someone like sirius

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NOVEMBER 18, 1969
HOWELL HOUSEHOLD

☆☆☆

The front door opened to reveal a ten year old Camellia Howell. Her backpack was haphazardly thrown across the floor as she kicked off her shoes and walks to her room. Her mother had forgotten to pick her up from school again, so she had to walk the two miles. Camellia had gotten used to her mother bailing out on her.

She walked to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water and placed it on her mother's bedside table for when she woke up. Her mother's figure laid on the floral sheets, still having not moved since that morning. She had stopped being a parental figure years ago, but Camellia found her own way around.

She pulled out a box of spaghetti noodles and a pot from the cupboard. Even though she had to pull out a step stool just to reach above the stove, this was the only way she would have food in her stomach. She slowly stirred the softening spaghetti, wondering when her mother would finally awake from her alcohol induced slumber.

Usually, she would be up by now, babbling and complaining about every little thing she saw. Then she would stuff her face and retreat back to her bedroom, leaving Camellia alone again. Camellia turned the knob on the stove and removed the pot. Her stomach was growling since her mum hadn't given her any lunch money, and she was starving. Before digging in, she decided to try and wake the beast in the other room.

"Mother. The child gently nudged the sleeping woman's shoulder. "I've made dinner."  Her mother didn't move, even when Camellia started violently pushing her mother. "Mum?"

Her mother, Jezebel, lay on her bed, as still as a rock. Her mouth was slightly agape, but no air came out of it. Camellia slowly walked away from her mother, not wanting to think about why she wasn't moving.

She's just passed out, that's all, she tried to tell herself. Once the alcohol passes through her system she'll be as good as new.

Part of her knew better than to believe that, but she had to hold onto the childlike innocence in her if she was going to survive this. Instead of focusing on the fact that her mother's body was stuck in a stiff position on her bedsheets, she walked back to the kitched and made a bowl of spaghetti for her mother.

With shaky hands, she put the bowl on her mothers dresser, for when she woke up of course. Brushing away a stray peice of hair on her mother's face, she planted a kiss on her mothers forehead. "Eat up, mother. You need your strength."

And that was the first time in four years, she had felt love from, and towards her mother.