Max blinked at the white door that looked so familiar. It should. He grew up there. Not in the door. He grew up in the house that contained the door. He glanced around the porch. Everything was the same. The same creaky step leading up to the porch, the same peeling paint, the same dingy flag hanging (not fluttering). It was eerie.
Max knocked.
His mother opened the door, looking tired and pale. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and threaded with gray and white. She looked at him and Max saw confusion, pain, sadness and anger go through her,
“You're not my son,” she whispered,
Max didn't say anything,
“You can't be my son,” she said, voice shaking but loud,
Max realized he didn't even know what to say to her. He had waited so long to come back here. Too long, it seemed. But after the news about Alex he had to come back.
“Is Alex here?” Max hesitated, “Is dad here?”
His mother just looked furious now. Even with the tears.
“No. No. No one's here! You're not my son! They said he was dead! You're not my son!” she yelled at him,
Max flinched. He wasn't used to getting yelled at by his mom. He wasn't used to his mom looking mad at all.
Max bit his lip and nodded solemnly. He stepped backwards away from his mother, knowing he could never think of her as that again. Knowing that she hated him for not being the son she remembered. He stepped off the porch, heard the door being quietly shut behind him.
This is the second part of the 5/4 prompt...it took me forever to finish even though it's super short >.<
No comments:
Post a Comment