Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29791712-20151121024621

Hope you guys enjoy the new story! Don't forget to comment your opinions and suggestions.

Michael stands outside his grandmother’s house with his mom once again.

The child stares at the huge home towering him with a refreshing shade that keeps the sun’s blazing heat from scorching the child. Compared to other houses, grandma’s house appears diminutive, but everything seems so large in the young boy’s perspective. Tiny batches of fluttered leaves and grass litter the front door. Michael watches as his mother proceeds to place her palm against the cool, stone surface of the door, and hunches her back as she rubs her hands against the engravings and leaves. She begins to weep at first, little droplets of tears slipping out of her eyes in a demure and easy matter, but then it escalates to cries of agony and torture. Michael’s mother moans as she continues to massage the door with both her hands now, and as she gingerly buckles down to her knees, a loud screeching noise escapes her parted lips with unease. The child remains frozen in his position as he tries to adjust once more to this ambiguous sight.

He never understands why grandma never lets the both of them in. Why bother visiting grandma if she never welcomes us, Michael thought every time they drove to her neighborhood. Grandma must see the pain and pity he causes to his mother, so why allow her to mourn with so much wretched dismay in her heart? The boy finds his grandmother cruel and bitter in every aspect possible because of this impudence she displays against her own daughter and grandson.

The child hates going to his grandma’s neighborhood. The first thing that annoyed the child about coming here involved the fact that they needed to park blocks away in order to enter where she lives. Then they walk about two or three streets until they arrive at this huge black gate that stretches almost as tall as Michael’s grandmother’s house. After they cross the gate, they stroll pass fields of grass ranging miles beyond the boy’s vision. These thick, hard, and gray objects of some sort pollute the field of grass in an orderly matter. The child passes through rows upon rows of these organized statues with doubt and suspicion. He always feels terrified sliding through those stone plates.

Eventually they reach a setting that contained dozens of tiny homes and buildings similar to grandma’s own house. Sometimes Michael’s mother starts to cry even before they reach the front of grandma’s house, as if she always know denial awaits her. If she expects this, then why bother crying, Michael always ponders to himself. The boy blames his mother most of the time whenever she cries now. She knew the situation would never change, so why push for some fantasy impossible of achieving?

Sometimes the circumstances change, however. Sometimes they would reach the front of Michael’s grandma’s house with a furtive smile on the mother’s lips, and a tentative frown on the child’s mouth. They never organized a set schedule, but instead would drive and drop by whenever Michael’s mother felt like making the effort to travel there. It could be during the middle of the day on a weekday after school, or randomly in the morning of every other weekend. The worst moments are when it would be close to twilight, and something would happen with Michael’s mother that bothered or disturbed her greatly. She would call her son immediately, and despite what they were busy with, would drive to his grandmother’s neighborhood for one late night visit. During this the most tears and yelps escaped out of the child’s mother.

But it always confused the child why she sometimes visited here with so much optimism and joy. He wondered what would make his mother so happy with the fact that she cannot enter inside. Michael, during these occasions, sometimes felt like asking his mother why she wasn’t crying this time, but instead he would be satisfy with his mother’s jolly expression.

Jackie most of the time brought flowers or candles at those moments, and she would lay them down in front of her mother’s ancient door for her to snatch after they left. That is, however, what the child assumed, since the next day whatever they left before would disappear. The child took note that his grandmother loves roses, daisies, and carnations, as well as candles with a lavender scent.

He only remembers this because he plans to visit his grandma one day by himself, despite the constant rejection he receives with his mother. The child thinks that it’s his mother’s fault why his grandmother never renders the opportunity to let them inside her home. Something must have happened way before Michael was born that manifested this tension between the both of them. Surely the grandmother contains no reason why Michael could not gain permission to enter inside. The boy never committed any trouble or misbehavior to receive this unfair treatment. When the day comes that the child gets the opportunity to come all alone, he plans to interrogate his grandma for as long as possible. He desires for all of his questions to be answered fluently, and to know the truth as to why he never once went inside with his mother. At first the young boy thought that it had something to do with the neighborhood his grandma lives in. When other people from other parts of town come along to stand in front of the other houses, they also just remain outside without a single invitation to enter. The other people would also hold with them flowers to deliver for their family or friend, and some of them also came and exited with their faces puffy and red from crying. This made Michael infuriated with everyone who accommodates this entire block of houses. It seems unfair that they would treat their guest in such an insolent matter.

Even with this rising rage, however, the child will attempt to approach his grandma with calmness and benevolence. When the time comes, he thinks of bringing his grandma some of the flowers she likes, a lit candle of his mother’s choosing, and maybe some chocolates to see if she also enjoys those. Maybe one day this small act can blossom to something humongous and worth-while. Something that would make his mother and grandmother start talking once again after many years of ignoring and resenting one another, and she could finally enter inside without a single problem.

