Alright guys so literally for the past like six years in a row, there’s always some stupid shit drama with my dad’s relatives 🙄 it’s so fucking stupid because it’s almost always involving this one particular aunt, and she’s the one who hosts Thanksgiving at her house. It’s usually involving my mom even though she literally doesn’t get involved and never does anything to starts shit, this aunt just makes a big deal of the pettiest things and is so self absorbed it’s ridiculous uGhhhhHhh I’m dreading going to her house tomorrow. Now you guys please tell me all about the tea with your family drama!
I am a male who lives in relatively nice neighborhood
It’s your average small town run of the mill suburbs area with not a lot of people.
I am a college kid who’s home on break while my parents have gone away which doesn’t help at all.
I have a two story house
I do not have gun nor do I have any real weapons other than kitchen knives
I am not on any medication and I have no record of schizophrenia or any other mental illnesses
I barely have any relationships with my neighbors most of whom are elderly and the rest I have minimal contact with
I do not have any people in my neighborhood (that I know of) who have reasons to attack or harm me
Now, let’s get into what has been happening. About two nights ago I
woke up very late in the night and I went to the bathroom to go take a
shit. Now, my second story bathroom has a window that can see the
entirety of my backyard. Directly behind it is a cul de sac which you
can see directly into. There is a group of trees and pile of rocks and
mulch that divides it. Usually I can see everything in my backroom
without turning on my because lights from my neighbor’s house dimly
lights the room.
handwritting or typing? silence or music? at night or day? pens or pencils? short stories or novels? poetry or prose? dialogue or description? fiction or nonfiction? original or fanfic? journals or letters?
The way his father doesn’t flinch tells Jack he knew before
they all sat at the breakfast table.
Before Jack said good morning, before he grabbed the milk jug and poured
himself a tall glass, before he accepted his egg white omelette with a thanks
for Trudy who smiled back and said good morning when he said it to her.
His mother told him, when he’d been curious and feeling
grown up enough to ask what made a lasting relationship, that the key was
communication. “Constant communication –
you can never over-do it like you can under do it.” She said. So of course his father knew.
He should have expected this really, not the announcement,
though of course that should have been a no brainer. His father knowing might not have been a show
of relationship solidarity so much as a token gesture to prove that she might
be President of the United States but she was also his wife Alicia Zimmermann
and she still believed in the things she did when they were first married. Never mind all the times she didn’t on the
journey to get here.
“Jack?” He looks at his father who looks like he’s trying
not to be disproportionally concerned.
He doesn’t think it’s a good idea either. He knows what’s happening to Jack right
now. He can feel the vibrations in the
earth beneath them too. “Thoughts?”
Jack has no thoughts.
He has a high pitched ringing in his head that makes him afraid to open
his mouth in case he lets it loose. He
has no words, no words they want to hear, no words he wants to say while there
are people outside not even pretending not to eavesdrop. Besides, she’s already made up her mind. His mother’s asking him what he thinks hoping
she’ll say it’s fine but already knowing it doesn’t matter. It’s always been like this. She’s always letting people know about her
decisions out of courtesy, not because she cares what people think.
“Does it matter?” He manages to croak out.
“What? Of course it does.” Her voice is gentle like she’s
trying to soothe the anxious child he used to be.
He’s not a child anymore.
A humourless laugh spills free, “Does it though? You said one term. Ater-“ he breaks off and the air takes on the
weight of what he’s referring to, “after it
happened you said that it would be one term.
That I was more important to you.” He hates the way his voice breaks, “You
“But you’re doing so well now.” She winds an arm around his
shoulder but any comfort he ever derived from her soft embrace, from the way
the vanilla of her perfume would wrap around him, has gone. This isn’t the first time he’s noticed it but
it’s the first time he’s noticed how long it’s been since he remembers the
first time it happened. “You’ve played
phenomenally all through the finals. I
was, I am, proud of how far you’ve
come. How confident you are now.”
Jack swallowed, “So because I’m not in danger of overdosing
now you think another term is on the table? That that’s not going to change
His mother’s squeeze of his shoulders feels like she’s
trying to force him not console him and he has to wiggle free, to gain some
space around him so his ribs can move to breathe. “Jack calm down.”
“Calm down?” He hiccups trying to remember his calming
count. “No.” He blurts. “No to this second term. If you’re asking me, it’s a no.”
“Jack sit down son.” Bob has a hand on his shoulder but he
needs space. This room is too
small. He feels crowded and hot. He crosses to the window and throws it
open. A small red light goes off on the
security lock at the base. It reminds
him of how trapped he really is and he loses count again. “Jack you need to breathe.”
“I’m trying!” He shouts.
“Ma’am is everything okay?” A distant unfamiliar voice asks
from across the room.
Jack hears his mother speak but her words don’t
register. He’s retreated into himself,
far within where all he has to worry about is what’s happening to his
body. It’s not until she’s standing
behind him at the window, her hand cool on the back of his neck that he feels
himself expand and fill his body up again.
He grips the curtain cord. “In for
three out for four remember?”
He shakes her touch off again, “I remember.” He snaps.
Bob leans back and his chair creaks. “I know you’re not happy about this.”
What gave it away?
Jack wants to snap but instead he retorts, “But it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters.” Bob argues. It almost sounds like Jack can believe
him. “It matters. If you’re worried that to go through another
election race will make you backslide then it matters.”
Make him backslide.
Like he’s just an addict who needs to try harder not to fall off the
wagon. “What happens if I say no?”
Alicia straightens at the look Bob shoots her. “Then we don’t run again. Right?”
“I’m not asking you to give up hockey-” She says.
“Alicia!” Bob growls.
“I’m just asking you to trust me. To trust yourself. You’re stronger than you think you are.”
Jack turns back to the window surveying the methodical
maintenance going on on the south lawn.
Mowers ride up and down the grounds cutting uniform lines across the
grass, the gardeners trim at the flower beds creating an impressively neat line
between the soil and the freshly mowed grass.
“And if I’m not?”
“You are.” She insists.
Bob sighs her name again and again she ignores him. “I have so much work left to do Jack.” She
sounds scared about it, like the moment she steps down everything she worked
for will be erased.
She’s probably right.
Jack pushes off from the windowsill and stalks across the
“Where are you going?” Alicia follows him with her eyes but
her feet stay glued to the carpet.
“I have to get out of here.”
He whirls around, “Is that a presidential order?” He growls.
Alicia rears back wide eyed, “Of course not.”
Jack’s chest heaves in the thick oppressive air between
them. “I need to think about it.” Like
that’s going to make a damn bit of difference.
She dares a small smile, probably hoping it looks more sad
than triumphant. It doesn’t.
“I´ll begin at the beginnin´. A fine, soft day in the spring it was when the train pulled into Castletown, three hours late as usual, and himself got out. He didn´t have the look of an American tourist at all about him, not a camera on him and, what was worst, not even a fishing-rod.”