bear with me on this
really appreciate if you can read this piece and give some feedback.thanks.
Cast from the withered mother into the grimey and wrinkled hands of the nurse. The dirty finger prints wrapped around his freshly produced torso.
But in fact it took 8 months of labour days to pave the way for his unnoticed entrance to the world.
The spot lights bulb was broken and in any event was not thrusting its rays into the avenue of this baby.
Instead the darkness of the dimly lit room hugged him tightly casting shadows that illuminated his scrunched up face
and the inapropriate frame attached, that they called his body.
And if he could think at birth, he would have grabbed the umbilical cord and knotted a noose of saved pain.
at this early stage he was unaware that..
Mothers unclasped hand missing the seeds planter, a good father at first until that distended bump of her belly grew into a responsibilty.
From the moment he left, she only knows he died a victim to addictive ways. Perhaps expected in this day and age where our habits are an outline for
the future generation.
He was present though in spirit or probably spirits including his favourites. He had a gift for his son though, it was nothing extroardinary and was unknown to
the mother. Even the young un-named boy barely knows what passed into his soft, warm new hands.
It was a cup. Quite simply, and full to the brim with a liquid whos specifics are unbeknownst to him as yet.
Unreachable daddy whispered in his ear ' Hold it tightly, never let your grasp slip and use it wisely only spill it when u want to confide in me'
The silent words lodged themselves into the empty mind, a place where they would echo till his heart no longer played.
And thus he grew up with a single parent with a strangle hold on the cup.
Life wasn't great but it wasn't bad. It found a niche somewhere in between their presence.
Mum worked hard, growing sacks of blue seemingly bruised sleep around her dry eyes,offloading lone child to a cast of suspect characters. Notably the baby sitter and unemployed friends who paid more attention to the screams emitting from the living room tv than those from his young tongue.
Drowned out by the scurge of modern day society and he couldnt press the mute button.
But still, he had his cup.From which he sipped ample droplets of comfort. The irony being he'd cried enough to flood the house and could have refilled the porcelain chalice
many times over. At sea with himself in an emotional ocean of near infinite proportions and the open ended container all that stopping him from sinking to nowhere.
Or when his mother could spare time to show her love in between bills...a degrading job and disgruntled times, a pile of bills from the dreary employment, hard work and bills equating to drained resources, a son who she dearly loved and wished she could play with.And Hell, even the weekends were busy.
In the twisted world of her life while trying to provide as best she could for her beloved child, more precious than anything,mere existence became a wedge between them.
A balance she couldnt manage.They were two hands of the same blood and love desperately reaching out for each other and missing.
So, little Rafir as he was now known, continued on his quest to become a man but many years were to be battled yet.
He was now a walker and talker. Although in some respects talking didnt seem to matter as the words he spoke fell on deaf ears or no ears at all.
And in his fragile loved but unloved mind he knew something was missing. A father figure. Deprived of parents familiar safety in the arms of a cuddle.
Deprived of throwing a ball, and playing games it just wasnt fun playing on his own.
Deprived of the bed time story he made up his own in which mummy or daddy tucked him up in bed and he was kissed goodnight.
But after all he still had his cup which he continued to sip thats nearly full as the day he received it. Fully empty or nearly full depending on the darkness of the clouds which circled outside and in.
Uneventful mispent days of youth. Rafir had no frills corn flakes forced down his throat with a splash of milk that went out of date 2 days ago and pictured a missing person.
He wondered if it was his daddy.
After breakfast in the dingy, damp kitchen his mum pecked him on the cheek and gave him a hug. Arms he hungered for wishing he could be lost in the moment.
But the embrace was broken by the rush to get to work.
'The baby sitter will be here soon, okay?!', and with that he was placed or discarded into the tattered stained sofa engulfed by the smell of nicotine and drink.
The tv was turned on and animations got up to their antics. This was the only 10 minutes (or 40 depending on if the sitter had been drinking the night before) in which he could immerse himself into another world. The characters amused him and he let out laughter between clenched teeth as the front door opened.
'Give me the remote!' muttered before 'Go and play!' began the daily nightmare of solidarity and play with familiar toys..
Ripped at the seams teddies who'd been tagged with different names thousands of times in boredom.
Broken plastic men representing his thoughts that were missing limbs.
Battery operated cars he'd only played with once cos mummy says batteries are expensive.
He made do,with a toy he could change and make into anything he wanted. Clambering into a bed with clean sheets surprisingly, he closed his eyes and met new friends.
A portal to new places, friendly faces, a play park with swings and slides. But you have to open your eyes when reality beckons and his peaceful ideals disapeared in seconds.
And that cup pressed against his lips more often than not.
He began school and was getting older and more rebellious and the sips became gulps.
Sure he made friends but he liked his own presence. He'd grown suspicious of people he didnt know. And they grew suspicious back.
Trust didnt exist except for his mother but she was almost a familiar stranger now. Under the weather with work commitments and a new boyfriend who he despised.
Despite all this Rafir was an apt pupil. Attentative in class and amongst the higher acheivers grade wise. But thats where the affinity with good results and behaviour ended.
He developed an even more distant relationship with his mother or maybe it was the other way round. He was understandibly impressionable and as the grip of authority was shed he regressed into a life of rebellion.
