to protect herself. She took a puff from her cigarette.

“Fine,” I replied simply, trying to sound complacent. I didn't want to tell her about the shoves and shouts. I didn't want to tell her about the way people looked at me. I didn't want to open my mouth and have to tell her.

“Didn't sound fine. What's up?” Her voice was a little bit wispy, but she still managed to convey some type of caring. I looked down. I felt like the room was shifting and spinning. I squirmed under her gaze. Then out of now where I, all of the sudden, remembered something.

I was flying. Dad's strong arms were holding me and I was a superhero. Mom's laughter was clear and twinkling in the background. I was laughing, too. Yelling and screaming with childlike innocence. Dad smiled and then threw me up, catching me before I could fall.

Then, I was back, in the purple room with my mother's pale gaze on me.

“Hey. You listenin' to me?” I nodded my head. She puffed, “Well, tell me what's the matter.” It was a command. I wanted to run away. Maybe hide under a rock for a couple of days, but no, that was impossible.