Seventies (Philkas AU)

8

Philip's eyes grew wide at the sound of Lukas' words, and any will he had to sit up and shake the blond up in order to tell him the truth flew away. Instead, he let his back slowly fall back against the mattress and shut his eyes tightly. Pneumonia. An illness of the lungs. He had heard of it when he was a little kid, still, the memories hunt him, making him shiver every time he thought about it, or tried to talk about it.

So, he inhaled a deep breath and without putting much of a fight against it, let the images and memories of his earlier life consume him. He had no choice, but let them in, and do as they pleased with his mind.

...

"Mommy?" Asked Philip before bringing his small hands up to his closed eyes, and rubbed them with his fists. There was still no answer from his mother. "Mommy?"

Silence filled the room making every sound, sound at least 5 times louder than it already was. The little boy pulled his eyebrows together, threw his legs off his small bed, and stood on the wooden floor that made a loud sound. Philip knew that the house needed repair. He knew that he couldn't live with the cold hitting his skin late at night at the winter,  and the hot making sweat at the summer. But he also knew that his mommy couldn't repair the house as the money she earned were too little. They were enough to buy them both food, and even sometimes Philip had to starve.

He had also heard the grown ups that would occasionally visit his mommy's house saying that, that house was no place for a kid to stay and that he had to be sent into a foster family to have a better life. But Philip couldn't leave his mommy alone. When his father left them, he took his place in securing his mother's well being and so far, he did a great job at it.

The little brunet boy walked up to his window and took a good look at it. There were holes in the surface of the glass, where missing pieces had probably fallen off. He leaned down, grabbed a piece of clothing, and after tearing it in half converted the thin fabric into small balls. Then, he placed them on the holes that the window had and took a step back, admiring his work.

Of course that wouldn't be enough to keep him warm but at least it would stop the leaking of the ice cold at nights. A shiver ran down his arms, and Philip shook it off by rubbing them softly. He could see his frozen breath convert into smoke and fly around the room only to get lost in the air after the passage of a couple of seconds. But that was no time for games. Philip put on his warm thin shocks that always kept his feet warm, and walked down the wooden staircase into the living room.

The room seemed empty, as if it was abandoned ages ago. The light reflected to the floor had a grey color, probably because it had to go through a thin layer of snow. It was a tough winter. Yet, it didn't take him long to spot his mommy, laying on their yellow couch like a corpse, with her hand twitching sometimes as if in pain. Philip instantly ran up to her, and jumped on her lap. The feeling of bones against his skin terrified him, but he knew, that his mother meant no harm.

"Mommy, mommy, wake up!" He exclaimed shaking the older woman by her shoulder. "It's snowing, mommy! Come make a snowman with me!"

Annie, his mother, opened her eyes and looked at her son in owe. She placed her skinny hand at his warm cheek and nodded before coughing a couple of times. Philip thought that she was sick, but his mommy never got sick. Just tired, really tired, many times a day. She would get tired with her boyfriend, Ben, a large man that Philip sometimes was scared of.

"My sweet angel..." Annie mumbled stroking her son's cheek and hair. "Mommy can't play now," she made a pause to cough.