Mara
I wake up to quiet. It's not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the empty one. As I rise, I can feel the cold air hit my ankles, where my sweatpants are too short to reach. There's a faint sound of the radio in the background. I can make up that it's about some isolated incident where people were found dead. Those have been getting more and more common lately, so it was no surprise. I sit down on the living room couch after turning off the radio someone left on. There's two slices of toast and a sticky note on the table infront of where I sit. 'Don't forget to eat again', signed 'mom'. She's wrong. I don't forget to eat. I just have no energy to eat.
It seems my mother has already left for work. Each time my mother comes out of work, she looks tired as ever. Well, she's a doctor, so her shifts are long and tiring. That's why there's also a new bottle of some really official-looking new trauma treatment pills on the corner table of the couch. There's an empty space in the bottle, at least eight pills already gone. Because doctors get free samples of medicational pills before they are released, she hogged five of them to herself. She wants me to use them too, but I don't see a reason for that, so I never took one. They seem to work well on her, though. I've noticed how she's been under less tension lately, and it makes me wonder what her childhood was like.
Rowan, my dear little brother, is sitting on the living room floor, playing with the toy car he got on the birthday I forgot about. I've been observing how he watches mother and her visitors chugging down those pills like vitamins. I've noticed how strongly children react to seeing other people take them. Well, I'm just 16 myself, but my reaction to watching people take a medication isn't that strong, and never was. Rowan's eyes have widened each time a pill goes down someone's throat, but somehow his own medication goes down without any signs of resisting. Those aren't for trauma, but for low blood pressure. Still, the pills look almost identical. I feel like he has heard one of those horror stories from his friends again. It's funny how easily he believes made-up stories.
When I finally snap out of my intense thoughts, I glance at the clock. 7:50 AM. Shit. I'm running late for school, and so is Rowan. I grab my backpack, which is way too light due to the lack of today's required books, and rush out of the front door, leaving Rowan home alone. He consistently whines whenever I mention school, which he should of course attend, but he never agrees to go, so I already stopped trying to get him to leave. I sprint to the bus stop as fast as I can, hoping the bus driver would have cared enough to take attendance today. But nope, the bus is gone. I need to commit on a 2.5 miles walk again. Great, just what I needed; morning runs becoming routine in my life of having already low energy.
I arrive late by over half an hour, and don't even bother going into the math classroom on the other side of the school. I'd rather wait in the empty hallway than listen to the teacher's rant about calculus or the most random things that don't relate to the subject at all. But if I'm that annoyed by school, why do I come here in the first place? Most people would say the reason is their friends, but for me It's the music class that keeps me motivated on coming to school every day. It's what helps me relax in this hellhole of a school, so I have taken all the music courses I can.
Suddenly, I notice four students walking into the hallway from different directions. I'm sure they are the same slobs who always crowd into the bathroom just to avoid classes and gossip, never leaving space for people who actually need to use the bathroom. Today they aren't heading there, though. Two are staring straight eachoter down like a wild west duel is about to start before my very eyes. But before they can begin any kind of a fight, one of them stes in. "Chill out," he says, only for his attempt to be countered by one of them with an emotionless stare.
When a teacher finally finds us in the hallway, one of the duelists bites the other boy's upper arm, but pulls away quickly. I can see how his expression changes into something terrified after biting someone. "Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?" one of the other boys asks him. Before he can answer, the teacher arrives and takes him away using force methods without breathing a word to him first. The guy being dragged away looks miserable, and the swarm of those scrumbags finally begins to clear out when he's out of sight, causing the others to leave. Most possibly heading to the bathroom. I roll my eyes at them.
The tune they always play before starting an announcement starts playing. Oh, I just know they'll start complaining about how much the students leave trash around. It's not our problem, really. There's just one trash can anyway. For my surprise, it's about the biting fight of two teething teenagers instead. "Isolated incident happened in B-2. Only mild damage was caused, but the culprit has escaped from the office. The situation is in total control, and you may continue your classes. Avoid letting students leave alone," the principal says through the radio. I have a feeling that student has somethlng wrong with his head, and that's probably what I should feel right now. But it's not like I'm going to run into him now, so why care?
Finally when the boring time has passed, I head to the music classroom. As soon as I step through the doorway, my mood is dropped by Clara, the person I hate the most. She's sitting in the front row with that damn fake grin when I fully expected her to skip school today. And not only that. The classroom is full of people! I prefer a small group of people who are actually interested in making a living with music over a classroom full of idiots rattling rhythmic eggs any day. I grab my favorite guitar and sit down on the clas empty seat, which is fortunately on the side so I can move it away from others. The teacher is not here, and is probably on her own vacation nobody knows about.
The class is full of chatter, destroying the last bits of my motivation I was going to use to play my favorite song. I hate chatter. Especially when monkeys are learning new words and play them on repeat. They keep saying 'it's just isolated', 'I heard it was isolated', 'the incident was isolated', 'if it wasn't isolated, we would we be outside' blah blah blah. The same damn word comes out of everyone's mouth. Fuck trends! I can't even hear my own thoughts here. How am I supposed to play?! Placing down the guitar and storming out, I walk home, vanishing like I never even came to school today in the first place.
When I reach home after the long walk, I note that Rowan is sleeping peacefully and our mother still hasn't arrived. I decide to call her to check on her. The answer comes quickly. Not an automatic answer, thankfully. "Are you working overtime again? You really shouldn't," I ask her. As she responds though the phone, her tone of speech is more calm than usual. "I noticed some symptoms in myself, so I need to nightin the hospital for the night. Take care of Rowan. Bye," she answers. The line is closed quickly after she finishes talking. When mother mentions symptoms in herself, I can feel a pang in my heart. I'm worried about her. My glance shifts to Rowan who is sleeping in his room, which is overcrowded childish decorations, and let out an audible sigh.
I flop to bed, staring at the ceiling. But somehow I still remember how those pills are on the table without anyone touching them for an extended period of time. It feels impossible, because mother always chugs down a fistful before leaving. But now that bottle is sitting still. Anyone could take them, and I need to make sure Rowan doesn't, so I count the missing pills whenever I see the bottle. I close my eyes and take a final, deep breath before feeling myself drift off to sleep.