Work Text:
Inspired by the song "A drink before the war" by Sinéad O Connor.
All Twilight characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.
10 minutes:
I am not able to perceive myself. A pair of warm arms hold me with emotion and fear, I think it's my dad. I am crying like a motherfucker, I don't know how to do anything more by the moment. Those arms change to another, equally welcoming, my mother's arms hold me with tenderness.
I can't see them yet but I know they are smiling.
3 years:
I gain conciousness about myself. I am running aimlessly in the backyard, by my mom's old car, and I don't feel the danger I have in front of me. I don't fear the black fur, so dark that reflects blue. Neither the black eyes, like two bottomless pits. Neither the fangs that could rip my arm without much effort. My dad's scraps of clothing are all over the grass, but there's no trace of him, I can't really grasp onto what I am seeing, but I feel it's something I shouldn't have seen, something not suitable for a simple human to witness.
Dad has lost his patience for the first time seeing me playing with one of his empty bottles, even when he repeatedly told me not to, that I could ger hurt. But I don't have many toys and every one of them has been given to me by other kids in the reservation, and most of them in awful conditions. I only wanted to play for a while.
Nothing will be the same. I see it in my father's eyes.
5 years:
Dad barely appears at home. He spends his days in the only bar at the rez. He must be friends with the owner, I guess.
He comes late at night, when I'm already in the bed, so i don't go tired to school. He makes a lot of noise but I don't think it's on purpose. My mom gets up from the sofa, with her hospital uniform still on; she crosses her arms and the whispering begins. I can see them through the crack on my tiny bedroom door, also my dad's work, a particularly bad fall that woke me up weeks ago.
I don't know whare are they saying, but mom looks sad, and both of them shoot nervous glaces at my direction. I fear being discovered while I'm listening to them.
My dad doesn't shout. He doesn't hit us and he doesn't argue, never fights. He simply listens to my mom unaffected.
He no longer smiles, and doesn't pay attention to things. He doesn't look at me. He barely speaks and never sleeps. He is now very thin. When I hug him it spooks me how sharp his body has become; I can feel his ribs and I think he is sick because his skin is always so hot.
His old friends, my cousin's and friend's parents, don't speak to him anymore. They come from time to time to our house to speak with my mom and they bring me toys or clothes. I don't really care.
Dad is sick, and I don't know what to do.
8 years:
Dad din't came home last night. I don't care. I got up early because of the loud noise of the hail and I went out to the porch to hang out and I saw the warehouse's door was opened. Mom left to work a few hours ago and I'm afraid to go check, but I have to do it.
There's no light coming from the inside, but I can see flooded footprints in the rusty door's direction. I get in. I see a boot on the floor and he still has the other one on a few centimeters above the floor.
12 years:
I'm late again to school. I don't care. They tell me the same scolding as always and I don't care even harder. I don't have friends at school, neither at the rez or Forks, although there is nothing more than lowlife there.
I'm always angry. My mother jokes about getting a permanent wrinkle down to the nose if I don't change my grimace, but she also has it.
Billy doesn't come home to see me anymore, not that he can, and I don't want to go. I don't like his daughters; I catched one of them looking strange to my cousin Leah, and she doesn't look at me at the face. The other one has her head full of feathers. And the youngest is a bit dumb, always slighly scared of some shit.
Tomorrow is their mother's burial. I have to be patient. No rudeness, I promised my mom.
16 years:
My head hurts and I can barely see due to the swelling on my eye. They don't leave me alone, and somehow I had to make myself clear. Now I have to wait for the principal to tell me some sermon. Fuck the entire afternoon.
My hand hurts and I think they ripped a whole lock of hair. My eyes burn. My entire body is in pain and I think I have a fever. I lower my head but it makes my eye to hurt more. I make myself small in the waiting room. I just want to go home.
My chest hurts.
19 years:
I'm at class with my cousin Leah. We are bored to death. Repeating the same year twice is bullshit. The picture that we present is something worthy to see: leaning on one hand with our legs sprawled open below our desks drawing nothings in our notebooks.
She looks at me and I look back at her. Tonight is our turn to patrol again and we are exhausted from last night. But she's the only one that tolerates me and I do as well.
It's been only two months since my uncle died and my cousin is furious; I know what she feels. My cousin Seth is in a type of trance, but he will recover. Poor boy.
Sam will screw us again with the same shit that we are too fast and we scare the rez population. They are still convinced that there are bears in the area. Leah doesn't want to see his stupid face and I am not suprised by it. Emily is a nice girl and I feel bad that she is entangled in this, even when she looks okay with it.
25 years:
Mom lives with Billy now. Having three siblings is not that bad. I like Jacob, he's a bit of a fool but he's a good man. Good leader.
Vampires no longer stalk us, only a few lost specimens enters in our lands. Now I live in peace. It's not so bad after all.
I'm going to make a visit to mom and Billy, and Seth has hide my shirt again. I tease him about it and he lifts his hands pretending to be innocent while I tighten my old father's belt. I keep looking at the intrincate tribal motives. The carved wolf's fangs are long worn, but it's easy to know what it is. It's ironic to say the least and Quil says it's cool. I don't deny it. It rocks.
I fill my lungs with fresh air, looking at the ocean; today the weather is perfect. My long hair barely moves with the summer breeze and the sun warms my bones.
It's time to go home.