It's Time To Wake Up

Miran, a young boy, who goes through each day wondering if it's all a dream or reality.

It’s Time To Wake Up

(WIP-Work in Progress)


         When I was younger, things were right. Then it wasn’t. The only thing that made me happy was when my mom would wake me up. Her soothing voice with her hand on my knee—it was great. When my little sister, Mira, was born, things went a little wrong. I loved her, but she was what my father wanted. He didn’t want a son. He wanted Mira, not Miran. My father started drinking too. His mind got a bit corrupted. He showed his hate for me even more. He hit me, mother, and sometimes Mira when he drank more than usual. He started calling me a freak. Said I was broken in the head. Mother wasn’t allowed to tell me to wake up anymore. That’s when the dreams started.


         The first one started when I was maybe eight. I woke up. Feeling alone as usual. My room had a lot of boxes, as that's where my dad and mom stored everything. I slipped out of bed and began walking to the kitchen. My dad was still asleep, mom was at the stove. She didn’t say anything to him. I watched her golden brown locks bounce on her shoulders as she adjusted Mira on her hip. Mira looked at me with big brown eyes. I could see the green specks in her gaze. They were similar to mine, but mine were a little more green. Like my dads. I never liked sharing a trait with him, but I was grateful that was where it stopped.
         "Morning, mother." I spoke softly, nervous my dad would wake. Mother did not say goodmorning back. She hadn't been for the past couple weeks. Although sometimes she'd sneak in a soft "morning, my love" when she was sure father couldn't hear.
         I sat at the table quietly. My eye followed the lines on the table. The table was a baby blue colour. The view of the table was taken away as a plate of bacon and toast was place in front of me. I looked at the bread with a frown.
         "Is there no butter?"
         "Not enough for you and your dad. I'm saving the rest for him."
         I didn't argue. Even at my young age I understood that if she had put the rest of the butter on my bread, my father wouldn't need a bottle to start hitting. With that, I ate my food without argument.
         I had eaten about half my food when the room suddenly had gotten darker. Looking up, I made eye contact with my dad. His hazel eyes glared at me so hard I felt like an egg about to explode in the microwave. His large, tall form stood over me. He grabbed a piece of my bacon and began to eat it, crumbs falling into his shaggy beard. I couldn't deny how I felt in that moment. My body shivered. I wondered what he would do.
         When he turned away, I didn't relax. He stood beside my mother as she carefully handed him his plate with buttered toast and perfectly cooked bacon. Now that I thought about it, mine was a bit cold.

         I started questioning if I was dreaming later that day. I had gotten on the bus to go home from school. I sat with a friend of mine, Travis. He was telling me about types of sharks. Lemon sharks, Tiger sharks, Leopard sharks, and others I couldn't name. That's when I looked out the bus window and saw a Hammerhead swimming in the sky. It confused me yet I was fascinated. None of the kids on the bus seemed as interested though.
         "There's a Hammerhead outside." I pointed. Travis looked out the window, a bright smile stretched across his face.
         "Awesome! Did you know that Hammerhead's have 360 vision?"
         "Ah, that's interesting. I thought sharks could only swim in water." Travis didn't answer me. I looked over and noticed I could see my house. That felt odd to me since I usually got dropped off after Travis.
         I grabbed my Minecraft bookbag and walked off the bus. My mother sat on the porch in her chair as she read a small novel. Inside, my father sat on his designated chair drinking a beer. I walked past the TV, almost getting hit with an empty beer bottle for getting in the way. I dragged my feet into the kitchen. Every day I come home from school, I have to do the dishes, sweep the floor, and set the table for dinner.
         I stepped on a small stool and began to wash the dishes. Once all the dishes were spotless, looking brighter than my future, I sweep the floor. My mom walked into the kitchen, then ran her fingers through my hair. It had been a while since that happened. I leaned into her soft touch and grabbed her large hands.
         "I love you mommy."
         "I love you too, Marian."