Kumquat #7
Rating: PG
Flavors: Kumquat #7 (now look what you made me do)
Extras/Toppings: --
Word count: 698
Project: Tachycardia
Notes: Been trying to finish this one for a while, finally did. Unless I change my mind for #8, this is the last part for teen Cody.
In the seventeen years of his life, Cody rarely came to regret anything big. However, he did regret many small things. Namely, one was not saving money to finally buy that mini-fridge for his room. It would have sat in the corner, right next to his desk and under the window. It would have, if he had bought it. But, he didn’t. And now, well now, Cody was praying he wouldn’t come to regret that decision tonight.
He had waited a whole hour, just lying there on top of his bed sheets. He would have waited longer-until everyone was for sure asleep-but his stomach demanded food and had begun to throw a tantrum, rumbling and grumbling.
With a great weariness that came from a lack of sleep and no food in seven hours, Cody rolled out of his bed and went out into the hallway to start “Operation: Cereal Run”. An hour was good enough, right? He hoped so.
Creeping down the stairs, one foot at a time, Cody managed to avoid setting off any squeaky snitches. Steps were terrible like that, notorious for being sellouts. The first floor of the house was dark, silent. Only a small light, the glow of a nightlight, came from the kitchen to the left of the stairs. With bated breath, he paused and listened for the telltale signs of his parents still awake. But, to his relief, the house was silent. It had been for an hour now after the huge row that had shook the house with a verbal violence that made him wish he was already off and away at university. One more year. It would be up soon enough, right? He hoped so.
Keeping quiet, he walked into the kitchen, not daring to turn the main light on. He gathered everything needed on the counter. Making cereal was the easiest thing ever.
It was only as he went to get the milk that he heard the breaths of another. Using the light of the open fridge to see, he turned to find the shadowed form of his mother. She was seated in the dining chair on the far end of the table. Her face was blank but tired with eyes puffy and rimmed red. Everything about her seemed tired and resigned-except for her eyes. Her eyes were fixated firmly on him; scrutinizing and judging with an intensity that made his throat go dry.
Cody swallowed what little saliva he had and broke the staring contest with his mother. Gently closing the fridge with his heel, he took the milk over to the counter, flicking the main light on as he made his way over, and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He carried his bowl over to the chair opposite of his watcher.
“Hello, Mom,” he said, trailing off nervously towards at the end. Waiting for a reply, he looked up at her. Oh, mistakes, regrets.
She did not reply, instead choosing to continue injecting invisible hate into his being with her stare. Her hands rested in her lap. She remained still, seated upright with a painfully straight posture that was a habit from her old dream of being a dancer-a dream that had died sudden and tragic with the shotgun marriage and Cody’s birth.
Cody focused down on the uneven, golden ovals floating around in the sea of white below him. Picking up his spoon, he began shoveling the corn flakes into his mouth. He ate with the fervor of the starving. He did not consider getting a second helping after the first, despite the emptiness that lingered in his belly. The gnawing hunger paled in comparison to the unease his own mother was causing him.
The chair gave a strained screeching noise as Cody left the table. Placing his bowl in the sink, he turned to leave to his room again. He shut the lights off and whispered a quick “night”.
There was no reply. But, even in the dark as he ascended back to his shelter, he could feel her gaze on him, blaming him for the miserable responsibility she was stuck in.
One more year could not come soon enough.
Flavors: Kumquat #7 (now look what you made me do)
Extras/Toppings: --
Word count: 698
Project: Tachycardia
Notes: Been trying to finish this one for a while, finally did. Unless I change my mind for #8, this is the last part for teen Cody.
In the seventeen years of his life, Cody rarely came to regret anything big. However, he did regret many small things. Namely, one was not saving money to finally buy that mini-fridge for his room. It would have sat in the corner, right next to his desk and under the window. It would have, if he had bought it. But, he didn’t. And now, well now, Cody was praying he wouldn’t come to regret that decision tonight.
He had waited a whole hour, just lying there on top of his bed sheets. He would have waited longer-until everyone was for sure asleep-but his stomach demanded food and had begun to throw a tantrum, rumbling and grumbling.
With a great weariness that came from a lack of sleep and no food in seven hours, Cody rolled out of his bed and went out into the hallway to start “Operation: Cereal Run”. An hour was good enough, right? He hoped so.
Creeping down the stairs, one foot at a time, Cody managed to avoid setting off any squeaky snitches. Steps were terrible like that, notorious for being sellouts. The first floor of the house was dark, silent. Only a small light, the glow of a nightlight, came from the kitchen to the left of the stairs. With bated breath, he paused and listened for the telltale signs of his parents still awake. But, to his relief, the house was silent. It had been for an hour now after the huge row that had shook the house with a verbal violence that made him wish he was already off and away at university. One more year. It would be up soon enough, right? He hoped so.
Keeping quiet, he walked into the kitchen, not daring to turn the main light on. He gathered everything needed on the counter. Making cereal was the easiest thing ever.
It was only as he went to get the milk that he heard the breaths of another. Using the light of the open fridge to see, he turned to find the shadowed form of his mother. She was seated in the dining chair on the far end of the table. Her face was blank but tired with eyes puffy and rimmed red. Everything about her seemed tired and resigned-except for her eyes. Her eyes were fixated firmly on him; scrutinizing and judging with an intensity that made his throat go dry.
Cody swallowed what little saliva he had and broke the staring contest with his mother. Gently closing the fridge with his heel, he took the milk over to the counter, flicking the main light on as he made his way over, and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He carried his bowl over to the chair opposite of his watcher.
“Hello, Mom,” he said, trailing off nervously towards at the end. Waiting for a reply, he looked up at her. Oh, mistakes, regrets.
She did not reply, instead choosing to continue injecting invisible hate into his being with her stare. Her hands rested in her lap. She remained still, seated upright with a painfully straight posture that was a habit from her old dream of being a dancer-a dream that had died sudden and tragic with the shotgun marriage and Cody’s birth.
Cody focused down on the uneven, golden ovals floating around in the sea of white below him. Picking up his spoon, he began shoveling the corn flakes into his mouth. He ate with the fervor of the starving. He did not consider getting a second helping after the first, despite the emptiness that lingered in his belly. The gnawing hunger paled in comparison to the unease his own mother was causing him.
The chair gave a strained screeching noise as Cody left the table. Placing his bowl in the sink, he turned to leave to his room again. He shut the lights off and whispered a quick “night”.
There was no reply. But, even in the dark as he ascended back to his shelter, he could feel her gaze on him, blaming him for the miserable responsibility she was stuck in.
One more year could not come soon enough.