literature

Made a Man

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Literature Text

     I brushed my hair out of my eyes and looked out the window as I leaned my elbow on the wooden sill. Chipped paint came off without a fight as I scratched it away, making random letters and designs in the woodwork. I made a duck and wrote my name. White leaflets of paint fell to the dingy blue carpet, but I brushed them away with my foot.
     The moon shined a pale white on our lawn, illuminating the grass and weeds and gravel that littered it. The willow tree shimmered as the wind caught its shining branches and made them dance with each other. Leaves flew silently across the yard, landing for a bit, then kicking back up again. The gravel driveway was littered in different weeds that popped up through the gaps between the rocks.
     “Looking out the window isn’t gonna make him come back,” a sullen voice spoke behind me. I turned to see Luke. He wore his black Misfits shirt that Dad got him for his birthday and black pants that were skin tight. His hair reached his shoulders, making thin strands of faux black wisp around his sallow face. His green eyes had sunken in. Dark rings sagged from them. His lips were red and scabbed from biting them.
     “That’s exactly why I’m looking,” I muttered in reply, brushing more strands of brown out of my eyes. “I’m making sure he doesn’t come back.”
     Luke set his gaze on the floor. I did the same, eyeing every bloodstain that’s set in, every reminder of the reality we had been given.
     “You don’t miss him?” he whispered.
     “What kind of question is that?” I asked. “I hope I never see his face again.”
     “No matter how much you hate him, he’s still our dad.”
     “He’s a father. He’s not my dad,” I hissed.
     Luke looked up at me, then turned and walked out of the room. I sighed and turned back to the window. Nothing had changed.
     I heard a sob from the other room. Millie was probably still crying. Mom was probably still trying to tell her that everything was okay, probably trying harder to convince herself that this was the truth instead of her five year old daughter. She was just trying to lie to herself. She knew that nothing was okay, but Millie couldn’t know that. Millie had to sleep. She had to believe that everything was gonna be fine, no matter what. She could just go to bed and everything would be okay in the morning. It would all just be a bad dream that she woke up from. Then, she would tell us about it over our lukewarm eggs and watery cereal. We would nod our heads in agreement, saying that it was only a dream, but it would be terrible if it wasn’t. My God, wouldn’t that be horrible?
     But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. And no matter how many tears Millie cried, Dad wasn’t gonna come back. And it couldn’t make me happier, or angrier to tell the truth.
     Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the moon hid behind a heavy cloud. Stars were blotted out of the sky.
     I turned away from the window for a minute. My room was dimly lit by a small red desk lamp that was placed on a plywood table with a plastic lawn chair beside it. The wallpaper in the room was peeling off of the walls. What was left had an alternating blue and white harlequin pattern strewn across it. I felt like the King of Diamonds in my room, even though I absolutely hated it. I was more like the Joker anyway. Just something to take up space. My floor was a dirty blue carpet that was sticky in most places. It felt grimy to step on. Cockroach shells littered the corners of the room. Remnants of dead spiders still stuck to my plaster ceiling. My mattress was placed by the door, a green blanket with a matching pillow resting at the foot. Clear plastic buckets were placed next to it, containing my clothes in separate piles: underwear, socks, pants, shirts. Dad had the same buckets, only his buckets had magazines that showed naked women’s bodies in it. I found them one time and stole one for myself. When he found out I stole it, he hit me a good couple of times. I never looked at any again.
     I looked back to the window. Nothing. I sighed and walked out of my room and into the hallway. The white wallpaper was stained brown in places. It was blood. Every stain in the stupid house was blood. It was just a fact of life. That’s all life was. Rage.
     Millie’s screams were getting closer. I shifted into the kitchen to find Millie on the floor in a pool of tears, holding the teddy bear that Dad gave her for Christmas. Her red hair was all matted. It clung to her face. Her eyes were a dull blue, and they were filled with tears. Her cheeks are red and swollen with tear tracks.
     “Where’s my pop-pop?” she sobbed. “I want my pop-pop!”
     I looked up to see Mom sitting on a cooler next to our kitchen table. She was clutching a whiskey bottle for dear life. Her eyes stared down at the plastic cup in her hand, which had to be at least a quarter of the way full of alcohol. She twirled her cup around, sloshing around the amber liquid inside.
