Mitchell's Mustard Blog

May 13, 2017

Bruised

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:14 pm

He had come home from school with another bruise, another one to add to the collection. This young boy full of charisma, charm, and joy when encased by the families four walls ached physically and mentally without a peep. His mother could hear him quietly weep in the morning whilst getting ready for school, which in turn made her cry for answers, but he was proud and strong and a shrug of the shoulders was the answer to all. He often came home with rips in his clothing, when doing his washing she would find blood stains on his sleeves, his explanation was yet another nosebleed. She watched her young boy battle in silence, the more pressure she applied for answers the more he closed up and became aloof around her. She had spoken to the school on numerous occasions but they explained that without her son coming forward they couldn’t pursue. A promise to keep an eye out for him was lost in communication because he had come home again with a cut on his head, an accident he had explained. His eyes told another story, a silent uncomfortable story. Over the last year his character had changed, her brave little boy seemed to fear the outside, and worst of all, fear the inside. His brave little smile had left, his charisma had been removed, joy was a thing of the past. She confided in friends and family, ‘troubled teens’ they’d say to put her mind at rest. But she could see the screams behind his eyes, the damage to his body, the way he flinched at movement.

  She had heard him weep again in the morning so she confronted him, no prisoners, she wanted answers. Where had her charming and enthusiastic boy gone? What was happening?

  As she broke down, so did he. He was curled in the corner lost and fearful, she had scared him. She knew she needed to apologise . . .   

   . . . But it was too late, that day he had taken his own life. She wished someone had listened, wished she had worked harder to get to the truth, wished her little baby boy had opened up. But, all the wishes in the world had expired. Stood by his graveside she cried for today, cried for tomorrow, and feared whatever followed.

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June 23, 2014

Lost Fragrance

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 12:47 pm

Her fragrance danced around the house like a whispered breeze, enough to distract but never enough to catch, to hold for a moment, to pull towards him and hope that she would follow close behind. The fragrance that’s missed but never lost. Voices of past conversations echo from wall to wall, but always in the adjacent room, a tease of his loneliness as he sat in silence. After all that had happened, it was the silence that strangled him, held him against his will. The sound of her singing in the shower, high pitched disagreements, her enticing moan as she straddled him, or her laugh that cradled. All lost without a decision to make, taken. The cruelty of her belongings still layered through his existence, he knew she would never return but he wasn’t quite ready to move anything in fear of forgetting. Every morning he was distracted until he absorbed the memories, seeing her medication in the bathroom, over and over he felt chewed up and spat out. Bitter, he blamed everyone, everything, he blamed the medication because that was the hope they had clung onto, a false hope that never paid off. Every night he was reminded of her frail body fall to the sickness that controlled her, consumed her. He had watched the disease wrap her up into an uncomfortable environment, pushing away and drifting off with exhaustion. Her pained facial expressions screamed in the silence of his mind. He felt lost, empty, and angry. He needed time, but that had slipped away from him just like her fragrance. They told him that each day will get easier, until then he’d breakdown, hiding his tears behind closed doors because the children couldn’t see him like this.

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