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.

Advertisements

June 16, 2013

A fathers decision

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:12 pm

He sat, he thought, he reminisced. If he could live it again, he would change every day, every sunset he missed, every breath. It was days such as today, fathers day, that stopped him in his tracks so he could be reminded of the bad things he had done, the bad things he had spent years trying to correct but had failed so far. He was sure it was never meant to end out this way, the fairy tale lives in stories you heard as a child, they were so easy, uncomplicated. no one ever told you that these stories could never be a reality, The decisions he had made, the paths he had taken, they had led him to this moment, on his own, in someone else’s home, where no one knew his name.
He stared at a father’s day card on the mantelpiece, it held him in a trance. The names meant nothing but the card held other life choices, what could have been, he wondered if his children thought of him, remembered his name. He knew he was a disappointment to many, he never wanted to stop trying to change their view. Etched into his mind were the last moments he shared with his family, his wife, his toddler son and daughter. The last time he heard her voice, the words that crossed her lips, “It’s not fair on the children to see their father like this”. Prison has a way of separating families.
It has been twenty years since he had seen his family, since he had been a father. Twenty years since he had received a card containing the word dad. He knew that the decisions he had made where the reason his children didn’t know their father, but what they didn’t know was that the decisions he had made were for them, to give them a better life, a better future but his decisions had backfired.
He picked the card up to take a closer look, blue crayon scribbles containing the words ‘love’ and ‘dad’ from a child named Tom. The scribbles he longed for, something so simple that means so much. A part of his life he always missed, someone to look up to him, some ones hero. He held the card to his chest for a moment knowing that he will only ever be some ones criminal, or some ones past. That moment, he wished he could change everything but he knew he never would.
He slipped the card into the bag of all the other goods he had taken from this house, he took another quick look around for anything else he could sell before he headed out through the back door, the door he had broken. He always wanted to be remembered or recognised by loved ones, but the decisions he had made meant that couldn’t happen.

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.