Kill the Mind

"No, James, listen here, it's too risky for both sides to go to war." The voice speaks back at me. I then argue in defense, "I know the media are predicting a high chance of war, look at the other side of the coin: the media's evolution of faking exaggeration for the smallest of matters has become natural for them." Waiting for a response in the newborn sunset, I pull down the door handle to the house and force the door open. I immediately turn around to slam the door shut, taking a deep pause in wait of James' next choice of words. His tone of voice and words show agreement to my statement; paired with a weak farewell. I stare at the door, rolling my eyes at the naïvety of the speaker at the other end of the call; quickly exchanging a goodbye in return. Violently stabbing the screen to end the call, a semi-deep voice conjures from behind in various frequencies.

"Poking at uncle James again, mum?" To provide a response I make a slow half turn to see him openly lie on the scratched sofa which is pressed against the left wall.

"Yes Brett," taking an angered breath, I must seem like a dragon ready to spurt out fire. "Yes it was." His positioning transforms from being relaxed and lay down to tense and upright.

"What's the problem now?" The teenage boy steals the remote control from the rectangular, glass table in front of him, muting the television that sits at the opposite side of the room. The house becomes silent as soon as the television loses its voice, and he stares disturbingly at me with his aqua blue eyes like a child ready to listen to a bedtime story. The placing of the remote on the glass only disturbing the quietness for a fraction of a second. How can I tell an innocent child that he's in danger? Or, how about a we might not make it out alive? No, the latter thought definitely sounds as sinister as the first. Like most parents, we have to do the wrong things for the right reasons, and that means lying. I've done it multiple times when he asks questions about his father. I heavily gasp in air to form the untruthful words to spit right back out to him.

"It's nothing Brett, uncle James wanted some money, but I can't because I'm a little tight at the moment." I make my way towards him, sit beside him, then wrap my left arm around the back of his neck and place my hand on his shoulder. Glancing at his face, I notice how each feature of his head is well defined- brown, layer cut hair; crystal blue eyes; perfectly round ears; natural lips; pale complexion.

Breaking the silence in the room is now my question aimed towards the boy, "so how has your day at school been, mate?" Brett's face still showing the same concerned look from the argument with my brother, but the tone he speaks in hides it well for anyone but his mother to be fooled by.

"It's been great actually!" He stretches his arm under the sofa, retrieving a navy-coloured cube, "and even better, I've got you a gift for your anniversary with dad!" Presenting the gift in his right palm, the left hand hovers above the cube, the thumb behind the object and the index finger gently lifts the top to uncover a silver-plated bracelet resting inside. The artificial jewel stole my attention. More so, Brett's thought into buying such a thing had me in awe. Breathing in air to form my next set of words, Brett cuts me off: "yes, I know dad has been gone for 8 years now but your love for him lasts forever. I see it in your eyes." My disturbed train of thoughts has gone to waste. Am I that readable? I let out the chunk of breath I caught before he interrupted me- nothing but clearly lost for words. What he says about my reflection on the past is true: depressed thoughts have consumed me for so long that it has started to reflect in my actions. However, in my guard all I can do is mitigate the remark he has made.

"But how could you afford such a thing?" I ask while I pick up the gift with both palms as if it were a newborn baby.

"I've been getting into some shady money-making business at school," responding nervously.