I tried my best to describe him but when you have a picture of him it's hard because you want other people to see him the way you see him. Sorry if i described him badly.
I can't believe I'm doing this. It could just be a stupid rumour, but it could help me. I've never been normal. Everyone knew it and so did I! There's just something different about me that make people more wary of me. More distant than I would like. Yes, I'm a loner. Even my dad can't look at me without wanting to throw up or hurt me. But then again, it was my fault. I did nothing and he hasn't forgiven me for it. I always wish that he will but I know that he never will!
It was so cold that night. The coldest night, I've ever had to live through. But why was it so cold in March? New York City isn't the warmest place to be in spring but for it to snow, is just ridiculous! It was also so dark outside. The snow clouds blocking the beautiful moons beacon that helped every living thing on this planet. Globe warming my ass!
I was only 5. I couldn't even count to 10 let alone know how to keep myself warm. I'm the worst excuse for a living thing. Yes, thing. I don't think of myself as human because of what I didn't do. Also my dad has drilled it into my brain since then that I don't know anything else. It's not that I'm an animal; it's just that I'm not worthy to be called human! I know it's harsh but you have to undergo crap to survive the world.
My mom had left my window open and I'm pretty sure that she left every other window open. She wasn't the sanest person but she was my mother, I didn't know any differently because I'd never met anyone else's mother, and I still haven't! She always said that if you don't have windows open, then you don't get fresh air. Well, what's more fresh than the streets of New York?! Hmm, that's a tricky one!! And she also said that if you had blankets on that you would sweat your soul out of you. I realise now that she was a wacko but I love her too much to care.
I was freezing. I'd never been so cold in my life and I couldn't reach the window. I couldn't even reach the kitchen work surfaces, so how was I going to reach a window. Yes, I'm small! The chilling breeze blows my curtains, making them look like that they were going to get me. Panic swept over me and I didn't move for ages. I want my mommy, is the first thing that pops into my head.
I grabbed my pillow and my fluffy, dirty cream teddy, called Obi (from Star Wars) heading to my parents room. My dad was at a conference and had to say over that night. He was a safety blanket for me because he would comfort me and go have a look around the pent house, but my mother would do exactly what I do, stay stiff!
It was huge. A king size bed in the middle of the room with bed side tables at both sides of the bed, old vintage lamps on both of them. A walk-in wardrobe covered one side of the room, where my dad and mom's stuff were hidden. I never went in there! Pictures of all of the family were on every wall, some parts you couldn't even see the wallpaper behind it. There was a big window, looking out at Central Park, lightening the whole room. Whereas my window looked out to the grotty back ends of alleys, where anything could happen. As usual, the window was open. The opened window was a lot bigger than mine. It was basically half of the window. You could fit a fatty through there without struggling. Because of that, the room was beyond human living condition. You need blankets for this and we had none. How was my mom standing this? I couldn't and I only just walked in!
And there she was. Curled up in the duvet. She looked so still, so at peace. Not to seem creepy but I'd never seen anyone sleep before. It was amusing, in a way because I had never seen my mom so relaxed and calm. She should sleep more often.
I walked over to her, and wanted to curl up next to her, even though there wasn't any room! But that wasn't the reason. She was blue. And I mean BLUE! All her skin, of what I could see, was blue. My mom never put make-up on but when you sleep, do you turn blue?!
I reached out to her, like what she did when I was cold; to stroke me cheek or my hair of my face, but the air around her was a lot cooler than the air in the fridge of a bedroom. The chill delayed me from doing anything, like she had frozen me to the spot. My mom was always warm and sometimes to hot to touch but I'd never known her to be this cold. How did my dad cope with the cold?