BELOW MEI am in the second story of an apartment complex. This is one of many like it in the fact that it can house four families consisting of one to three people. Any more than this and things would become rather crowded and complicated. In the four families, or maybe just a collection of people who are fond of each other, are each housed ob their own 5 room apartment. I am in one of many like it in the fact that it can hold up to three people. Any more and things would become rather crowded and complicated. Each one has 1 bathroom and two bedrooms.
I sleep in my mothers bed. She sleeps on the couch and relinquishes her bed to me for two nights out of every 14. She sleeps on the couch. I would LOVE to sleep on the couch. I have asked her many times to let me, but I guess she is trying to make me feel like she is making a sacrifice for my own happiness. I would love to sleep on that couch. It's quite soft and roomy. She claims it is unfit for sleeping, and I claim she is a lovable liar.
So, I guess each apartment has it's similarities with the others. Now let's talk about the differences. I believe there is something afoot in the other apartments. Example: The apartment across from me, there is a small three member family. The male served as a marine (or some other shit. I don't care) and the wife seems very.. Shelled. There's a baby somewhere in the mix too, but who cares? The wife is what I'm concerned about. We are in a war and this man is fairly young. He's a fucking marine! Why is he here?!? I know why, because he has done something that was too intense for the marines and they realized he's crazy and sent him home. Home to a wife. A wife that probably gets annoying. A wife that probably becomes very annoying all day, every day in a small apartment. With a baby screaming in the background he must be infuriated. I'm not saying he abuses her, I'm saying he's most likely shown her something to be afraid of.
I wish the madness ended there. It does not.
There is a rather chubby gentleman, probably by the age of 15, that comes home from school, sets his i-Pod to shuffle, and goes for a little stroll. He walks from complex to complex, fists clenched, teeth gritted, blank eyes. We thought nothing of this until tonight. We were sitting alone in the corner of our fenced in haven. (I'm withholding names fir a reason) it's nearly 7:00 pm. It is very dark. It is frigid. This gentleman is bare footed. He is wearing nothing but a pair of ball shorts and a Carrhart T-shirt with a pocket on the right breast. He is listening to his i-Pod, ob the nearby swings. He is swinging with intensity and purpose. He is SCREANING for blood. He wants to kill bitches he wants to see fuckers bleed. I sit to the left of him, my friend to the right. He has called us here with his intoxicating growl. We sit with blank stares while he swings. We are waiting for orders and we are waiting to relinquish our blood. Suddenly we are free from his spell and we walk away as does he. He has proven that we are not to fuck with him. He is the master. Us, but pawns.
This is nothing though. Below me. Below me lives a witch. She has a child, most likely forced to live with her. He stares blankly and laughs falsely. He is playing nice. Waiting to strike. He is an apprentice of her dark arts. We had this boy over for thanksgiving and we eat. He is mildly polite. He does not belch and he enjoys the food. All while making small talk. We clean our plates and retire to our quarters for privacy after the meal. Of course the boys stay in the kitchen and have desert. I hear the boy howling with laughter. I walk in and my brother is wielding a knife. It is pressed to the boy's beck. He is staring at death and laughing. He not only wants this, he commands it with forgotten arts of the darkest kind. She has given these powers unto this child and while suspicions are disproven of her the boy carries out her dark will. She will strike, but only when all eyes are on the boy.
These are the things I bare to see my mother. Demons and witches. Sorcery and black magic. Happy Thanksgiving.