"Fate, foretold fairly for fortunate futures
Care, clumped closely, clears crystals" -Kenji
The day was cold yet the house was warm with love. My mom roasted some chicken over the pot, while it sizzled. Dad had barely come home. More interested in hero work, mom would say. Dad was the "Puppet Meister.". He could control people, force confessions. Turn them into puppets. She never liked him much. Just married him out of convenience. She'd say.
"You shouldn't have married him. He cheats..." I stood beside her.
??? [Stoic]: And?
She said, as if it wasn't as bad as it was.
"And? You should be happy mama. Go out. Find someone who loves you"
??? [Happy]: You love me and that's all that matters. When you'll be a hero... I can finally live my days.... with my poems and my son who will grow into a very capable and handsome man.
She kissed my cheek as she pulled me closer.
??? [Happy]: All I ask of you is that you never.... ever forget me.... and be loyal to the woman you choose. I'll be happy with whatever you pick.
We embraced our bodies locked as she tried to simply brush my hair with her fingers.... I had to bend down as she held me there.
??? [Disdain]: We Patels are strong. Your father..... is not one of us.
She chose to keep her maiden name. That SOB didn't fight it. But I knew he hated that I was just his wife's son.
That nothing could of mine could be traced back to him. He kicked us out. Left us to starve as he went to his new family of 2 kids. I didn't expect it. But I wasn't surprised. The days were brutal in the winters and the nights deadly. We were thrown out of shelters and sold everything for a motel night's stay. Just like how Boot Jr. lived with his sons no less .....
She stared at me as we slept in the same bed apart.
??? [Affection]: I made a new poem... I know you're not a fan of the poems I write.
She spoke softer.
"I am a fan. I just don't like poems." I spoke.
She chuckled as opposed to her cackling when dad was still around..... and actually faithful.
???: Of course you are.
She caressed my hair slowly as she slowly mused.
"Leave the butterflies at the door,
Let them be free, Let them soar.
Give them a home far away from here
For they were meant to bring hope, not fear.
Snip their wings and they will perish
And be forgotten, removed from those they cherished
Thankless, they say, excuses with pause
But never for the damage that they cause
To be a hero is to fly high
So high, removed from the sky
Looking down, saving those unable
creating infinite countable fables
Happiness is earned, not by smiles or strength
But by keeping the lovers at arm's length
If the butterfly refuses to flap its wings,
the world must move on to the new king."
"Was this.... about dad?" I asked.
???: It could be about anyone you think of. That is the beauty of a poem.
"That was a good poem."
???: Don't lie to me.
She was most definitely.
"I'm not a good liar.... you know that Ma."
???: I know. But that is great no? No need to put effort into a lie when the truth is so freeing.
"Sometimes lies are necessary."
???: "Well.... lies which don't require effort to hide are. If you need to make an effort to keep up a facade... that is a lie not worth keeping."
"What if the lie helps people? Say if a hero were to lie to a villian."
She went silent but simply stared at the fan above. She smiled
???: "Still a lie and I'd rather not my son suffer.... from the pain of a lie."
That..... was the last time I spoke to her before she passed. Her cancer....ate her from the inside out. She died sleeping. Hugging me at the side until her hands grew cold. I cried. Too much... But never stopped holding her. It had been days. I didn't call the police and had forced myself to merely act as if nothing was wrong. I made food for two people and just left the plate on the desk next to my mom. I just.... needed her. Held her. Bathed her hands and her legs as a son would be allowed to do, as I placed her around the house with a deference of a man insane.
But I finally had the courage to place her in rest after I completed my training. Gently placing her decaying body into the fire as it burned my hands. I stood up and simply kneeled as no tears fell. I sifted through the woods and poured the ashes into the jug from the motel. It wasn't an urn. But she would be more mad if I stole. I turned around and saw the man. My...."father" watching me as I stood there with her remains.
I wanted to punch him. She wouldn't have died if it wasn't for him. He looked at me.... as if he were waiting for something, an apology? Begging? Crying?
Puppetmaster [???] : You won't come back?
I walked past him, but he grabbed my arm. I almost dropped the jug but luck was on my side. So was my mom.
"Would it change what you did?" He pushed me but I held firm, falling on my behind holding the jug tight like a teddy bear.
Puppetmaster [???] : I am your fath-
"I have no such thing. I was born from my mother and her undying faith. I disown any part of you that resembles me." I said harshly.
Puppetmaster [???]: Then.... I'll give you a final gift.... as your now estranged father.
His hands shot out and I felt the invisible fog cloud my vision, my mind as my body convulsed. All of my mother's memories..... I could see them. Connected to strings.... a whole pin board of my love. But the strings them selves burned, blacked and charred my mom's face out. "MAMA!" I screamed as I ran into the burnt pictures.... as her name fully blackened out. Her face.... blurry.
I fell back into the real world. My mother's ashes spread on the floor as if i failed..... I looked around and the bastard..... was gone. I screamed and screamed begging for my mom.... as if I'd remember her. I'm sorry mom..... I didn't keep your promise.