Freedom

2000 word limited piece about a little boy who no longer wants his freedom.

Freedom.

It’s cold outside. I know it’s cold outside because as I peer out from under the blanket, which is as old as me, I can see ice gluing the raggedy curtain to the inside of the window pane. Ice covered in elegant swirling mark as if made by ice skating fairies during the night. I shudder.

Should I get up or should I continue to huddle in my warm nest? The choice is mine, free to lie here or get up. There was nobody yelling “Get out of bed Jake!” Just the silence, telling me they either never came back last night or they would be somewhere, close by, unable to speak. The ice begins to drip as the daylight screams at me you’re late for school again. My tummy rolls round like a football knowing that when I get to school the whole class will turn, screw up their judgmental eyes and chant “Late again Jake, there goes our shot at the punctuality award.” Miss will smile, creating little dimples on her rosy cheeks. She’s always there, always the same, maybe she slept on a mattress in the cupboard.

The dripping is constant. Taunting me to get out of bed and go to the toilet. Looking for more layers to add to my uniform my eyes scan towards the only other piece of furniture in the room, a broken chair I found down by the canal. There on the orange padded seat I spy the neat folded pile of every piece of clothing I own. I like folding stuff. It makes it feel smoother.

I crawl off my mattress, I had left my old bed behind, and brush my hands down my uniform in an attempt to iron out the deep creases from my nights slumber. It must be straight, top button fastened or there will be trouble and more stares. I wiggle my big toe and grin as it peeks through the hole in my sock. If only I had a pen, I could give it a face, but there was no need for pens in our house. As I near the bathroom I seal my mouth and hold my breath to block out the stench. Pushing the door open I stop dead as I see a woman. I think she has been here before, but now she is slumped with her head on the toilet seat. I groan desperate for a wee, she groans and rolls her cheek out of the sick which covers the seat and drips like the melting ice down to the floor. I try to sneak across the room, but the loud creak of a board gives away my presence. Her eyes ping open. “What are you staring at freak?” she snarls. My gaze falls to the floor, my cheeks flush with warmth. I use the bath instead and leave. Well it doesn’t get used for much else, you won’t get me in no freezing water.

There’s no sign of Mum yet. On my way down the stairs I see Daisy curled up on a step. Daisy’s cool. She takes a long drag of her cig and offers it to me. I just smile then walk on by, desperate to find something to fill my aching, rumbling tummy.

Walking into the kitchen I see there’s a spanking new plastic bag on the worktop, someone’s been shopping. I fling open doors, but there’s nothing to be found, just a thick layer of dirt, some mouldy clothes and a spider the size of a fifty pence, so with the echoing gurgles of an empty tummy I wander into the sitting room.

There are six people slumped around the room including mum. She lies on the couch with someone new, well I couldn’t' see his face, their naked bodies were entwined motionless, his face turned away as he snored like a walrus. How mum could continue to sleep beneath him I had no idea, but I don't recognise the dangerous looking tattoo down his leg. Then I spy treasure. The hairy bottom melted into the usual morning image of a mixture of people, with smiles on their mouths, but glazed emptiness in their eyes. Empty beer cans are strewn across the floor, chalk and needles on the crate we used as a table, my gaze is fixed on the pizza box. Creeping over I slide my hand inside and find the best meal I have had since lunch time in school on Friday, three crusts each with a delicate edging of sweet tomato. I stuff the pieces into my mouth, chewing the tough sweet bread as my jaw begins to ache and my throat becomes dry. Grabbing the opened can of coke which stands on the corner of the crate I am excited to feel it isn't empty. It is a brief feeling of happiness as I tip the contents f*g ends and all into my mouth. Choking and spluttering I rub my throat till the pain begins to ease.

"Get outta here man," yells an unfamiliar voice as a hand sweeps across the back of my head with a stinging slap. “Ouch.” I yelp before grabbing the Neto bag with my reading book inside and running out into the cold morning light. My eyes wince as the brightness burns through to my dulled mind.

Walking briskly to try and keep warm I am soon at the deserted school gate. Everyone else will be inside, coats off, registers taken following the rules. I am the exception to the rule, free to do as I please. They may try and fine mum, even put her in jail, but I am free to do as I please.

Walking down the corridor holding Miss Bowles’s warm hand was nice. She smells of bananas. I like bananas and her soft palms and rough fingertips, from all the typing she does, click, click, click on the keyboard, tickled my hand as we walk. No one holds my hand at home, I’m free to walk, run, leap and jump all by myself.