The boy wishes to see a day where they can all three celebrate the holidays together, and to discover so much more about grandma other than the fact that she likes flowers and candles. Maybe he can have a cool and loving grandma like his friend from school named James. James always brags how his grandmother knits for him, and how his grandma bakes him sugar cookie after school every single day. Maybe Michael’s grandma can teach him how to make cookies to share and eat.

But for now, Michael endures the sight of his mother screaming and crying right in front of his grandmother’s house. Grandma’ house with the triangular roof and ruined stone walls. Grandma’s house with the small stone steps that lead up to whatever wonders the child manages to imagine. What sights lays inside grandma’s house? The child always pictured a room filled with white and yellow lights as bright as a star, and for the interior to smell like baked goods and Christmas inside a mall. The child imaged the home to feel warm and cozy, and for the kitchen to be filled with foods and snacks of all sorts. The endless possibilities overwhelms the child with some hope.

But his vision reflects upon something depressing and daunting. He sees not hope, but his mother coping with grief and torment. He gazes at a punishment he repeats to himself every day to never give to his own children and grandchildren.

The wind rushes with a harsh and brutal push that sends chills to the child’s skin and bones. The breeze makes Jackie’s short and brown hair smuggle against her face and cheeks, which conceals her blood-shot eyes and crimson face. Even this early in autumn it feels like winter. When they arrived half an hour ago, the sun blanketed them with a hot and sweaty heat. Now the temperature dropped down to the point where goose flesh popped out of Michael’s forearms.

“Mom,” he whispers. “Can we go now? I’m getting cold.” He shivers as he wraps his bare arms over his body in an attempt to warm himself up.

“I told you to bring a sweater,” his mother scorns at him. She dries her tears with her finger in a single swipe, and glimpses at her son with annoyance. “Didn’t I say it would get this cold?”

“Yeah, but when we left the house it was so hot.”

“This is what happens when you don’t listen to me,” his mother says with petulance, and sighs with stress. “I still want to stay here for a while.”

“But why? Grandma never lets us inside. Why won’t she lets us inside? I’m cold mommy, and-“

“Just let me be for a second, dammit!” Michael retreats and jumps at his mother’s sudden change in tone. He breaks down into tears himself, his wails as loud as his mother’s. Regret takes over Jackie’s, and she feels more and more worn out as her son progresses to shout in an inappropriate tantrum.

“I’m sorry, Mikey,” his mother says with the soothing voice she uses to try to relax her son. “Come to momma, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll make you feel warm and all.”

The child hesitates to crawl to his mother, but eventually he drags his knees and feet close to his mom. She opens up her arms in a mother’s embrace, and Michael practically tackles her as he snuggles against her stomach and back. Jackie repeatedly kisses and hugs her child in his forehead, cheek, and lips in order to further relax his state of mind. For now, everything seems calm and peaceful as Michael smudges his face and body against his mother’s own body.

But the child senses something wrong. Even if he feels this sanctuary around his mother’s love and companionship, beyond those doors await the truth of his family, specifically his grandmother.

Soon, Michael thinks to himself. Soon I’ll know the truth.

Jackie did not see her child disappear, and leave her sight completely. She happened to be too busy talking with the lovely cashier to have notice her child run out of the store, and stroll somewhere else. Now she finds herself calling his name all throughout the flower shop, and trying desperately not to panic.

“Michael! Michael where are you?” Her mind repeats cuss word after profanity as she grinds her teeth together. Everyone inside the store glances to see a crazy and obnoxious mother searching through everyone’s personal business all because she fails as a parent. The cashier she distracted herself with only stood behind the register with her mouth open with a dumbfounded look on her face. She questions whether or not she should help, but at the end she picks up the intercom mic feeling pity for the confused and overworked mother.

“Will Michael Espinoza, um, please report to the front of the store, please? Your mother is looking for you,” every customer hears all across the store. The speakers above did little to hide away the apprehensive tone of the cashier. Michael’s mother turns around to see the charming cashier nod her head, and give the mother an awkward smile. Jackie simply grins back, and whispers, thank you.

Where the hell can he be, dammit? Jackie tells herself as she swerves and investigate every little corner of the entire store. People start to glimpse at Michael’s mother with irritation, but she could care less at this point how or why people gazed at her with those awful looks of helplessness. Ever since the divorce she cared less and less about her appearance, social life, and even her job as a sales associate. The breakdown she experienced every single day only worsen, and the amount of sleep she received decrease every night. Her closest of friends and relatives offer advice, but she just accepts them without a second thought to their worrying words.

