To each, their Own Dreams

Every rose has a thorn.

(Authors note: Again, the song linked is completely optional and has no influence on the plot.)

I know it's bad, I know it hurts,

You feel a numbness you cannot explain.

But brave through it, I beg, I plead.

There never was a rainbow, without a little rain. 

He woke up wearily, gently untangling himself from the tassle of blue that lay spread out in strands around him. His legs were still throbbing from last night, the blood that laced them was beginning to dry, it's scent wafting through the hall- a kind of rustic smell, something that Jamie couldn't quite place but over the past seven months had come to recognize very well. He had been confused the first time it happened, confused and in pain. The pain was new then, but what petrified him wasn't the sensation his bleeding legs offered, it was his mothers face when the belt came down. He never recognized that face, that rage, he didn't know those tears. They were all new to him, this was seven months ago though. It wore off, the rush, the anxiety, the screams, the chants. . . the pain. You get used to the adrenaline coursing through your body after a while. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and using the table beside him as a support structure, hoisted himself up. It felt as if his body were splitting in two, the pain felt as if someone were driving a six inch bolt through his feet with a piledriver. Both the bolt and piledriver were on fire by the way.

He hobbled towards the bathroom, his legs blazing with each step, piercing his senses with the highest degree of callousness. Picking up the role of plaster in bathroom cabinet he began bandaging himself, following which he swallowed a painkiller and uttered a silent prayer followed by a soft grumpy curse that went something along the lines of '. . . shove that hardboiled egg up you. . .'

When he was done he limped back to the hall and lifted his mother onto the couch. Leaning heavily against the railing he hobbled up the stairs bringing down a pillow and bed-sheets from his room upstairs. He covered his mother with the sheet and began gingerly mopping the floor and cleaning the red splotches around him. When he was done he lightly lifted up the belt, drops of blood appeared bright against the sheen of the steel buckle, the leather couldn't be visible under all the blood, both dry and fresh. With trembling fingers, he propped the belt back against the door.Once all was done and dusted he donned a clean white tee, khaki shorts and made his way outside, careful to shut the door softly behind him.

It was four in the morning. The streets were empty except for a few joggers who'd decided jogging before daybreak was an idea that oozed brilliance and set with those silly smiles of feigned eccentricity they'd jog on.

A majority of people would only leave their homes around 8 in the morning as they left for Sunday morning mass so the sounds that voiced the air were predominantly crickets along with the monotonous buzzing of electric towers.

  Still a while for sunrise. Jamie thought.

He walked ahead, at the end of the sidewalk a man would promptly wait on his cycle selling biscuits, tea and cigarettes.

Upon reaching the end of the sidewalk he found the vendor in a faded shirt that looked like it hadn't been washed for a century and tattered blue denim jeans. He bought a packet of biscuits and a cup of tea and sat down on the sidewalk. It took the cold touch of concrete and gravel, followed by a moment of contemplation and assessment before the realisation finally struck like a lightning bolt causing his entire body to freeze.

Crap I forgot to wear track pants.

The bandages were visible in plain sight, light traces of red seeping through them.He noticed the vendor staring at them. The vendor didn't raise any questions, he simply stared at the bandages and when he concluded that the stare had gone on for long enough he averted his eyes and continued straining his tea. His quota was strictly limited to biscuits, tea and cigarettes. Bandaged seventeen year old never ticked any of those boxes and hence failed to intrigue him.