Sixteen Years

The bedroom was always cold. There were a million words you could have used to describe the room. There was even a second-hand thesaurus on the dusty shelf above his bed if you were struggling. But if you had to choose just one word. Cold was the one you walked away with. Small was a given. But then, people often put their least loved items in the smallest rooms. Things like bric-a-brac, spare chairs and winter coats which took up too much room everywhere else. All of the things you felt you needed to keep, but not the things you wanted see. That was just as true of Ash. Although, one benefit of the constant cold draft from the broken window was it seemed to be keeping the damp from pervading into this room too, like it had throughout the rest of the flat. Every now and then, the sticky tape holding the small square of cardboard over the hole would need to be replaced as it lost its grip, but mostly, the thin whisp of air it let through was only really noticable when the temperature really dropped. The radiator beneath it hadn't been turned on in as long as he could remember, there was never the money to top up the meter and when there was, the pungent smoke drifting in from the various house guests told him it had already been spent. Once the visitors were gone, the smell usually went too, so he didn't much mind it any more. It gave him a headache when there were lots of people there, and it left the back of his throat feeling wierd but he could deal with that part. His mum not being there when the smell was there though. He always worried when that happened. The window had been broken a long time ago during some early morning police raid. Or was it night time? He rarely slept well but that night he had woken silently with a start. His eyes opened wider than he thought was possible and his whole body was frozen with fear. He didn't make a sound, for some reason, he couldn't but he could feel. There was a hot, rough hand sliding upwards along his inner thigh inside the leg of his pyjama bottoms and a strange dark face, encased in shadow breathed hot, stale cigarette breath into his small face. There was a loud bang and the stranger turned away from him quickly, towards the thin streak of light in his doorway where more shouting and banging noises were coming in from, the other room. The shadow sprang up from the mattress on the floor and began pulling at the window as the burly silhouettes of several policemen crashed in and threw the flimsy paneled door back onto its hinges, cratering a hole in the wall which he knew would never be repaired. These huge dark shapes took centre stage, backlit against the smoky lighting behind them in the lounge and slamming into eachother in their haste to reach the shadow, who was already heaving himself onto the radiator, trying to launch himself through the window but they were already on him. The shadows were just a few footsteps away but they were so loud and frightening, Ash cowered under his thin bedsheet, pulling it tight over his head and closing his eyes tight shut. Ash could hear his mums voice now and she was screaming at them. To get out. To get off him. To get out. But she was slurring her words and they ignored her completely. He knew what she was saying, so why were they not listening to her. They should all go, his mum said so.. Then she screamed at someone and he could hear the thuds of her fists hitting on someones chest. He'd heard that noise before and he didn't like it then either. He could hear her voice still, but now it was muffled, like she her face was being pushed into carpet and her mouth wasn't moving properly. He'd heard her speak like that before too and for a minute, the image of an old boyfriend send a shudder of far through his spine as he gripped the bedsheet tighter. He wasn't a nice man, but he couldn't be there. He had gone away. And that was a long time ago. Mum said so.. There was still shouting and pulling. He could feel the heavy thuds of boots right near him so he pulled his feet up into his chest and risked opening an eye, lowered a corner of the sheet and peered out. The shadow was clinging onto the frame window frame, there was a crack and he could see a long line appear from nowhere across the whole window. The policemen grabbed and yanked him back into the room, then as he slid down, almost horizontally he grabbed frantically at the radiator and pulled it from the wall before his face slammed with a sickening crack into polished concrete floor, just missing that spiky wooden strip with the bits of carpet stuck to it. Ash had caught his foot on that once. He was lucky he thought, because that would really have hurt. Before he could catch his breath, a knee was on the shadows shoulder blade and he let out a scream as one of the officers dragged an arm backwards, as handcuffs clinked roughly into place on his dirty, thin wrists. Blood was already dripping from his eye socket as they lifted him into the air, his limp feet dragging behind him into the living room and straight out through the front door. No one noticed the small facea and bulging eyes, shivering with fright under a thin old blanket, on a mattress in the dark corner of the room. As the house cleared out and the noises made their way further and further away, he had braved a quick run to the front door and quietly closed it, waiting to hear the reassuring clunk of the latch above his head. Then he ran again, this time to the window, staying hidden as he peered down towards the street where a van was waiting to cart the shadowed man and his mum away. He looked different in the streetlight but he didn't think he'd seen him before. Mum knew a lot of men. Most were nice but sometimes, they would rustle his hair and stare at him until he went into his room. But this one was a stranger. This one was new. He suddenly realised he didn't know where they were taking her, or how long she'd be gone for. Sometimes when people came into the house, she might not be back for a few days, and he'd go to his nans after school but she was poorly and his mum had said to stay away from her. But if she was a long time. Then what was he supposed to do then? An older policeman stood by a van as the man was straightened up and made to face him. Whatever he said was enough to trigger a spray of bloody spit onto the mans uniform which the other officers took as their cue to half lift, half drag the man into the back of the van. The older man nodded to two of the officers who were backing away, and they nodded back and climbed in the back with the man. People got hurt a lot in the back of police vans, they were dangerous and he probably wouldn't have a seat belt. He should really have a seat belt on. As people cursed and swore about the noise, their broken sleep, comments of 'good riddance' and the how the area had ‘gone to shit’, on the sixth floor a small boy moved back into the corner and sat, still unnoticed in the corner of the bedroom on the cold concrete floor, his small fingers clutching the thin fabric of his Buck Rogers themed bedsheet. None of the neighbours thought to ask where he was. He was small and easy to miss but not that small, or that easy to miss. The last voice he heard amongst the slamming of doors was his mum. Shouting and swearing in the mans defence. He wanted to shout out but his throat was dry and it felt like he shouldn't. He watched as another van appeared and she was taken away. The cheering and jeering of the neighbours carried on for a bit, with a few people banging on the side of the van as it passed by. From his room, the darkness returned as the blue flashing lights faded away, replaced by the familiar yellow glow of the streetlight on the back of his tatty curtains. The neighbours stayed outside talking for a while but eventually, even they got bored and went back indoors. Now it was just Ash, the empty flat and the hum of the street light outside of his broken window. It was a cold night and try as he might, he had no luck with pushing the window back closed again, so he dragged his mattress protector and bedsheets into the lounge and closed the door behind him. He curled up on the gree fabric couch and closed his eyes. He stayed there for several hours, too wired to sleep. His thin, boney frame shivering, his wide furtive eyes staring at his bedroom door and everything around him was now empty and silent. Straining, listening intently at the wind whistling through under his bedroom door, he sat up at the slightest creak or unfamiliar noise. His head shot over to the door as a tin can was blown clumsily down the road and the vent cover opened and closed in the breeze but for now, it was just him and the wind. No one was there and no one was coming. He was still awake as the first rays of sunlight broke through the greasy kitchen window pane and threw a strange rainbow across the wall on the far side of the room. Ash stared at this for a long time before slowly getting to his feet. His young muscles and bones screamed to be left where they were and crawl back under his thin bedsheet as his entire body ached more than anyone his age had a right to. But it was morning, finally.. And it was time for school.

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