The sun was rising and the sky was orange, my windows were open and the chilly air was rushing in, I could hear people walking, breathing, speaking and eating through my window and I knew it was one of those cities that never sleep. I left the bed and my foot touched the icy floor as if they were cut from an iceberg. I got up, only to see ten boxes near the door, curiosity clasped me and I started opening one after another to find clothes, shoes, hats, glasses and some albums with pictures of me, Blake and John, most likely photo shopped to make us look like a real family. While looking at the photographs, that have pictures from three years ago and slowly peeking at how much images they took of me, my phone started to vibrating. I rushed to it as if I’m sure she’s the one calling me, and as I opened the text, I realized its from some telecommunication company and just before my peculiar smile turns to a frown, I remembered that she doesn’t have my number, I’m the one who does so how would she call me. I kept repeating to myself “ I have her number?” a few times before I hurried to my worn jeans to look for the small wrinkled paper that holds a number that is only beautiful in my eyes.
I walked down the stairs with the small sheet of paper clutched into my fist and I slowly started to remember every insignificant detail about her hair, eyes, lips, cheeks and again a smile was drawn into my face. My legs got manipulated into thinking there is anther stair to climb down, two steps to my left is the empty living room. I sprawled into a reclining chair and opened the TV and started surfing the channels until I laid my eyes on something unusual and upsetting. A woman crying while being interviewed, tears rushing down her rosy face like a waterfall, she took a long breath and said “They took him away, they are filthy rotting human beings!!”
It was my mom.