Chapter 1
Once I’m done eating my overly stale cereal, my overly stale mother comes in. Well more like shuffles in. She doesn’t even look at me when she says,
“Good,” She doesn’t finish what she was saying, just sighs, and retreats to the coffee machine. I just stare at her as she presses some buttons on her machine and watch as liquid spurts out of the spigot and into her old, chipped mug, the sound it makes is mesmerizing.
“Hey Edna,” my voice is dry and dull. She turns her head towards me then looks back at the brown liquid rushing fiercely into the cup. I look down at the watch on my arm, the watch my father gave me. “It’s 4:36, a little late for coffee.” She brings the now full mug up to her lips and takes a loud obnoxious sip. “Okay.” I grab my bowl from of the table and walk it over to the sink, emptying the rest of its contents, which is just milk. When I turn back around I see that my mother holds one of our old, rusty kitchen knives in her shaky fist.
I inch toward her cautiously. “Hey Ed, put it down, the doc said no sharp objects,” I use this same voice whenever I talk to a child, or a very insane, depressed mother, which seems to be my autotone. Ever since dad died she’s been a little bit...on edge. The day she tried to kill herself is the same day that I turned thirteen, and what I got for my birthday a shit ton of bills. The day I was legally aloud to get stuff like that, there it was eagerly waiting, and since my mother had no job, no money, and absolutely no mental stability, I got slammed. I am seventeen now and still haven’t paid for all the therapy, the drugs, the rehab, ( because i later found out she was having a secret affair with a nice man called hard liquor) and in the end had to quit school because we were drowning in debt, and I could afford the ignorance. So, if she pulls another stunt like that again... I don’t know.
I inch toward her once more and this time she steps back. “Edna give me the knife,” I don’t soften that one. I shake my palm out in front of me. “Give me the goddamn knife.” I have absolutely no sympathy for the mentally insane, and expectually not one like my mother. She’s crazy for no reason, I should be the one crawling into a dark corner and having a panic attack right now. I keep my eyes pinned to the knife, though dulled overtime, is still sharp enough to cut.
“Why don’t you call me mother anymore,” she asks her voice shaky and rough. My eyes fly up to hers, tears blurring her vision. The first full sentence she’s said to me in years and that's it. A dumb question she should already know the answer to.
“You lost the title as soon as you lost your mind,” I say through gritted teeth. A lonely tear runs down her face, and this pisses me off more. The gumption of this woman, she doesn’t even deserve the eyes from which she crys.
She lowered the knife and for a second I almost thought she was going to give to me. She brings down the blade and runs it harshly against my palm. I snatch my hand back and watch the blood pool in my palm.
“What the h” She swings the knife across my stomach but I jump back and she just barely misses me. The pool of blood overflows and drains down my arm, to my elbow, and onto the dirty tile floor. “Are you on drugs,” I shout. She swings again in the same spot. “Do you need drugs?!” She pulls the knife back again and this time she aims higher trying at my throat. I jump back again but I’m too late and the knife penetrates the thin layer of skin on my neck. My hands fly to my throat. Blood spits out between my fingers, making spattering patterns on my mother's bland face.
I try to suck in a breath but I can’t. the corners of my vision start to blacken and I fall not my knees. It's not even the pain that hurts so bad, it the way my lungs feel like they're being folding on each other. The darkness covers the whole of my perception, and I crumble to the floor. the last thing I comprehend before I slip is Edna.
“Tell your father I said hello.”