Earthquake

The child stood like a vertical shadow, his arms by his side as the lights of his father's Ford Mondeo pulled into the drive, drawing a white light from right to left as it poked through the small gap between the curtains, illuminating the single Lego poster on the back wall. The rumble of the engine stayed for a while as the young boy flicked out his first two fingers to show a peace sign by his leg. His grandfather, who he had spent most weekends with, walked around town checking all the parking pay-and-display machines and slipped his two fingers into each machine for any change to go towards an ice-cream for himself and the child. Following like a dog on a leash, the child had looked so many times at his grandfather's pre-poking stance that he had adopted it for his own, and thinking that if he did it enough like his grandfather had, an ice-cream would be purchased as it usually was when his grandfather scooped the loose change from the small shelf in the machine. However, nothing came of it and the young boy awaited the closing of the car door and the opening of the house's.

The boy wandered around his small room, being careful not to step on any toys or bricks of Lego. He was attempting to make enough noise to force his mother to come up but not enough to irritate her, keeping her away from the forthcoming collision with the one he called daddy. Yet regardless of the boy's light pattering of feet, there was no sound downstairs apart from the closing of the front door and the familiar clicking of his father's shoes on the wooden hallway. The steps continued all the way into the dining room at the end of the hallway, then back and into the kitchen to the right of the hallway before entering the living room where the light fuzz of a TV stopped and one voice muffled something to the other person. Nothing moved in the boy's room and the child became more silent than the toys around him. His heart rate quickened in pace but quietened in sound. His face went red but his body went cold. Wet eyes look forward and ears bent downwards, begging to be deaf but more sensitive than ever.

Rumble one.

It was a word that neither the child or his toys knew yet but due to the tone of it, was not one to be used in calm conversation or in discussions of who was to be 'it' or the seeker. The walls became darker and the sweat became cooler as it dripped lightly from the wet hair on either side of his face. An orchestra began to thump in between the ears and a jungle began to awaken beneath the pyjama top. A fuzziness came over the standing shadow and all seemed to be vulnerable and waiting.

Rumble two.

A sniff followed by a single tear, falling from the wet eyes peering into the nothingness, begging to find something in the night to distract him or take him away. The stars were out and the boy peeked at the single glitter of light through the crack in the curtains, trying to think how long it would take to get there on the bus or with his £2.34 that he obtained by exploring the nooks and crannies of the sofas. The second shake was caused by someone or something hitting the wall, followed by a 'shh' louder than a spoken word. The two fingers by his side clenched and his fingertips skidded on the sweat in his palm, making the tiniest of squeaks and breaking the silence of the room, a silence becoming more profound as the vibrations became more violent from the room below. Closing his eyes the boy forced the wetness to escape the balls in his head, their decent forcing a right forearm to wipe them away. He then began to shake his legs within his pyjama bottoms, revealing the sweat in between his groins and the cold skin it sat upon. The swishing of fabric upon fabric, however, did not help fill the ears but acted as a challenge to the movement below, forcing the third and most profound movement of tectonic plates otherwise known as marriage.

Rumble three.

Glass smashing is one of the most recognisable sounds, regardless of age and as each shard shattered against the floor a shudder ignited through the boy's shoulders like lightening. Unaware of what or who the vase of flowers hit, the child sat and cupped his hands over his ears and began to site the alphabet, saying 'elomeno P' halfway through at extra volume as the second vase smashed and the cries from below began. The walls of the bedroom darkened still and leaked fear and vulnerability. The small crack in the curtains closed and the distant star disappeared as any hope of finding another destination to dream away the rest of childhood was futile and pointless. More tears fell and created a sea around the cross-legged child who drifted away into the horizons of his room alone and without anything to keep him afloat. More shifts of earth below gave aftershock after aftershock as the innocent drifter above gasped for air in the sea of exposure and innocence. He was utterly helpless without even a star to guide him north, south, east or west. Calling for help he waved his arms relentlessly, in hope that someone, somewhere would see his failing bravery. Courage was becoming a patronising term lacking any reward and he questioned whether it was there to give him hope or simply a false sense of security. Now, in that moment of drowning and falling, he cried out louder and louder, forgetting the pride of staying silent in moments of fear. He needed assistance in some form, whether it be from the touch of someone or the escapism of sleep. Either way, he was in desperate need of calm and truthful words or feelings, something to warm his cold skin covered in sweat and tears.

Andrew and Izzy discovered their son on the floor of his bedroom lying inside a circle made of Lego bricks. His hands were cupped over his ears and his top was visibly wet around the neck and below the armpits. The pair of them looked at one another and felt once more disgusted at their disregard of the boy's emotions and the torture they had inflicted upon him. The boy was asleep, with tears still wet around his cheeks. There was no sea around him and the crack in the curtains was still there, the single star still visible. The boy was picked up and placed in bed and the parents left without a single word spoken between them, knowing an apology was worthless as the same earthquake that destroyed his world was a possibility for more nights in the future. They pitied his lack of understanding but didn't blame themselves for it. So in order to avoid any more guilt they both kissed him on his damp forehead and closed the door without looking back. The parents didn't say another word all night and didn't converse until the next evening when Andrew returned from work, the boy already standing in his circle of Lego bricks, looking at the star poking in between the curtains.