the attic

The rancid smell of his own mind overwhelmed him as he entered, the
odor of the corpses, piled high in various states of decay, yet alive.
He could not stop the vomiting, not now, not ever. There were boxes,
delicately sealed with guilt and fear, nowhere to hide, no more.

It is time he muttered. In just that way, as a matter of fact, because
time it was, and no time is as good as the present. Slowly in a random
way he navigated to a box marked birthdays. He opened it without
thinking twice. It was time, and no time to think.

The boy was anxiously waiting in his bed. Where were they? The rule is
that you are not supposed to wake up by yourself on your birthday.
They should have been there by now, with the cake, the presents, the
hot coco. Singing the Happy Birthday song. He tried to listen but
there was no sound of activity. He waited a little longer, and then
some.

Nothing.

Then it hit him. They had forgotten about his 12th birthday.

He closed the box – didn't need to see anymore. It all came back to him.

Did it matter then? He muttered.

Yes he sighed answering his own question.

Does it matter now?

Yes he thought, it still matters, I don't know why or how, but it still matters.

-posted by umbilikal