Where the hell did this kid go, dammit! Her own inner voice seems to explode in her mind each time she ruminated about her son. ''Why you do this to me? Why place me under all of this stress? Where can he be? Jesus fucking Christ where can this child run to from here? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Why would he-''

Then it hit her. She hauls to a stop in the middle of the flower store, and doesn’t move a single inch of her body.

''The graveyard… He kept saying how one day he’s going to visit grandma all by himself, and go inside her house. He said how he wanted to see grandma once at least before she dies. He said he knows how old people die very soon…''

“Oh no…”

On that note, she sprints toward the exit door, almost crashing into some of the customers that crossed her path.

Michael dashes through the fields of grass with avid speed, and grand smile on his face.

“I’m finally going to see grandma!” he repeats over and over as he runs on the stone flooring to reach his grandmother’s neighborhood. He is disappointed he couldn’t bring anything special for his grandma, but the idea came out of the blue that he needed to reach it with urgency. Michael guesses there will never be another opportunity ever again to accomplish what he is about to do. He now thanks himself to saying yes to go with his mother to the flower shop to pick up some roses for the house. It crossed his mind that his grandmother’s neighborhood is stationed close to the store.

Even with his lungs contracting and burning by how hard Michael pushes himself, he doesn’t stop his long and arduous journey to reach his grandmother’s house. His legs flare with the jolt of soreness that comes with running over a long period of time, but this only further gives him an incentive to arrive to his destination. He thinks that maybe grandma could rub his legs and feet when he welcomes himself, and that she can take care of him the entire evening.

The boy sees a faint image of his grandmother’s small house, and this motivates him to sprint harder than before. The freezing wind blows his hair back, and slices through his skin with fierce force. Not even his hardened and extremely cold face could force him to take a break, however. He keeps telling himself that he will have time to rest the moment he steps inside grandma’s house.

Curiosity took the best over Michael. Every logical and rational part of his mind disputed the end equation of such a risky and precarious act of rebellion against his mother, but his gut instinct convinced him to go along with his malicious plan. Even his body attempted to dissuade him by how much he forces himself to attend to his grandma’s house once and for all, but his visceral heart knows him better than any part of his anatomy.

Finally the child ends his pursuit in front of the home. He takes a moment to catch his breath, his nose and mouth inhaling in the thin and icy oxygen. His entire body feels enflamed by how much sweat poured out from his pores, and the air did little to cool him down, surprisingly. A cramp emerges from Michael’s ribs, and he bends down in order to heal and rub his damaging stomach. The sudden pain feels like an imaginative force is applying tremendous pressure on the boy’s stomach.

All of his agony and nausea omits from his body, however, the moment his excitement returns back to his mind. He starts up those stone steps he had seen his mother lay flowers and candles over a hundred times before. The closer Michael crawls toward the door, the more rapid his heartbeat becomes. Not only has he betrayed and ran away from his mother that day, but he is about to introduce himself to his grandma for the first time. Adrenaline courses through his veins and blood the more he ponders about the mystery behind his grandma. After all this waiting, his patience couldn’t endure it any longer. Today, his answers will be dismissed.

“''Michael! Come here, now!''” He hears his mother shout from the distance. That only further gave him more of a reason to stomp up the steps. The boy thought that if grandma saw her own daughter approaching here, she will deny access to her grandson. Michael stumbles once he reached the final step, and nearly osculates his face with the stone door. He first pounds his clammy and frangible fist against the entrance, but he notices how silent his knocking sounds.

“Don’t you dare go in, dammit! You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Michael shakes his head in frustration of his mother’s presence arriving, but then he notices a tiny gap near the end of the door. The entrance has always been ajar every time they came to visit grandma. The child always forgets about this little important detail.

He reaches out his hands, and closes them around the door with a tenacious grip. His fingers rub against the other end of the door, and he knows at this point he can open it without any difficulty. Michael pulls with all of the strength his arms and legs can produce, but only manages to create a slightly bigger gap. It still isn’t enough to slide in through.

”''Michael! Please, don’t go inside!''” His mother yells once more, and this time her voice seems only a couple of inches away from his position. Michael swings once more on the hard and brusque entrance door, and this time he makes a gap large enough for his skinny and frail body to fit through. Without a second to waste, the child squeezes through the narrow opening with the wild smirk on his pink lips.

That beam, however, fades away to a lugubrious frown the moment a hand tugs as his sweater.

“Come back here dammit!” Jackie hisses at her son. Michael releases a cry so loud it echoes inside the dim-lighted room the boy just entered. Little rays of sunlight dumps inside the compacted area, leaving a tenuous shine of light to illuminate the setting. So much dirt and fungus covers and compresses the windows on the walls that it shuns away whatever brightness tries to slide inside.

