Flicker

Flicker: Neuf (1/2)

For the first time in a long time, Quinton had a dream. It was a memory that resurfaced in his sleep - a memory that he had long since repressed.

A small hand pushed open a door. He had heard shouting. Worried, a young Quinton raced to see what was going on. So, instead of obeying his bedtime, Quinton crept down the hallway and to the bedroom that his father and mother shared. The door was opened just a smidgen - enough so that he could see his father pacing the room while his mother sat on their bed. She hung her head, letting her thick black hair fall over her face and down her back. Her face was hidden in shadow but Quinton had a feeling that she was crying. He wanted to run to her but he knew that his father would not allow that to happen. 

The man in question looked stern and irritated. His tie was undone and limp, dangling off his neck on top of his rumpled, button-down. He stopped his pacing and went to stand in front of his mother, towering over her sitting form.

"Will you never cease to embarrass me?" He reproved. "Do you get enjoyment from angering me?"

"It was not intentional -" Elsa said, softly.

"It was not intentional," Quinton's father, Victor, mocked. "I can hardly hear you when you speak with your head down. Put your head up when you address me!" He demanded.

Elsa raised her head but not quickly enough and Victor grabbed her chin and lifted it up.

"There. Now I can see your lovely face." He said. "You are pretty. It is one of your few redeeming qualities."

Victor let her head go forcefully before getting up and walking to the window of their room.

"Your beauty does not make up for your ineptitude. I should have known better than to mate with a gardener. The fates are interesting, aren't they? Ironic."

"I was just trying to join in the conversation -"

"No one needs your insight." He said to her, looking over his shoulder. "Speak when you are spoken to."

Esla broke out in a sob.

"Stop that pitiful crying. It's all been all you've been capable of doing. At least water the plants with your tears. Make them useful. Those damn things are dying and making my landscape look horrid."

Quinton sniffled, not realizing that he had been tearing up himself as he watched his mother sit there, suffering. Both the parents turned their heads towards the door, finally realizing that Quinton was standing there.

"You!" His father called. "Get back to bed now."

"I want mama." Quinton cried, now the tears freely falling. He didn't understand what exactly was going on but it didn't feel good.

"I said get away from here," His father shouted, walking towards where his son stood in the doorway.

Quinton ran away and back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He dashed into his bed and pulled the cover over his head. Closing his eyes, he squeezed his stuffed bunny tightly, praying that there was a secret garden that he and his mother could escape to and live happily - away from him. Ten minutes later, Quinton heard his door opening and soft footsteps making their way over to where she lay.  His mother sat down on his bed and gently pulled the covers down. Quinton looked up at his mother above him. She rose a hand and stroked his head, brushing the hair out of his eyes. She wiped at a tear that escaped from his eye

"Don't cry little one," She whispered to him. "You are safe."

"I don't like when he's mean to you, mama."