Category : Books-Fiction

Sub Category : Childrens

It was cold in Dad's attic. Mum was ill and she couldn't speak, so dad had taken the opportunity to put me in the attic, out of the way of his life. Mum held my hand through the room changing process, but that was all she could do to help me. She has enough power any more. Dad had all the power. I hated it. 

I hated school when mum was healthy. I wanted to work on a farm, or train in combat, not do schoolwork and learn the alphabet. The only reason I had stayed in school wasnfor mum. Dad don't care. He didn't care at all.

But when mum collapsed on the floor that night, the next day, school was the only way to survive the trauma and problems that stirred up in the family. Grandam wanted to look after me and mum, and maybe dad, but dad had shut her out of the situation and started dating weird people and laughing about mum's illness probably being nothing. It was something. That was for sure. You don't lose your strength and your speech down to 'nothing.' When I told dad this, he slapped me in front of mum and told me that I was just a nine year old boy that needed sorting out. My had tried to mumble something then, but dada had turned to her and said, "If you can't speak, shut up!"

This had sent mum over the line and she started trying to get up. It was only me who stopped dad from wringing her neck.

"Your mother is a waste of my money!" dad had raged, banging the dresser as he left mum's room.
 
"Mum earnt all of the money when she was well!!!!" I cried, holding mum close and stroking her hair.

Dad stomped down the stairs and left the house. He didn't come back for eight days. 

I had fed mum. I had bought the food. I had given mum the medicine and called the physio therapist to tell him that the car was unavailable and that she needed to get to the house that time to help mum. 

" Where is your dad?" the therapist had asked when she arrived.

"Very busy at work, sees, he trusts me to look after mum in the school holidays. Has to afford the medicines, see," I showed the therapist to mum's room and mum mumbled and groaned softly when she saw the therapist.
 
"Miss Daisy, let's see whether you can get out of bed, hmm???" the therapist turned to her case and brought out a spikey, plastic ball, "These are great for getting muscle relaxed, I have two spares and you and your mum can have them." She handed me one ball and began massaging mum's calves with the other. I smiled as best I could and ran to get mum's supporter. The supporter was like an old granny frame but stronger and grippier. It also and a comfy seat behind it that unzipped to store things in and to take on and off. Mum used it as a wheelchair but the therapist had thoughts over whether we could get her using it properly.

The therapist was still using the spikey ball when I got back, talking to mum in a far more mature voice than she did to me. Mum needed a softer, more practical voice that told you everything about the things she liked hearing about. The therapist was just talking about her boring life story. No wonder she looked so old!!!! Her life story had aged her by years!!!! It was so boring: 'I went to college at ..... then I met my current husband when.... Do you remember in the 80s? .... I origionally worked for the post office but...' Why couldn't she have gone to Secret Agent College or Xavier's School? She could have met her husband on a secret mission that could cost she her life! In the 80s she could have met Wolverine and Thor!!!! She could have been undercover at the Post Office, but then switched covers to something more social- the doctor's!!!! Obviously, nobody had had a life like mum's: Born on a farm in the middle of nowhere and taught how to shoot at 8 years of age! Riding her motorbike when she was fourteen and becoming a builder and construction worker that hot to go through dereleked buildings and find dead bodies.... Well, remains of dead people anyway. She nearly became an archeologist, as she liked to work in old places where old artifacts lay, but then she met dad at a motorbike crash and he stopped her life. It all became boring after that. Mum gave up her motorbike and took 'single' off her status on Facebook. She started working at an office and drove a Ford around. Dad wouldn't let her life like she used to. Dad, however, had 'single' written on every status, he drove a black jaguar with leather seats, worked as a well liked pub  singer and bartender and lived a better life than anybody.

"What a nice life story!" I lied, beaming up at the therapist, "I don't think mum will be coming to the doctor's anymore. We will pay the extra for you to come her so long as you come each week because mum needs this. It's really effective!"

The therapist nodded, "Your dad said anyway. I must go now!!!!"

I showed the therapist out of the door and, once she was gone, locked and bolted the steel behind me. I gave mum her medicine and tucked her back up into bed.

"I'm home!" dad called out, his voice high and drunk, "Where is my little Andrew?"

I rushed downstairs to my dad and tried to hide the shaking in my legs. Dad didn't seem to care, he just walked past me and turned the TV on. I rushed back upstairs to grab my homework and then went into mum's room. I sat down and admired mum's dresser. It was antique and old. Mum loved it, though dad wanted to sell it. Anyway, I had to do my stupid homework that was always way too hard and confusing.
TO BE CONTINUED...

BANG! "What's going on?" Dad boomed, his voice loud even over the huge noises