“Let go of me, mommy!” the child shouts, and turns his head to bite on his mother’s fingers. Jackie winces at the sudden pain, and releases her hold on Michael. Not a single drop of regret tugged at the child for his daring actions. At this point the idea of his grandmother’s house inveigled him to commit such drastic measures. There is no turning around.

Michael glances around the room with bewilderment at the tenebrous room. It gives off an ominous and insecure feeling to the child. Each steps he takes causes the floor to creek, and the room provides insufficient light for him to know where he is going. The air tastes stale and vile inside, and little powder of dust pollutes the entire room at every corner and edge. The malodorous and loathsome scent of the room causes the child to almost vomit, which further adds to the boy’s exhausted state.

His foot stumps against a hard and intact surface. Michael squints his eye to better observe whatever object he stumbled upon.

The sight of the coffin causes the boy to gasp in amazement and fear. “Grandma!” Michael yells with concern in his tone. “Grandma! Are you inside?”

He presses his ear against the closed object. The boy listens attentively for any sound or voice to come alive inside the coffin. The only thing he hears, however, is the noise of his breathing, and the gust of wind twirling outside.

But then a delicate and crackling voice sparks to life deep inside the coffin. It slithers out through the mini gaps the coffins has, and drills deep inside the boy’s eardrums like a tangible worm inching closer to his brain. Michael shivers at the contact of this enigmatic sound, but nevertheless believes it is his beloved grandmother.

“Grandma! I’m coming to save you!”

The child presses his fingers against the top half of the coffin, and pulls up with all the power on his muscles. The lid opens without a second attempt, and Michael climbs on top of the coffin to reach a better view of his grandmother laying down on the dirty and reeking surface. The boy thinks about how many years it’s been since his grandmother has been trapped and isolated inside such a crushing and darkening grave. He immediately places the blame on his mother for allowing his grandmother to suffer through this hell without feeling any rue or hate for herself

“Grandma! I can’t believe I finally get to see-“

The boy shuts his quivering lips at the sight below him.

He didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t know whether to see a weak, incapable, and thin old lady with wrinkled skin, dozens of moles and marks embellishing his grandmother’s face, and a toothless smile that displays her fleshy and pink gums. He didn’t know if he would see one of those corpulent, smelly old ladies whose behind take up two seats at a bus, and always walked with an abnormal positioning with their legs.

But Michael most likely did not expect to see a dead body filling up his field of view. His grandmother’s pale and broken skin reveals cracks around her lips, nose, eyes, and breasts. The clothing she wore consisted of a gray dress decorated with tiny flowers near the top of the outerwear. Spider webs remain glued to the once white and pure dress in a bundle of moist and sticky substances. Worms and maggots crawl out from her hair, mouth, and the inside of her nostrils, and as they do so the little bugs chew away at his grandma’s rusty face. An acidic and foul scent creeps out from her body, which almost causes the boy to pass out by how horrible the smell slapped his nose. Parts of her bones could be seen protruding out from her shoulders, forearms, and wrists in a twisting and stomach-curling matter. Dust covers her complete body in a blanket of white flakes.

But the thing that made Michael nearly crap his pants is the pouch of blood flooding on top of his grandmother’s head. Some of the blood sticking to her forehead seems dry and vile, but some of it appears wet and newly shed. The sunlight radiating from above sparkles the fresh and luminous blood, which causes the child to be hypnotize by a surreal trance of staring at his grandmother’s shiny forehead.

“Grandma…” Michael whispers slowly. “Are you…okay?”

Parts of her face begins to dissolve and crumble to ash and dust, which reveals specific area of Michael’s grandmother’s skull. More critter and ticks exit the inside of her face, and this time an army of spiders all escape from his grandma’s earlobes. Michael’s inner terror positions him to stand firm with fear and trepidation snarling at the center of his neck and spine. The sweat that once damped his face and body now froze completely, which causes his temperature to descend to dramatic levels.

Michael’s grandmother opens her eyes.

The child rushes away from where his grandma lays, and sprints towards the door with a yell caught stuck on his throat. The entire time his mother has been opening the gap more and more until she could fit through the hole. The sight of his mother never enlightened Michael more than it did at the moment. He runs harder and faster in order to reach her warm and effusive arms.

The sound of wood breaking and collapsing fills the mausoleum, and the child hears behind him a sardonic and haughty laughter chase after his tail. He dashes to his fullest potential in order to emit himself of whatever horror unfolded itself behind him. Quick tapping sounds follows the boy as he is almost inches away from running outside where all the safety and security awaits him.

A hand, however, catches his shirt before his foot is able to touch the stone walkway outside.

“Micha-“ Is all the child hears before the impervious stone door shuts by itself. The last thing Michael remembers is feeling a scaly, frozen, crusty hand rub against his cheek, and cover the top of his mouth and eyes.

Now the child understood why they never visited his grandmother’s home. 