Hue

I grew-up complete with the whims of mine instantly granted by my mother and father. I was the only child, which would justify my parents’ care for me, and mine to them. as I began to age, I was shielded from almost all the worldly hurt this lifetime could muster. I am aware of this, although dimly. I was closer to my mother than to my father, although I love them both, but I am more attached to my mother in a way words fail to explain. when I was 13, war broke out, and my father had to leave and enlist himself to the army. I was young – unadulterated of what was happening – all I could remember was the bold words uttered by my father after kissing my mother on the forehead, “im leaving on my own accord, if its not me and the other men, who’ll fight against those nazi bastards?” and then he forced to summon a cheeky grin upon his own lined face, “Molly, look at me” said my father as my mother choked back tears, “im sure everything will be alright. Donald told me two days ago that we’re on the winning side of this shit-hole.” after that, he straighten himself up walked slowly towards me and laid eyes upon me – our eyes met at that moment, brown against blue – and placed his right hand upon my straw-colored hair, gave it a ruffle to mess it up a bit, and then proceeded to leave the front door of our house, depart from my mother’s sincere affection , and forget everything about our home and everything it ever represented.

The pickle-in-the-middle

The pickle-in-the-middle; every nuclear family is diagnosed with this disease running through their bloodline. Although not considered fatal by many, a pickle-in-the-middle – or in layman’s term, the middle-child – sees this disposition as unfair and down-right bullshit.
Being placed in the middle, the pickle must endure the taunts and bullying of his hard-knock older brother, or if female; must hold out to his older sister’s “benign” I-care-for-you-little-brother attitude and I-understand-why-you-do-such-things-little-brother. In other words, older brothers/sisters sees you as their personal punching bag or scapegoat when time calls for it which – bad for you – is really often. The pickle must also understand that all those used possessions, once owned by your predecessor, will likely be given up to you instead of having to buy new ones; cost-cutting in the words of your mother. This system could have worked out, problem is; not one shirt really catches your liking, while some would not fit properly because your older brother would be 30 stones heavier than you. All the same, you are forced to wear these apparel when going to school. You ask your mother if you have a choice, she says yes; you could either go to school with those clothes on, or you could go to school without any clothes on. Perfect.
After coming back from school, with memories you plan to bury later at your backyard. You sense something wrong as you lay eyes on your Nintendo DS, and before you could react and initiate any kind of resistance, the aggressor attacks you; you are pinned to the ground, helpless and alone. Say hello to your little brother/sister; adorable and witty. This often makes your parents laugh because of his/her cuteness, while this makes you torn between tearing the little rascal into two or smacking your parents in disbelief and then tearing the little rascal into two. Going back; you see your DS in an awkward, nasty position and your little sister’s doggy eyes. You add two and two, and then resigns to the fact, you call out; Mom!
The whole family barges in; your mother, and then your father, followed suit by your older sibling; And even though you sense the deluge waiting, you smile. There’s no place you would be, more than where you are now. The Pickle-in-the-Middle.