     Her face looked dejected. Her greasy brown hair covered her face like a veil. It fell around her head, limply dragging around every corner of her shoulders.
     “Mom,” I said, keeping my voice level, despite Millie’s screaming.
     She looked up at me. “Perfect timing,” she said. “Can you tuck her in for me? She’s killing my head.”
     I looked at Millie who is still on the floor. She looked up at me with big eyes that were all red.
     “Sure,” I said. I picked Millie up off of the floor. She was still sniffling. “Shhh…” I whispered. “I’m here. I’ll make it all better.”
     “Bubba make it better,” she repeated. I smiled a little bit.
     I carried her through the hallway toward her room. Luke eyed me as I passed by his room, but then went back to watching his portable television.
     When we got to Millie’s room, I laid her in her pink plastic bed. Air wheezed out of the holes in it when she turned over to me. I covered her in her pee-stained blanket and gave her a kiss on her dirty wet cheek. She smiled as I got up and turned to the light switch.
     “Bubba?” she said? “Is pop-pop ever gonna come back?”
     I turned back to see the child of a naïve little girl that didn’t know about how life really worked. The sad eyes of a young girl that look like shattered glass in the dim light of the lightbulb that hung from the ceiling.
     “I don’t know, Millie,” I whispered. “Maybe tomorrow.”
     “Yeah,” she sighed into her pillow. “Tomorrow.”
     I turned off the light and closed the door as I left.
     “You’re so noble,” I heard Luke say from his room.
     “Shut up and go to sleep,” I muttered. I walked back to the kitchen. “Mom—“
     I was too late. She had already passed out on the table, her left hand still clutching the whiskey bottle. I sighed and picked her up, letting her rest on my shoulder. I drug her down the hallway to her room. I opened her door to reveal her floor, littered with all kinds of different bottles of alcohol. A different bottle for every day. Wine for Monday. Rum for Tuesday. Whiskey and scotch for all of the others. I laid her on her mattress. It was stained brown from blood and semen. She turned over involuntarily, but didn’t say anything. I left the room and walked toward mine.
     “What are you going to do?” I heard Luke call after me.
     I stopped in the middle of the hallway. “What do you mean?”
     “When he comes back… What are you gonna do?”
     I walked back to Luke’s room. He had his television turned off, but he was still staring at the blank screen.
     “He’s not coming back, Luke,” I said. “He’s never coming back.”
     “How would you know?” he asked. “He could come back tomorrow if he wanted to.”
     “That’s the point. He doesn’t want to.”
     “What if he did though?”
     I glared at him. “Didn’t I tell you to go to sleep already?”
     He huffed. “Don’t have to be so bitter.”
     I turned off his light. “Good night,” I said as I closed his door.
     I walked back to my room and immediately go to the window. It was raining harder now. The willow tree was bending more, but there was still no car in the driveway. Dad’s car still wasn’t in the driveway.
     I went to my mattress and fell down face first into my pillow. His car wasn’t there, but it could always be there tomorrow.
Okay, so I wasn't playing when I said that I needed to write something. I give many thanks to the composers of the Halo ODST soundtrack, as it inspired me much. I was up until 2 in the morning writing this, even though it really isn't that long.

Also, even though I don't have premium and I can't get real critiques, I would still like it if you gave me a little bit of critiquing.

With all of this being said, enjoy the story!

~Rucker

P.S- Don't ask me to continue this story. It's all right here.
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ForceOfReason's avatar
I love the ODST soundtrack; which track was it that inspired you to write this?

It's very well done, I really like the emotion and actions of the main character - particularly the scratching of names and random faces on the windowsill. Some of the grittier imagery, like the bloodstains and dead cockroaches, really help to set the mood. Similarly, the little details about the setting; such as the leaves blowing across the yard or the plastic chair, are very effective.

Having come come across this by searching 'ODST', I was a little confused at first. I thought that the story was set in the halo universe and that the father was a KIA ODST - and for some reason, that the main character was a girl. Upon rereading I realised that it was my mistake rather than your writing, so no worries :)

In summary, a very good piece with some really nice - well, not nice, but that's the point - imagery that conveys emotion brilliantly, and lots of small details that snatch the reader from his world and into yours. Bravo!