I had restrictions since the day I was alive in this reality.
She didn't want me to hurt myself by accident.
She didn't like it when I was close enough to have an injury. Any activity that might cause that was a big no for me.
I try to live and enjoy my life without running or falling on the ground, without knowing the burn from a scratch when you hurt your knee.
I am not allowed to learn what a small injury is. An injury that every kid had except me.
I tried to keep it that way, but recently, It's the only thing I can think about and, I am about to do it.
My mother is strange, but not the way you think.
Strange as in the idea of me sleeping and abruptly waking as I feel an intense stare right in my face.
She was so close to my face that night. Her breathing shook me straight up. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure she could hear it.
When I ask her about it, she calmly said without blinking that she thought I stopped breathing. She was checking.
I didn't think much of it the first time until the third came.
The first time, it was just a tiny hit, a soft one, like when a girl with perfume on her neck leaves a trace behind. And you, being behind her, are taken by surprise because it smells nice or too sweet.
Either way, how can you be in perfect synchronization with a stranger or even someone you know? Sure, it can be a coincidence, but on the other way, you have the exact manner as a few others. You get ready and leave, take the same route even if it's a different place.
When I think about it, everything felt too silent and slow that day.
As if something harsh hides in the gentle fragrance of the flowers. Something unharmful in my eyes, but things are not what it seems.
You can't truly understand something unless you use more than one sense.
Eyesight, hear, smell, taste, touch.
When you use all of them, you don't just understand it. It becomes wrapped by your being.
When you ate a cupcake, you see how it looks, you can understand what smell invades your nostrils, sweet, and then you pick it up in your hand.
You know how it feels to hold a cupcake, light, puffy.
You hear the noise it makes when you take a bite and taste it. It's in our beings to use them so we can have a better understanding of everything.
It was my need at the time. I wanted to understand what a flower means.
I raised my left hand to approach it when a feeling of dread and the noise of someone pressing their face and hands on the glass of a window stopped me.
I felt needles at the back of my head.
My mom was at the window staring down at me with eyes so big I was afraid to move and her mouth so large open in shock that I couldn't stop from looking at her.
My body remained stuck the way it was in the last seconds I possess it. Heading for the flower, so close, yet I am not ready to face my mother's anger. I am a coward, but I like myself that way. More unadventurous, careful.
Now, the second time I was indoors, the living room felt like a big mouth that caught me. We never had too many things around. I feel so exposed in them, so large and empty. It makes me understand how small I am.
She was at work. I knew for sure when she's going to come back.
I was confident enough to do something I shouldn't.
I was in the kitchen, pausing a bit maybe, I should back off but, I want to know the feeling. I want to understand it better.
The butter knife felt so cold in my hand. It was so light, it felt like holding nothing. I closely studied how it's from glowed a white light and how thin the lame was, not sharp, meaning no harm, but that's a lie.
Anything can become a weapon if you wish to. You can hurt someone even with a butter knife.
I placed down satisfied and, turning around to leave the kitchen, I saw her behind me, watching me from above, bending down just a little.
I felt something jumped out of my skin, my confidence for sure.
But it was replaced by fear and regret.
She never told me that I am doing something wrong she doesn't say a word. She gazes at me for a while, then leaves.
However, each stare gets worse than the last one.
This time she was trembling and, her hands were behind her back like she was hiding something. She moved her head slowly in the direction of the table where the knife left my hand and, abruptly, only her eyes turned right back at me. When I headed for the hall, she placed something on the table. The noise was sharp and heavy, so it made me turn for a look.
It was a hammer.
The third time made me start considering the idea of how many tries I have left until I am in big trouble.
Do you know how your heart beats faster when you don't have enough time to do something you want?
I felt that the third time.
The layer of dust was so thick I was leaving a trace of my footprints. One single lightbulb blinked a bit to try and help me see.
A bunch of dolls on the wooden floor catch my glimpse.
I was in her room, looking around things when I found a small door missing a handle behind her locker. I couldn't restrain myself even if I knew she was in the kitchen, cooking dinner.
Yeah, I know, very cautious, but I know how much time it takes for her to be ready. I still have thirty-eight minutes left. I dive into the small hall without a second thought. After three meters, there's another door that says: "wreckage."
It left me puzzled at first, but now standing in front of what looked like dead bodies thrown on the floor wherever they land, it makes a little bit of sense. I get closer and realize they're natural sized dolls. They look like someone rip their limb apart in pure anger.
Some of them don't have a head anymore. Others have a smashed face missing the left hand or right leg. Variation of wounds is what I can describe this scene as.
One look at my watch and, I realize I still have 15 minutes, but it's better to play safe this time. I can come back later.
However, as I made the way back, I couldn't stop the shiver running down my spine, making my legs feel numb.
All of them looked like me, and whoever had eyes left landed on me the second I push the door open.
Wires were coming down on the floor from their cheeks, legs, arms, everywhere. If there was a hole in them, wires were coming out. Blood-red wires that kept everything in place, until now.
As I exit her room, I start going in the direction of mine. I didn't know what to do with what I saw down there. I didn't trust myself to look at her and act normal. I can think about one thing only.
The scissors that slept on my notebook.
© rubickon