He walked through the gates as if he were stepping into his own grave. His heart gave a sudden stop, then increased at a rapid pace. His stomach gave a jolt, his feet felt as if they were planted in dry cement. He did not want to continue onward. With a deep sigh he continued on as if each intake of breath would be his last, and for all he knew it could be. He looked up to the house that lay before him. The white picket fence surrounding the house was clean, the grass freshly cut and the flowers bloomed with a welcoming fragrance. He felt anything but welcomed and safe.
His instincts wanted him to run, they themselves were ready to leave with him or without. He came at last to the red door, the knocker held the name "Weslet." He stopped on the welcome mat reading "Don't forget to Wipe Your Paws." In big bold lettering. He knew he had to knock, if not now then sometime later; he could no longer avoid what lay before him. He knocked cautiously, barley making a sound with the brass knocker. When no one replied his anxiety mounted, almost causing him to leave in shear panic. Then, as he was about to walk away, the door opened. He turned around slowly as if time had stopped moving. His hands shook violently, his breath caught, the blood in his face left him.
He turned and looked into her face. A deep crimson dress laid loosely on her frame. A deep frown painted across her tired face. Her eyes were slightly unnerved at the sight of him. Her hair was ash, with areas turning into an icy gray. She looked at him as if she never wanted to set eyes upon him again, he was impure, an insect that needed to be dealt with. She hung onto the door frame, protecting herself from him. She did not want to let him near her house. He became aware of the world around him. The birds sang joyously, unbeknownst to the inner turmoil that was taking hold of his mind and body. Finally, she spoke.
"What do you want?" A pure loathing escaped her lips. He stepped back, shocked by such hatred in her tone. How could she hate him for something he did not do? She had been the one who had abandoned him, he should feel spiteful, not the other way around.
"Didn't Ms. Andrews call you?" He asked. His voice and his body betrayed him, he felt scared and unsure of himself. His hands began to shake and his voice trembled.
"Do not talk to me like that, you give me the respect I deserve. Call me Ma'am if you are to address me, do not talk to me as if I am a friend or someone who gives a damn about your existence." She looked him over once more, a small smile creeping over her teeth.
"You look like him you know, I can see it in your eyes. That same spirit. The kind that needs to be broken and tamed."
"Ma'am, he's dead."
"I know, I read it in the paper. I knew sooner or later you'd be bought to me, I only hoped they would have done something else with you. Do they not care that I am a member of society who has created her own family and home for herself? That I have a different life and that I did not care to take part in yours?"
All he could do was take in a deep breath, close his eyes and let the words wash off of him. She didn't care if he was alive or dead, he knew, but she was the only family left.
"Mom…I need you."
The words feel from his mouth like stones. They fell to the floor and stayed there. She did not seem to register what he had said, she only stared blankly in his direction. He cleared his throat to clear the stiff air that hung around them like a cloud. She finally stood back from the door a if ready to shut him from her life once again. She instead held the door open impatiently, waiting for him to hurry and enter the house. He went back to the fence to grab his only possessions, a ragged looking black Jansport backpack. He lifted it up to his shoulder, mind wandering to its contents and wishing he had his old life back.