Rarely caught he stole, providing for himself what his parents couldnt. He did graffiti. A vandal to properties expressing creativity thats been pent up since he can remember oozing out in a spray of paint. Smoking, drugs and alcohol were just around the block.
School was now an empty promise, grades didnt mean shit on the streets. Teachers insist theres a future in education but the present is more important and everything.
Live for the day dont learn for tommorow was the general vibe.
And in the turmoil of his disrupted life, Rafir had only one constant.The cup, but now it had cracks in the enamel coating.
Still, the contents refused to dry up although it resembled a half full well. The bucket a reflection of his laden feelings and the liquid a form of gloss to cover over the cracked face.
A deviant from home and high school teachings his anger boils beneath the innocent exterior and almost burns the coating of his veins.
Night times pose questions in his head. He cant answer them fully or mostly at all.Thus sleep is only a dream or a nightmare depending on what drugs he's done before hand.
He's a pale imitation of his former self beyond the feeble attempted reach of his mum who seems to have given up on him too.
Life has become the smoke he inhales, the buzz from that needle in his skin and he's drinking heavily all on stolen money.
He hit rock bottom, and crushed it to pebbles and gravel. But he got out just in time.
Several things worked in his favour. First off Raf's closest friend was shot and hospitalised by some kid he tried to hustle.
He visited him but the distance to the hospital formed a barrier he wasnt prepared to climb more than once a week.
Alone , depressed and filling his body with all sorts of toxins he called home for the first time in months.
But there was no answer and a quick fumble in his jean pocket reaped no reward of coins.
Afraid to return home he strolled head down past flickering street lamps and exposed manholes.Past the run down housing with peeling paint with iron bars over windows and no welcome mats. To a place where he knew he'd be alone.
A derelict shack once used by drug fiends and where the happy shouts of kids echoed faintly, ever so faintly, from hide and seek games.Until an accident involving a needle occured and their mothers forbade them to enter it again.
'If only my mother could have been around to prevent me from doing things' he thought.
'And dad.Where was he now?Mum never would tell me.Just told me to forget about him'
'She says i never knew him.I feel i do in a strange way though'
'Where were you dad when i needed YOU?'
'I cant help feeling envious of the kids who play ball with their pops'
And do things a dad and son should do together
They may be poorer.But you see sunshine radiating from their faces cos theyre happy
I wanted to be with the happy people..
Maybe i still do, maybe i still can
But maybe's are the only definitive thing keeping me going.
I'm tired to death of living on maybes.
Maybe mum would come home and show more affection.
Maybe mum would have paid more attention by not working as much.
But she didnt. She left me in the ungrateful arms of cold animosity.
In the clouds of smoke from cigarette butts, in a way a picture of our existence.
I caught glimpses of you and sometimes got close.
But there was always that myst..that fucking wall of silence you called work.
I'd gladly have exchanged that pair of Nike trainers for just a second to be with you more.
Or all those other things you thought i needed to succeed but in actual fact ate up the time a parent should be spending with their kid.
Spending with YOUR CHILD.ME.
Sat on a crate his thoughts acrued a spiralling array of thoughts he had no answers for.
Tired and hungry he held his head in his hands...immersed in a frozen moment.
And the heavy night sky seemed to eat up the heat.A partially hidden moon cameod from time to time but even he appeared to show an affinity with a grimace and furtive scowl.
Hugging himself in the black room he fell asleep and awoke shivering.
He knew the feeling, it was a neighbour. A very close one. Called an addiction.
But Raf had nothing to combat their destructive ways.An empty bottle answered the calls along with a pocket search and a few rusty needles on the ground.
They were calling him and his mind was in a myriad of ideas where to go,what to do and what to see.
But gut instinct told him ,more shouted at him something was wrong.
And thats when the cup cracked and the handle dropped off. Just as well he wasnt holding it.
But his trembling hands embodied in a cold sweat were losing grip.
Unable to think straight that anger he'd been damming since he can remember burst through the walls of reality in a surge of emotion.
Cocking back his arm and blindly aiming he launched the cup from his grasp..
Spiralling through the cold air it smashed into the bricks of a lost past and foundation...the shattered porcelain like a mortar .
Pieces flew everywhere landing with a soft thud into the dirt and mess.And the contents...and the contents, had splashed into the red brick work spilt, and dripping its way down the cracked plaster.Etching a silhouette of lost tommorows and forgotten yester years.Spilt...
Gradually seeping into the pores the glisten of the moon dimming with every second.But spilt...unequivocally spilt...spilt away.
Spilt next to his father..
'You have one new message'
'Mum' he asked tentatively.'I need your help.I'm losing it out here on my own.Can i please come home?'
'Jesus mum, i need your help! I cant bear whats happening. I'm a disgrace to myself and you.'
'I'm a wreck and if i dont do something now its gonna be too late...Mum?'
'Please pick up, i know you must be mad but please at least speak to me.I miss you so much.'
'Just give me a chance to discuss this...i'm gonna try and go back to school and get a job'
'Remember?', 'You said its never too late to change things'
'You can help me get back on the straights mum' 'Youre the only person i have to talk to'
'Shiit...thats almost time up and i dont have more change'
'Pick up!!!...'
'i gotta ..........*BeeP*
End of Message
