To each, their Own Dreams

A pitch black.

A smile is infectious, did you know?

For within its fields, hatred may not sow.

So wipe that look of dark disdain,

I'm turning black to red again.

Tap. There was no movement.

Tap tap. The sedative was wearing off. His eardrums were splitting so badly he could've sworn he felt it all the way to his brain. A rhythmic tapping came into focus as Jamie opened his eyes'.

"Son, can you tell me where you are?"

In a stuffy, cramped, dull room filled with smiling obnoxious people?

"Umm... The hospital?"

He knew where he was. He'd come here every month for his check-up and they'd ask him the same few questions'. It had been seven months since he'd been coming here. Yet not willing to question his mother's dogma he religiously followed her every first Saturday.

"Do you know who she is?" He asked, pointing towards a woman clad in white.

His thoughts were clear as day yet his body moved rather sluggishly. They'd sedate him every month before the questioning began.

"Yes. That's my mother" he answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

His mother smiled his way, her green eyes sparkling in the dull room. She had azure hair and looked quite young for her age, it was only upon looking closely that one could spot the faint wrinkles around her eyes. Everything about his mother contrasted with the dull walls of the hospital room: They didn't belong here.

Nor did he.

"Could you tell me your name?"

"Jamie."

"How old are you Jamie?"

"Seventeen."

"What did you have for breakfast yesterday?"

I can't believe mom spent $100 for this.

"Eggs." Came the reply.

"How were they cooked?"

$100

"Hard-boiled."

The doctor took a deep breath and looked at the seventeen-year-old in the eyes'.

"And when did you last see your father?"

Lie.

"Seven months ago. Just before these sessions began."

"Are you sure?"

Lie to him!

"Yes."

He answered calmly. The doctor stood up, his lab-coat brushing against Jamie's files on the glass table in between the two of them  and shook his head lightly as he left the room. The nurses' followed, their white heels click-clacking as they headed toward the exit. They didn't say a word yet the room seemed to grow darker than it already was. His mother quietly walked up to him.

"Jamie, let's go home," she said with a smile.

I'm sorry. He wanted to say, instead he just nodded.

The walk home was a quiet one. The hospital was roughly two miles from their home so they would usually walk it out every month. Even-dusk was setting in, the cold she brought with her disrupting the calm environment. The leaves expressed their discomfort with a soft rustle, trees swayed from side to side, crows and ravens cawed as they headed home followed by the cheeping of a cuckoo as she began to retire for the night. The road was empty except for a speeding vehicle that occasionally passed by it's engine roaring as it left a dense trail of dust and smog in it's wake.

They passed the park on the way home, five-year-old kids were playing hop-scotch, climbing monkey bars and building sandcastles in the sandbox. Their giggles and ceaseless chatter brought a vibrancy and a splash of color to the desolate neighborhood. Jamie was seventeen now but the laughter always seemed to bring out the child that hid in the deep recesses of his being. The children, however were the single-most entity that made this neighborhood feel like home.

Burglaries had taken place at an increasing pace in the surrounding neighborhoods. People started suspecting each other, they locked themselves in their concrete grilled lairs.

Robbers don't rob prisons now; do they?

The playground was the only place where the cold melted away and was replaced with a bubbling warmth. Jamie smiled lightly as he walked on.

 A two-storeyed house came into view. His mother quickened her pace, the soles of her heels thrumming against the concrete, her arms briskly swaying by her. Jamie had to take two steps at a time to keep up.

The entire walk home he never saw his mother's face, at least not the way you usually see someones face. He could however deduce the signs of disdain on her face. She ran inside the house, throwing the door open as she rushed in. He heard the sound of a vase crash to the floor, the sound of glass against ceramic, the soft crunch it made. He knew what was coming, slowly biting his lower lip as he braced himself for the inevitable as he walked in.

 He shut the door behind him and only moved when he had heard the click of the lock which ensured they wouldn't be disturbed. He didn't want his neighbors to hear or see what was to follow. Her calm features were now transformed into pure rage. Her sparkling eyes now seemed vicious, like that of a viper.

"When did you last see him?"

She unwound the belt from its usual spot behind her bedroom door. The blood stains from last month formed brownish patches on the pitch black belt.

It needs a new coating of red.
He thought silently.

"WHEN DID YOU LAST SEE HIM," she screamed, clutching the metal buckle tightly.

He closed his eyes.

"Seven months ago."He replied.

Crack.

The whip came down with a horrible hiss. The leather struck bare skin with such force that it drew blood upon its return. Jamie recoiled in reflex.

"Down." she commanded. He brought his leg down, biting his lip tightly.

"When did you see him?" She screamed, amid tears, the buckle digging into her skin, her free arm balled so tightly it turned her knuckles into a deathly white.

"Seven months ago." He replied. He would not lie. He would not be a part of this pretense. He would not.

Crack  

Jamie clutched his knees, tears dribbling down his face, biting back the pain.

He wouldn't scream.

Beyond a certain point, she stopped asking and continued whipping. Her question turned into a statement.

" He's dead." she chanted amid lashes.

He's dead.

On and on the cracks sounded, through the dull neighborhood. The playground wasn't the only place with streaks of color. His house was a bright red, a color he hid with shut doors, and drawn blinds. The doctors, neighbors and even his own mother believed his father died eleven years ago, but he knew better. He could still see his fathers face smiling down at him.

What happened seven months ago? Where did you disappear father?

He thought as a final crack brought him to his knees amid a line of blood.All he saw was red, and then black. A pitch black.

A smile is infectious, did you know?

For within its fields, hatred may not sow.

So wipe out that look of dark disdain,

I'm turning black to red again.

   The entry in the medical record-book read:

       #134

Patient name: Jamie Kale

Age: 17

Blood group: B+

Condition: Selective amnesia.