New Plans

Mum

So the bones in my wrist are out of place and now I can't hold up my phone with my left hand (I'm left handed) without it hurting. So I'm writing though the pain rn.
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Wilbur is often blinded to the tragedy that is his early life. He doesn't remember all the really early stuff. He doesn't remember what his parents looked like, but he remembers their shadows on the floor as they towered over him. He doesn't remember their voices very well, but he remembers one time when they yelled at him.

Maybe it was because there were two parents in his home again but his mind has recently been dragging out forgotten memories from the depths of his mind.

Like that time he broke a vase.

It was an expensive vase too. Wilbur's parents were rich peices of trash.

The sound of it shattering is etched into his mind.

Wilbur saw it falling in slow motion. It shattered into a thousand tiny peices on the floor.

Wilbur's heart pounded as he stared at it in shock and horror for a moment. His heart pounded at feelings of fear and horror and slight excitement with the fact that they'd have to give him attention for the first time in weeks. But fear was the greatest emotion.

His mind raced with: oh crap they're going to kill me. He didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't know what they were going to do to him but tears were already spilling out as he scrambled to pick up the peices without cutting himself.

The memory was also in bits and pieces, as it was so long ago. But he remembers when their shadows fell on him as he picked up the tiniest little shards. He remembered one of them asking for him to stand up and look at them with a scarily still voice. He remembers standing there as they yelled insults and other aggressive words Wilbur didn't understand at the time; even after he had profusely apologized, and promised that he'd clean it up. He remembers the dehydration that came with the hours of crying that followed.

The worst part of his resurfacing memories, was that they were always at night when he was the weakest emotionally.

Wilbur choked back sobs as he paced around his room. His breathing was shaky because he hadn't been getting enough air; thanks to him trying to be quiet.

A knock from his door snapped him out of his thoughts.

He went up to his door and opened it.

Kristin was standing outside, she held a cup of water. She was probably getting a drink when she heard Wilbur's emotional breakdown.

"Wilbur, are you alright?"

"...Yes." Wilbur's voice cracked and it was odvious he wasn't.

"May I come in?" Kristin asked.

Wilbur thought about it for a moment.

"Okay..."

He opened the door and she stepped inside and sat on his bed, setting her cup on his nightstand.

She was the reason for all the painful resurfacing memories, but Wilbur couldn't bring himself to resent her.

He shuffled to the bed and sat down next to her.

"What's wrong Wilbur?" She asked, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"The same thing as always." Wilbur muttered.

"And that is..?"

"Lots of bad memories. Memories of my parents."

"Oh, I'm sorry Wilbur." She says his name an awful lot.