I brace for the stares, tightening my grip on Miss’s hand, as a squashing feeling squeezes my tummy the moment my brain reminds me that reading would be first.

I like books and stories, the characters, the places, the adventures. Some days at story time I wished I could jump into the book and never come back. They had lots of stories at school. There haven’t been any books in my house for a long time.  It wasn’t because I didn’t like reading that my heart begins to wobble as I step up to the door, it’s just I wish that the words in the reading books weren’t so wiggly. I would stare at the page in my reading book group watching the words as they danced across the page like ballerina worms, but I knew how to play it. Just saying the sounds the others did, just a fraction of a moment after the sounds left their lips hid my dysfunction. Once I knew what each sound said I could swirl them together to make the word, it was a fun game. The others practise every night, but I'm free, so I don’t have to. I wish I could read the exciting books like orange group.

After writing, break and a delicious snack of pear and milk we have maths. Time work on describing your bedtime routine in order. A task most children took quite some time to do, so many routines, mine was simple, I was free to go to bed whenever I felt like it, free to brush my teeth or not, free to wash my face if I dared to brave the bathroom and freezing water. No need to get on Pj’s I could just slip under my blanket with my uniform on, ready for the next day. Other kids seemed so restricted, though remembering the stories and cuddles before Dad died, before mum took the things she wasn’t supposed to, I felt a little sad inside.

After maths my favourite time of the day arrives, lunch time. Walking into the hall I breathe deeply letting my nose taking in every detail of the hot tasty food. I try to guess what it would be. I loved school dinners and Mrs Culshaw with her black and red long hair always slipped me a few extras on my plate. Nobody said anything. Fish fingers and chips, mmm fish fingers and chips with bright green rolly peas, followed by Jam sponge and custard. The thick yellow custard wobbles as I cut into it with my spoon, other kids went yuck, but it was amazing, so sweet and sticky.

As the home-time bell rattles through my ears I wait. I can hear Luke’s Mum telling him off for not wearing a coat. I didn’t have a coat, so I was free to go without. No one would nag me, poor Luke I thought as his mum wrapped him safely in the warm coat. I smiled.

I didn’t mind being the last one there as Miss let me sharpen the pencils with the big grinding machine. It always makes me smile as the teeth rumble round, jiggling my fingertips as I keep tight hold.  Sometimes Miss jokes I could go home with her and do her hovering, sometimes I wish she would take me. I wonder if her house would be the like mine was before dad died. I miss my old room, I miss my dad, they were both gone and so was mum really.

Daisy comes to get me, eventually. She’s bought me some sweets. I like Daisy. I shiver as I trundle home, but I don’t care. I am too busy stuffing the sweets into my already full mouth. The fizzy and tang tickle my tongue causing my cheeks to suck in, spreading a dainty grin across my icy cheeks. Daisy walks ahead, her ears bunged up by her head phones, singing like a cat being strangled, to the tracks which she plays on her phone. Moments later the wind sweeps me aside as Jennifer and her Mum come zooming past us at such speed that Jen’s feet barley make contact with the floor.

“Hi Jake.” She mouths as she passes.

“Hurry up sweetie.” Her mother says. “We have tea to eat before swimming and ballet.”   I wave goodbye. No-one’s dragging me along like a toddler, telling me to hurry up as the tea would be ready soon, or that we had to be somewhere, or it was getting dark and dangerous outside. There was nothing pressing on my schedule, I was free to do anything.

Loud music pulses from my house as I reach the door, yet I can still hear people yelling inside. Daisy has vanished. I lost sight of her red coat several roads back. My body feel as stiff as a robot as I touch the cold door handle to the unlit home, yet the back of my neck is alive with uncomfortable prickles. I open the door and step into another type of cold. Something hits the wall. “You b***h.” Mum screams. I run inside. The man has her by her neck, her feet struggle to touch the floor. “Put her down, Put her down!” I scream till the fist meets my head. My nose begins to bleed, everything disappears.

Mum’s arm is around me, snuggled under my blanket. Her breathing sounds squeaky as if there is a mouse in the room with us. She feels, so warm, so comfy just like the times when she would crawl into my bed when dad got sent back to Afghanistan. I smile. My face didn’t feel too bad. “No school tomorrow baby,” she whispers. “You get a free pass to a week at home.” There would be no fish and chips tomorrow, followed by jam sponge, but for now I am cuddled, safe and warm.